dead souls, imperial envoy

Chapter 16 Dead Souls (16)
"Well, I've ordered a samovar. I don't like tea, to tell the truth: the drink costs too much, and the price of sugar has gone up too! No samovar! Proshka! Dry the rusk Take it to Mafra, listen up: let her put it where she used to be, oh no, bring it here for me, and I'll send it back myself. Goodbye, sir, and I wish you good health, please take the letter to the Director of Civil Affairs. Yes He'll do it, he's an old friend of mine. Of course! We've been friends since we were kids!"

This monster, this huddled old man sent Chichikov out of the yard in this way, and then he had the gates locked, and then went around the warehouses to see if the watchmen were in their respective positions. At his post, the watchmen of every place were there, and as there was no pig-iron board they beat the empty barrels with sticks; at last he went to the kitchen, where he pretended to taste the servants' food. After eating a full meal of vegetable soup and porridge, he scolded everyone for stealing from him and for misconduct, and then he went back to his room.Alone in the room, he even thought of how to repay the incomparable generosity of his visitor.He thought: "Let me give him a pocket watch with a silver case. This is a good watch. It is not a zinc-copper alloy case or a bronze case. Although the mechanism is a little broken, he will repair it. He is still young. Need a pocket watch to please my fiancée! Oh, wait," he thought again, after a little consideration, "better when I die, I leave him in my will, so that he can mourn me."

But our hero is very happy even if he does not get the pocket watch.This unexpected harvest is simply picked up for nothing.In fact, not only the dead serfs, no matter how you say it, plus the escaped serfs, there are more than 200!Although, when he approached Plyushkin's village, he already had a premonition that the trip would be fruitful, but it turned out to be so profitable, which he never expected.On the way, he smiled happily, whistled for a while, put his hand to his mouth like blowing a trumpet for a while, and then sang a song, which was so extraordinary that Xie Lifan shook his head slightly when he heard it, Said: "Listen, the master can really sing!"

It was dusk as they approached the city.The shadows on the ground were blurred, and even the various objects themselves seemed to be blurred.The red and white colors on the barricades have also been blurred.The sentinel's beard seemed to have moved up his forehead, hanging high above his eyes, and his nose seemed to have never grown.Constant bumps and rumbles reminded Chichikov that the carriage was driving on the cobbled road.The street lamps had not yet been turned on, and the windows of some houses had begun to glow. There were scenes and conversations that would inevitably occur in every city at such a time in the streets and alleys: many coachmen, soldiers, various servants and some special characters in red shawls, shoes and no stockings, walking up and down the intersection like bats.Chichikov did not see any of these people, nor even a number of lean officials with walking sticks—probably returning home from a walk in the outskirts of the town.Occasionally, some female voices reached his ears, either: "You are talking nonsense, bastard! I have never allowed him to touch me!" It is: "Irreverent guy, don't play tricks, go to the police Go to the game, I will show you how good I am!" In short, it was all these words.A young man in his twenties, after watching a performance, is haunted by the streets of Spain, the night and the curly-haired beauty with a guitar in his arms. These words will make him even more imaginative.What kind of wild thoughts are not in his head!Unmoved, he went back to being Schiller's guest—but suddenly, like a thunderbolt, he was awakened by a cursed voice, and he saw himself falling back to the ground, even to the Haymarket, or When he arrived next to the tavern, the ordinary life was showing off before his eyes again.

At last the carriage jerked violently as if it had fallen into a ditch, and drove through the gate of the hotel, where Chichikov was greeted by Petrushka.Petrushka was pinching the skirts of his coat with one hand—he did not like to leave them open, and with the other he helped Chichikov out of the carriage.The clerk ran out with a candle in his hand and a large napkin over his shoulder.It is not known whether Petrushka was happy or not when the master returned. He exchanged glances with Serivan, and a smile seemed to appear on his usually serious face.The waiter lit the stairs with a candle and said, "You have been out for a long time this time."

"Yes," said Chichikov, stepping up the stairs, "how are you?"

The waiter bent down and said, "Thanks to you, a lieutenant came yesterday and stayed in room No. 16."

"Lieutenant?"

"The lieutenant from Ryazan is a few bay red horse-drawn carriages."

"Okay, okay, work hard in the future!" Chichikov finished, and went to his room.Wrinkling his nose as he passed the hall, he said to Petrushka: "You should at least open the window!"

"I did," Petrushka lied.The master knew he was lying too, but he didn't want to waste words with Petrushka anymore.After the bumpy journey, he felt very tired.He just bought a suckling pig, ate supper hastily, took off his clothes immediately, got into the bed and fell asleep beautifully. He fell asleep surprisingly fast, only those lucky people who are not afraid of flea bites, not suffering from hemorrhoids, and not too little intelligence To fall asleep so quickly.

seven rewarding
Such a wanderer is happy: he has gone through a long and quiet journey, he has experienced wind, frost, mud, dirt, sleepy postmasters, ringing horse bells, scolding, car repair, blacksmith, postman, etc. After the hard work of the coachman and all kinds of bad guys he met on the journey, he finally saw the familiar house and the oncoming warm lights; what awaited him was the familiar room, the children running and making noise, and the people who ran out to meet him. The cheering of the people and the soft-spoken tenderness punctuated by passionate kisses that are warm enough to drive away any pain in memory.Happy are those who have families, but wretched and miserable are bachelors!

Blessed is the writer: he approaches those who represent the sublime virtues of man through the obnoxious, dry characters, shocking in their pathetic truth; he never alters the elegance of his lyre. ; he picks out the exceptional few from the great tide of images that turn day and night; among revered figures.And his good luck is even more enviable: he can write those images with ease, but his reputation is also well-known to all women and children.He blinded people's eyes with enchanting smoke; he coaxed them subtly, covering up the pitiful side of life and showing them only the perfect people.People crowded around his triumphant carriage and followed him happily.He was called the greatest poet of all, and said he stood above all other geniuses in the world, as the eagle soars above the high-flying birds.The mere mention of his name makes those young and feverish hearts beat, and the eyes fill with tears of gratitude... His power is unrivaled - he is God!However, the fate and situation of another type of writers are different, because this type of writers dare to put those things that surround people's eyes all the time but turn a blind eye to confused eyes-the things that hinder the boat of our life like water plants, Shocking, horrific rubbish, the secrets of the mean, cruel, and mediocre that fill the path of a miserable and dull life—all tossed about, and wielding the indifferent carver with unrivaled force Let it appear in people's eyes as vividly as a relief!This kind of writer will not hear the cheers of the people, see the tears of gratitude, and will not be praised by the readers who are overwhelmed with emotion; nor will any young girl fly towards him with the excitement of admiration; He cannot find sweetness and happiness in the music he plays; in the end, he cannot escape the judgment of the critics, the indifferent and hypocritical contemporary critics who will judge his laborious works. He stands humiliated in the ranks of the writers who slander humanity, who will associate with him the character of his heroes, who will deprive him of his soul, his greatness of heart, and his sacred title of genius.For no contemporary critic thinks that a lens that enables one to see the stars is as miraculous as one that enables one to see the activity of bacteria; lyrical; for contemporary critics will not admit that in order to make a picture taken from a mundane life beautiful and moving, and transform it into a work of art, it needs a deep and broad mind to accommodate it; Clown gags make a world of difference!

Contemporary critics do not recognize all this, and criticize a new writer who has no popular recognition; no response, no one to sympathize, no one to care, like a homeless person, standing alone On the open road.His career as a writer is harsh, and he feels his own loneliness in his heart.A strange force pushes me to go on a long journey with my strange protagonist to see the strange life, through the smiles that the world can see and the tears that the world ignores and turns a blind eye to. review!It will be a long time before another inspiration bursts like a blizzard from a mind full of horror and genius, and then one hears that thunderous majesty with trepidation... On the road!Ignore people's frowns and scowles!hit the road!Let us plunge into life, full of turmoil and stage-coach bells, and see what Chichikov is up to.

Chichikov just woke up from a dream. He felt that he had slept well and stretched his body.He lay down for about 2 more minutes, until he hit a torreya, and remembered with joy that he now had almost four hundred serfs.He jumped out of bed immediately, and didn't even have time to appreciate his face—he liked his face very much, probably he thought the most attractive thing on his face was his chin, so he often praised it in front of his friends, especially It's time to shave.He often touched his chin and said: "My chin is so beautiful, look: it's round and round!" But at this time, he neither looked at his chin nor his face, but immediately put on the pair of embroidered clothes. Fine fine sheepskin boots of various colors—these boots sell very well in Torzhok, for Russians are not born to dress well.He probably forgot his age and his usual respectable, mature demeanor. Wearing only a Scottish kilt, he hopped around the room twice, and even kicked his ass deftly with his heel.Afterwards, he finally got down to business: he rubbed his hands triumphantly in front of the small mahogany box (much like county court officials who refused to eat would rub their hands before being invited to a table when they were out on business), and immediately went back to the small box. Pull out a stack of papers.He wanted to get the matter over as soon as possible without further delay.He intended to copy and draw up the deed of purchase himself, so as not to let the clerk profit from him.He is very familiar with the procedures of official documents.He first wrote in capital letters more than 800 years high-spirited, and then wrote the landlord XX and other words that should be written in lowercase letters.In two hours, you're done.After that, he looked carefully at the list of these serfs. Those serfs did exist, worked, planted, drove carts, drank heavily, and deceived their masters—of course it cannot be said that they were not good farmers. —and at this moment a strange emotion, which he could not even comprehend, came over him.Each list seems to embody a special character, and the serfs listed on it seem to have a special character.Almost all the serfs who belonged to Korobochka had nicknames and aliases.Plyushkin's list is simple and to the point: first and father's names only write the initials, and then click on two dots.The list opened by Sobakevich is astonishingly detailed: the merits of the serfs are impeccable - one serf is marked with "good carpenter", and the other is marked with "tips, shrewd and capable".The family history of the serf’s parents is also explained in detail, but one of the serfs named Fedotov marked it this way: “The father is unknown, he was born to the servant girl Capitolina, but he does not steal. Good character." These detailed notes make the list look very real: as if the serf on it was alive yesterday.He stared at the names of these serfs for a long time, couldn't help feeling pity in his heart, sighed and said: "Oh my God, so many of you are crowded together! My darling, what have you done all your life for a living? What kind of torment did you suffer?" His eyes couldn't help but stop at a name, which was the well-known serf who belonged to the landlady Korobochka, nicknamed Peter Saveliev who disrespected the trough.He was a little emotional again, and said: "What a long name, it takes up a whole line! You used to be a craftsman or a farmer, how did you die? Did you die drunk in a tavern, or on the road? Crushed to death by a heavy truck in his sleep?... Cork Stepan, a carpenter, a model of abstaining from alcohol. Ah! This is that Cork Stepan, the big man fit for the Guards! You may have traveled through all the provinces of Russia with an ax on your waist and a bag on your shoulders. Every meal you only bought bread for one cent and dried fish for two cents to satisfy your hunger. A hundred rubles, and probably a thousand-rouble ticket sewn into your denim trousers or tucked into your boots. Where did you die? Was it to climb the dome for a fortune? When you got to the cross, you fell off the beam and fell to your death? Was there some Uncle Mikhey standing next to you, scratching the back of your head, and saying, 'Oh, how unlucky you are! Vanya' finished Then he tied the rope himself and went up instead of you...Maxim Teliatnikov, shoemaker. Ho! shoemaker. 'Drunk like a shoemaker', so the saying goes. Boy, I know Your details. If you want to hear, I can tell you all about your experience: In the beginning, you apprenticed with a German, the German fed you, and he didn't let you hang out in the streets. It's not easy to beat your back with a belt, but you are too ingenious to be an ordinary shoemaker. The German always speaks highly of you to his wife or companions. When your apprenticeship is over, you Say, 'Now I want to open my own shop, instead of making small money like the Germans, I want to make a fortune all at once'. You pay the master a lot of rent, open a shoe store yourself, and take over a lot of money. Lots of work. Don't know where you got some rotten leathers at the cheapest price, made you two bucks on each pair of boots, but before you wait two weeks, you're being scolded You got a bloody head because all the boots you made were broken. You closed the shop and started drinking too much and wandered around in the street saying, 'It's a bad world! No way.' Ah, that's killing the Russians, and it's all the German's fault.' What kind of man is that; Elizaveta Vorobey. Phew, that's a woman! Bad luck, how did she get in here? Oh? Sobakevich, the villain, he's playing tricks here too!" It was a woman, and Chichikov was right: how she got among the male serfs we don't know, but her name The writing is very clever, and if you don't look carefully, you will think she is a man: her name means that the a at the end of the female is written with the b at the end of the masculine.

(End of this chapter)