hunter notes

Chapter 51 Chertopkhanov and Nedobyskin (2)
The family background of Tikhon Ivanitch Nedobyskin cannot be compared with that of Ponteley Yeremych.His father was born as a landlord with a single house, and after working hard for most of his life, he obtained the status of nobility.There is a man, as the saying goes, in which misfortune pursues him as unrelentingly as a personal enemy—old Mr. Nedobyskin might call this a man.All his life, from birth to death, the poor man had struggled against the poverty, disease, and misfortunes peculiar to the lower classes.He struggled like a fish on ice, lacked enough food and sleep, bowed his head, ran around, worked hard, and worked hard for every kopek. He was indeed suffering "innocently" for his status.Finally, without earning the minimum material conditions for his family, he died in the attic or cellar.Fate tormented him like a hound chasing food.He was a good man, but got a little favor "according to his position"—from ten kopecks to two rubles.Old Nedobyskin had a sick wife and many children who died young, leaving only Tikhon and a daughter.The daughter, Mitrodora, who was called Merchant Flower by others, married an old judicial inspector after a rough time.Old Mr. Nedobyskin managed to find a job for Tikhon as a non-staff official in the firm during his lifetime; but Tikhon resigned immediately after his father died.The perpetual restlessness, the struggle against hunger and cold, the helplessness of the mother, the exhaustion of the father, the tyrannical oppression of the landlady and shopkeeper—all these sufferings cultivated in Tikhon's life an inexpressible timidity: a Seeing the leader's shadow, he trembled and lost his mind, like a frightened bird.He quit his job.Casual, perhaps cynical, which tends to bestow upon men faculties and inclinations without any regard for their social and material status; it treats Tikhon, the son of a poor official, Shaped into a man with a rich heart, idleness, and gentle disposition--a man very suitable for pleasure, with a very keen sense of smell and taste... After it is carefully completed, let the collective grow on sour cabbage and rotten meat stand up.When this work grows up, the so-called "life" begins.Then came the good time.Uncompromisingly playing with the fate of old Nedobyskin, he tortured his son in the same way.It's clearly tasted the sweetness.But it treated Tikhon differently: it didn't abuse him, it amused him.It never embarrassed him, never made him feel the intolerable pangs of hunger, but ordered him to wander all over Russia, from Veliki-Ustyug to Tsareov-Koksheysk, from a From a position unacceptable to others: sometimes he was made "bearer" in the house of an angry and ill-tempered aristocratic good woman; A rich man cut in the English style, with protruding eyes, was the Secretary-General; sometimes he was appointed half-servant, half-clown for a hound breeder... In short, fate arranged that poor Tikhon absorbed the parasites drop by drop. The bitter venom of life.All his life he had served the idleness and odious boredom of idle nobles... Several times, after a group of guests had made fun of him at random, and finally allowed him to go back to his room alone, his shame Burning up, with tears in his eyes, he vowed to sneak away tomorrow and try his luck in the city, even if he found a small job as a scribe, or else he would die of starvation in the street all at once.But first, God did not give him strength; second, he was naturally timid; and third, how on earth did he find a position for himself, and whom to entrust? "They won't hire me," the wretch would often musing in bed depressed, "They won't hire me!" and go back to the boring job the next day.His situation was made all the more embarrassing by one reason, that is, that this exhaustive Creator refused to endow him with a certain amount of power and genius necessary for a comic meal.For example, he is not good at dancing with a bearskin coat on his back until he faints from exhaustion; he is not good at telling jokes and courting around the whip; The stomach cannot absorb wine mixed with ink and other filth, nor can it absorb extremely small fly mushrooms and amanita mushrooms mixed with vinegar.Tikhon's future would have been unthinkable had it not been for the occasional interest of his only benefactor, a well-known monopoly merchant, to add this to his will.The will stated: "The village of Beselingyevka, which I bought myself, including all the territories, was handed over to Chaozia (that is, Tikhon) Nedobyskin as his future hereditary property." A few days later, the benefactor died suddenly while eating sturgeon soup.There was a sudden commotion, and people came to the court in time, and the property was carefully sealed up.The relatives would gather, open the will and announce it, and look for Nedobyskin.Here comes Nedobyskin.Almost everyone present knew what kind of errand Nedobyskin had with his benefactor, and greeted him with loud shouts and sarcastic greetings. "Here comes the landlord, look, he is the new landlord!" cried the other heirs in the same way. "Really," went on a well-known jokester, "it's so... so true... this... could be called... this... heir." There was a loud laugh from all stand up.For a long time Niedaubyskin refused to believe in his good fortune.They showed him the will, and he blushed, closed his eyes, waved his arms, and burst into tears.Everyone's laughter turned into a trance-like din.There are only 10 serfs in the village of Besselingyevka, and no one pities it, so why not take this opportunity to have fun?Only one heir from Petersburg, a handsome man with a Greek nose and a noble expression, named Rostislav Adamucci Hitopil, could not stand it anymore, and walked sideways towards Nie Dobbyskin turned to look at him rudely. "As far as I understand, sir," he said contemptuously and casually, "are you supposed to take up the post of so-called domestic slave in the household of the venerable Fyodor Fyodorovitch?" said the Petersburg gentleman. Very clear, powerful and correct.Nedobyskin, who was at a loss, did not understand what the unknown gentleman said, but the others immediately fell silent, and the wisecracker smiled politely.Mr. Hitopil rubbed his hands and repeated his question.Nedobyskin raised his eyes strangely and opened his mouth.Hitopil narrowed his eyes maliciously.

"Congratulations, sir, congratulations," he went on, "of course not all are willing to earn a minimum of food for themselves in this way; but de gustibus nnon est disputan-dum— This means that everyone has their own hobbies... right?"

Someone behind him let out a quick, yet civilized squeal of surprise.

"Excuse me," Mr. Hitopil continued, greatly encouraged by everyone's smiles, "what extraordinary talents do you have that qualify you for your happiness? No, don't be shy, tell us, we should It is said that we are all our own family, en family. Is that true, gentlemen, we are all en family?"

Hitopil was just the heir who asked these few words, but unfortunately he didn't understand French, so he could only make a slight squeak of agreement.But the other young heir, with a pockmarked forehead, hastily added, "Black clothes, black clothes. Of course."

"Maybe," said Mr. Hitopil again, "you have supernatural powers?" Nedobyskin looked around in distress—all faces had sinister smiles, and all eyes were wet with tears of joy. . "Maybe you will crow?" There was a burst of laughter from all around, and then fell silent immediately, waiting for the next step. "Maybe you will be on the nose..." "Quiet." Suddenly a strange voice interrupted Hitopil, "You bully the weak, why are you not afraid of losing face!" Everyone turned their heads to look.Opposite stood Chertopkhanov.

He was the distant nephew of the deceased monopoly merchant, so he also received invitations to relative meetings.During the reading of the will, as usual, he kept aloof from others out of pride.

"Stop," he said again, throwing his head back proudly.Mr. Hitopil turned around quickly, saw a ragged and ordinary-looking person, and asked a person beside him in a low voice (it is always good to be careful):

"Who is this?" "Tsertopkhanov, not a big man." The man answered him in his ear.

Hitopil showed a haughty expression. "Who are you, and why are you giving orders here?" he said in a nasal voice, closing his eyes. "Who are you, please?" Chertopkhanov ignited like gunpowder on a spark.He was furious to the limit. "Chi-chi-chi-chi," he yelled, as if his throat had been strangled, and suddenly he shouted like thunder: "Who am I? Who am I? I'm Bontieri Jertop Hanov, a hereditary nobleman, I used to serve the Tsar in my previous life, but what are you?"

Hitopil paled and took a step back.He had not expected such a reply.

"Who am I, I am..." Tsartopkhanov took a step forward; Hitopil was frightened and backed away, and everyone ran towards the enraged landowner. "Duel, duel, you must make it clear!" cried the angry Bontieri, "or apologize to me, and to him..." "Apologize, apologise," said the disorganized heirs at Hitopi. There was a lot of chatter around Er, "He is such a crazy person, he can kill." "Please forgive me, please forgive me, I don't know why," Hitopil said quickly, "I don't know why..."

"Apologize to him again!" Buntieri shouted loudly. "Forgive me too," Hitopil said again to Nedobyskin, who was trembling with anger.Tsertopkhanov stopped talking, walked up to Nedobyskin, hugged him tightly, and flung himself around bravely, without anyone's scrutiny, leading the dead man in silence. The new lord of the village of Beseringeyevka, which he had bought himself, walked out of the room in high spirits.

Since then, the two of them have been in close contact. (The village of Besseringeyevka is not far from the village of Bessonov.) Nedobyskin's gratitude turned into cowardly admiration at once.Tikhon, timid, submissive and not entirely pure, fell at the feet of the invincible and impartial Pontierelle. "What a rare thing!" he thought sometimes, chatting with the prefect, staring at him... really, just staring at him like that!

(End of this chapter)