Read the notes of a madman, private works. Notes of a madman, main character, plot, history of creation

" Poprishchin is dissatisfied that he, a nobleman, is being pushed around by the head of the department: “He has been telling me for a long time: “What is it, brother, that there is always such a jumble in your head?” Sometimes you rush around like crazy, sometimes you confuse things so much that Satan himself can’t figure it out, you put a small letter in the title, you don’t put in a number or a number.”

Plot

The story is a diary of the main character. At the beginning, he describes his life and work, as well as the people around him. Next, he writes about his feelings for the director's daughter, and soon after this, signs of madness begin to appear - he talks to her dog Medji, after which he gets hold of letters that Medji wrote to another dog. A few days later he is completely detached from reality - he realizes that he is the king of Spain. His madness is visible even from the numbers in the diary - if the diary begins on October 3, then the understanding that he is the king of Spain comes from his dates on April 43, 2000. And the further the hero plunges deeper into his fantasy. He ends up in a madhouse, but perceives it as arriving in Spain. At the end, the recordings completely lose their meaning, turning into a bunch of phrases. The last phrase of the story: “Do you know that the Algerian dey has a bump right under his nose?”

History of creation

The plot of “Notes of a Madman” goes back to two different plans of Gogol in the early 30s: to “Notes of a Mad Musician,” mentioned in the well-known list of the contents of “Arabesques,” and to the unrealized comedy “Vladimir of the 3rd Degree.” From Gogol’s letter to Ivan Dmitriev dated November 30, as well as from Pletnev’s letter to Zhukovsky dated December 8, 1832, one can see that at that time Gogol was fascinated by the stories of Vladimir Odoevsky from the series “Madhouse of Madmen”, which were later included in the series “Russian Nights” and , indeed, devoted to the development of the topic of imaginary or real madness in highly gifted (“genius”) natures. The involvement of Gogol's own plans in -34 in these stories by Odoevsky is visible from the undoubted similarity of one of them - “The Improviser” - with “Portrait”. From the same passion for Odoevsky’s romantic plots, the unrealized idea of ​​“Notes of a Mad Musician” arose, obviously; Directly related to him, “Notes of a Madman” are thereby connected, through Odoevsky’s “Madhouse”, with the romantic tradition of stories about artists. “Vladimir of the 3rd degree,” if it had been completed, would also have had a madman as its hero, significantly different, however, from the “creative” madmen in that he would have been a man who had set himself the prosaic goal of receiving the cross of Vladimir of the 3rd degree; Having not received it, he “at the end of the play... went crazy and imagined that he himself was” this order. This is a new interpretation of the theme of madness, also approaching, in a certain sense, Poprishchin’s madness.

From the idea of ​​a comedy about officials, abandoned by Gogol in 1834, a number of everyday, stylistic and plot details passed into the “Notes” created then. The general, who dreams of receiving an order and entrusts his ambitious dreams to a lapdog, is already given in “The Morning of an Official,” that is, in the surviving fragment of the beginning of the comedy, dating back to the year. In the surviving subsequent scenes of the comedy, one can easily find comedic prototypes of Poprishchin himself and his environment - in the petty officials brought up there, Schneider, Kaplunov and Petrushevich. Poprishchin's review of officials who do not like to visit the theater directly goes back to the dialogue between Schneider and Kaplunov about the German theater. At the same time, the rudeness especially emphasized in Kaplunov convinces even more strongly that it is Poprishchin who is aiming at him, calling the official who does not like the theater “a man” and a “pig.” In Petrushevich, on the contrary, we must recognize Gogol’s first attempt at that idealization of the poor official, which found its embodiment in Poprishchina himself. “He served, he served, and what did he serve,” says Petrushevich “with a bitter smile,” anticipating a similar statement by Poprishchin at the very beginning of his notes. Petrushevich’s then refusal from both the ball and the “Boston boy” marks the break with the environment that leads Poprishchin to madness. Both Kaplunov and Petrushevich were then placed in the same humiliating relationship with the boss’s lackey as Poprishchin. From Zakatishchev (later Sobachkin), on the other hand, threads stretch to that bribe-taker of “Notes” to whom “give a couple of trotters or a droshky”; Zakatishchev, in anticipation of a bribe, dreams of the same thing: “Eh, I’ll buy some nice trotters... I would also like a stroller.” Let us also compare the clerical dialectisms of the comedy (for example, the words of Kaplunov: “And he lies, the scoundrel”) with similar elements in the language of Poprishchin: “Even if you are in want”; Wed also Schneider’s office nickname: “damned little thing” and “damned heron” in “Notes”.

Thus connected with Gogol’s first comedic idea, the picture of departmental life and morals in “Notes” goes back to the personal observations of Gogol himself during his own service, from which the idea of ​​“Vladimir of the 3rd degree” grew. The story also contains biographical details of the author himself: “Zverkov’s House” near Kukushkin Bridge is the house in which Gogol himself had a friend in the 1830s and where, in addition, he himself lived at one time. The smell that Poprishchina greets this house is mentioned in Gogol’s letter to his mother dated August 13, 1829. The “Ruchevsky tailcoat” - Poprishchin’s dream - is mentioned in Gogol’s letters in 1832 to Alexander Danilevsky, the same “friend” who lived in Zverkov’s house. The hairstyle of the head of the department, which irritates Poprishchin, is also noted by Gogol in “Petersburg Notes”, as a feature drawn, apparently, from personal observations.

During the publication of the story, there were censorship difficulties, which Gogol reported in a letter to Pushkin: “Yesterday a rather unpleasant censorship notice came out regarding “Notes of a Madman”; but, thank God, today is a little better; at least I should limit myself to throwing out the best passages... If not for this delay, my book might have been published tomorrow.”

Poetics of the story

“Notes of a Madman” precisely as notes, that is, the hero’s story about himself, have no precedents or analogies in Gogol’s work. The forms of storytelling cultivated by Gogol before and after “Notes” were inapplicable to this plan. The theme of madness in three aspects at the same time (social, aesthetic and personal-biographical), which Gogol found in it, could most naturally be developed by the direct speech of the hero: with a focus on speech characteristics, with a selection of sharp dialecticisms of the official taking his notes. On the other hand, aesthetic illusionism, which suggested to Gogol the first idea of ​​such notes, made it possible to include elements of the fantastic grotesque in them (borrowed from Hoffmann's correspondence with dogs); At the same time, the hero’s well-known involvement in the world of art was natural. However, the music originally intended for this purpose did not reconcile with the finally determined type of hero, and the place of music in the official’s notes was taken by theater, a form of art with which all three aspects of the theme were equally successfully combined. The Alexandrinsky stage is therefore included in “Notes of a Madman” as one of the main places of the social drama unfolding in them. But the illusory world of theatrical aestheticism in Gogol is completely different from that of Hoffmann. There it is established as the highest reality; in Gogol, on the contrary, he is purely realistically reduced to madness in the literal, clinical sense of the word.

According to literary critic Andrei Kuznetsov, the choice is not accidental female name Sophie: “Among other characters of Russian literature bearing this name, Sofya Pavlovna Famusova from Griboyedov’s comedy “Woe from Wit” stands out, which is adjacent to Gogol’s story by developing the theme of madness (and denouncing the society around him as crazy - remember Poprishchin’s: “Rents, rents these patriots want!“). Poprishchin, as can be seen, correlates (in the case of comedy) with Chatsky after “going crazy,” that is, starting from the passage “The Year 2000...”, and before this passage he is comparable to Molchalin: his duties and attitude towards the director are very similar to Molchalin's attitude towards Famusov. Accordingly, the shaky love line between Poprishchin and Sophie receives more weight (the irony regarding Sophie’s disposition towards Poprishchin is greatly enhanced). And the remark made by Poprishchin at the moment when he remembers Sophie (a remark that has become a catchphrase): “Nothing... nothing... silence!” - directly leads us to the name of the hero Griboyedov, that is, to Molchalin.

Directly related to the idea of ​​the story is Khlestakov’s remark, which was present in the original edition of the comedy “The Inspector General”: “And how strangely Pushkin composes, imagine: in front of him stands in a glass of rum, the most glorious rum, a bottle of one hundred rubles each, which is saved only for one Austrian emperor, - and then as soon as he starts writing, the pen only tr... tr... tr... Recently he wrote this play: A cure for cholera that makes your hair stand on end. One of our officials went crazy when he read it. That same day a carriage came for him and took him to the hospital...”

Criticism

Contemporary criticism of “Arabesques” generally turned out to be friendly to Gogol’s new story.

“In the scraps from the notes of a madman,” according to the review of “Northern Bee” (1835, No. 73), “there is ... a lot of witty, funny and pitiful things. The life and character of some St. Petersburg officials is captured and sketched in a lively and original way.”

Senkovsky, who was hostile to Arabesques, also responded sympathetically, seeing in “Notes of a Madman” the same merits as in the “funny story” of Lieutenant Pirogov. True, according to Senkovsky, “Notes of a Madman” “would be better if they were connected by some idea” (“Library for Reading”, 1835, February).

Belinsky’s review turned out to be much brighter and deeper (in the article “On the Russian Tale and Gogol’s Stories”): “Take “Notes of a Madman,” this ugly grotesque, this strange, whimsical dream of the artist, this good-natured mockery of life and man, pitiful life, pitiful man, this caricature, in which there is such an abyss of poetry, such an abyss of philosophy, this mental history of illness, presented in poetic form, amazing in its truth and depth, worthy of the brush of Shakespeare: you still laugh at the simpleton, but your laughter is already dissolved in bitterness; This is laughter at a madman, whose delirium both makes him laugh and arouses compassion.” - Belinsky repeated this review in his review (1843) of “The Works of Nikolai Gogol”: “Notes of a Madman” is one of the most profound works...”

Gogol's story and psychiatry

According to psychologists and psychiatrists, “Gogol did not set himself the goal of describing the madness of an official. Under the guise of “Notes of a Madman,” he described the squalor of morals and spirituality of the bureaucratic and secular environment. Both the “friendly correspondence” of the dogs Mezhe and Fidel, and the official’s diary are filled with such sharp irony and good humor that the reader forgets about the fantastic nature of the plot of the story.

As for the nature of the official’s madness, it refers to megalomania. It occurs in the paranoid form of schizophrenia, progressive syphilitic paralysis and paranoia. In schizophrenia and progressive paralysis, delusions of megalomania are intellectually much poorer than in paranoia. Therefore, the systematized delirium of the hero of the story is of a paranoid nature, and Gogol described it vividly and believably.”

Quotes and reminiscences from “Notes of a Madman”

Leo Tolstoy has an unfinished story called “Notes of a Madman.” However, in the text of the story there are no obvious allusions to Gogol.

In our time, many texts have been written under the same name and with a similar composition, which also describe the gradual descent of a person into madness, but in a modern setting. Also, “Notes of a Madman” is a popular blog subtitle.

The diaries of Venedikt Erofeev have a similar name - “Notes of a Psychopath”.

The history of Gogol’s occasionalism “March” is curious (one of Poprishchin’s letters is dated March 86). Nabokov used it in his translation of Carroll's Anya in Wonderland, describing how the Hatter and the March Hare quarreled with Time. One of the poems in the “Part of Speech” cycle by Joseph Brodsky begins with the words “From nowhere with love, on the eleventh of March.”

According to literary critic Viktor Pivovarov, many writers of the Russian underground “came out of Notes of a Madman.”

Who are we? Andrei Monastyrsky, for example, with his “Kashirskoye Shosse” and the metaphysics of VDNKh, Prigov, screaming his sacred alphabet and writing 27 thousand poems, Zvezdochetov and his “Fly Agarics”, Yura Leiderman with delusional texts inaccessible to anyone, Kabakov with his “Man, flew into space,” Igor Makarevich, carving Pinocchio’s skull from wood. I’m silent about the St. Petersburg psychos, because I only know about them by hearsay, but they say they have a nest there. Any reader can easily add to this list.

Productions

Film adaptations

• "Notes of a Madman", Soviet film.

Theater productions

Starring Maxim Koren, production director Marianna Napalova.

Notes

Links

Works of Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol
Poems	Hanz Kuchelgarten · Dead Souls
Stories and stories	« Evenings on a Farm Near Dikanka » (Sorochinskaya fair · The evening before Ivan Kupala · May Night, or the Drowned Woman · Missing certificate · Christmas Eve · Terrible revenge · Ivan Fedorovich Shponka and his aunt · Enchanted place) · « Mirgorod "(Old world landowners · Taras Bulba · Viy · The story of how Ivan Ivanovich quarreled with Ivan Nikiforovich) · « Petersburg stories " (Nevsky Avenue · Nose · Portrait · Overcoat · Diary of a Madman) · Stroller
Dramaturgy	Marriage · Auditor · Players · Morning of a business man · Litigation · Lakeyskaya · Excerpt · Theater tour after the presentation of a new comedy
Journalism	Woman · "Boris Godunov", poem by Pushkin · About Kozlov's poetry · Sculpture, painting and music · About the Middle Ages · About teaching world history · A look at the composition of Little Russia · A few words about Pushkin · About the architecture of the present time · Al-Mamun · Life · Schlozer, Miller and Herder · About Little Russian songs · Thoughts on Geography · The last day of Pompeii · On the movement of peoples at the end of the 5th century · On the movement of magazine literature in 1834 and 1835 · Petersburg Notes of 1836 · Reviews from Sovremennik · Reviews not included in the “contemporary” · Review for “Moskvityanin” (Morning Dawn) · About Sovremennik · Selected places from correspondence with friends · About estates in the state · Author's confession · Reflections on the Divine Liturgy
Unpreserved and excerpts	Vladimir third degree · Rome · Nights at the villa · Alfred ·

Current page: 1 (book has 2 pages in total)

Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol
Diary of a Madman

October 3.

An extraordinary adventure happened today. I got up quite late in the morning, and when Mavra brought me cleaned boots, I asked what time it was. Hearing that it had already struck ten, I hurried to get dressed as quickly as possible. I admit, I would not have gone to the department at all, knowing in advance what a sour face our department head would make. He’s been telling me for a long time: “What is it, brother, that your head is always such a mess? Sometimes you rush around like crazy, sometimes you confuse things so much that Satan himself can’t figure it out, you put a small letter in the title, you don’t put in a number or number.” Damn heron! He is probably jealous that I am sitting in the director’s office and sharpening pens for His Excellency. In a word, I would not have gone to the department if it were not for the hope of seeing the treasurer and perhaps begging from this Jew at least some of his salary in advance. Here's another creation! So that he would someday give out money in advance for a month - my God, may the Last Judgment come sooner. Ask, even if you ask, even if you are in need, he won’t give it away, the gray devil. And at the apartment, his own cook hits him on the cheeks. The whole world knows this. I don't understand the benefits of serving in the department. No resources at all. In the provincial government, civil and state chambers, it’s a completely different matter: there, you look, someone is huddled in the very corner and peeing. The guy on him is disgusting, his face is so bad you want to spit, but look at the dacha he’s renting! Don’t bring a gilded porcelain cup to him: “This,” he says, “is a doctor’s gift”; and give him a couple of trotters, or a droshky, or a beaver worth three hundred rubles. He looks so quiet, he says so delicately: “Lend me a knife to fix the feather,” and then he cleans it so much that he leaves only one shirt on the petitioner. True, but our service is noble, the cleanliness in everything is such that provincial government will never see: the tables are made of mahogany, and all the bosses are on You. Yes, I admit, if it weren’t for the nobility of the service, I would have left the department a long time ago.

I put on an old overcoat and took an umbrella because it was pouring rain. There was no one on the streets; Only women, covered with the skirts of their dresses, and Russian merchants under umbrellas, and couriers caught my eye. Of the nobles, only our official brother came across to me. I saw him at the crossroads. When I saw him, I immediately said to myself: “Hey! no, my dear, you’re not going to the department, you’re hurrying after the one running ahead and looking at her legs.” What kind of beast is our brother official! By God, he won’t yield to any officer: if someone walks by in a hat, he’ll certainly catch on. As I was thinking this, I saw a carriage drive up to the store I was passing by. I recognized it now: it was our director’s carriage. “But he has no need to go to the store,” I thought, “that’s right, this is his daughter.” I pressed myself against the wall. The footman opened the doors, and she flew out of the carriage like a bird. How she looked to the right and to the left, how she flashed her eyebrows and eyes... Lord, my God! I was lost, completely lost. And why would she go out in such a rainy season? Now affirm that women have no great passion for all these rags. She didn’t recognize me, and I myself deliberately tried to wrap myself up as much as possible, because I was wearing a very dirty overcoat and, moreover, an old style. Nowadays they wear cloaks with long collars, but I had short ones, one on top of the other; and the cloth is not degassed at all. Her little dog, not having time to jump into the door of the store, remained on the street. I know this little dog. Her name is Meji. I didn’t have time to stay a minute when I suddenly heard a thin voice: “Hello, Madji!” Here you go! Who is speaking? I looked around and saw two ladies walking under an umbrella: one old woman, the other young; but they had already passed, and next to me I heard again: “It’s a sin to you, Medzhi!” What the hell! I saw that Madji was sniffing with the little dog that was following the ladies. "Hey!" I said to myself: “Come on, am I drunk? Only this seems to rarely happen to me.” “No, Fidel, you’re wrong to think,” I saw for myself what Meji said: “I was, aw! aw! I was, aw, aw, aw! very sick." Oh, you little dog! I admit, I was very surprised to hear her speak humanly. But later, when I understood all this well, then I stopped being surprised. Indeed, many similar examples have already happened in the world. They say that a fish swam out in England and said two words in such a strange language that scientists have been trying to determine for three years and still have not discovered anything. I also read in the newspapers about two cows who came to the shop and asked for a pound of tea. But, I admit, I was much more surprised when Meji said: “I wrote to you, Fidel; It’s true that Polkan didn’t bring my letter!” Yes, so that I don’t receive a salary! I have never heard in my life that a dog can pee. Only a nobleman can write correctly. Of course, some merchants, clerks and even serfs sometimes add it; but their writing is mostly mechanical: no commas, no periods, not a syllable.

This surprised me. I confess that recently I sometimes begin to hear and see things that no one has ever seen or heard before. “I’ll go,” I said to myself, “after this little dog and find out what she thinks.”

I unfurled my umbrella and followed the two ladies. We crossed to Gorokhovaya, turned to Meshchanskaya, from there to Stolyarnaya, finally to the Kokushkin Bridge and stopped in front of a large house. “I know this house,” I said to myself. “This is Zverkov’s house.” What a car! What kind of people don’t live there: how many cooks, how many visitors! and our brother officials are like dogs, one sits on top of the other. I have a friend there who plays the trumpet well. The ladies went up to the fifth floor. “Okay,” I thought, “now I won’t go, but I’ll notice the place and at the first opportunity I won’t fail to take advantage.”

October 4.

Today is Wednesday, and that’s why I was in our boss’s office. I purposely came early and, having sat down, rearranged all the feathers. Our director must be a very smart person. His entire office is lined with bookcases. I read the titles of some: all erudition, such erudition that our brother doesn’t even have an attack: everything is either in French or German. And look at his face: wow, what importance shines in his eyes! I've never heard him say an extra word. Only, when you submit the papers, will he ask: “What’s it like outside?” - “Damp, Your Excellency!” Yes, no match for our brother! Statesman. I notice, however, that he especially loves me. If only I had a daughter... oh, filth!.. Nothing, nothing, silence! I read Little Bee. What a stupid French people! Well, what do they want? I would, by God, take them all and flog them with rods! There I also read a very pleasant depiction of a ball, described by a Kursk landowner. Kursk landowners write well. After that, I noticed that it was already half past twelve, and ours had not left his bedroom. But at about half past two an incident occurred which no pen can describe. The door opened, I thought it was the director, and I jumped out of my chair with the papers; but it was she, herself! Holy saints, how she was dressed! her dress was white, like a swan: wow, so lush! and how I looked: the sun, by God, the sun! She bowed and said, “Daddy wasn’t here?” Ah, ah, ah! what a voice! Canary, really, canary! “Your Excellency,” I wanted to say, “do not order execution, but if you already want to execute, then execute with your general’s hand.” Yes, damn it, somehow I couldn’t move my tongue, and I only said: “No way, sir.” She looked at me, at the books, and dropped her handkerchief. I rushed as fast as I could, slipped on the damned parquet floor and almost broke my nose, but I held on and took out a handkerchief. Saints, what a scarf! the finest, cambric - amber, perfect amber! he exudes generalism. She thanked him and smiled a little, so that her sugar lips hardly touched, and then left. I sat for another hour when suddenly a footman came and said: “Go home, Aksenty Ivanovich, the master has already left home.” I can’t stand the circle of footmen: they always fall apart in the hall, and even if they bothered to nod their heads. This is not enough: once one of these beasts decided to ply me with tobacco without getting up from my seat. Do you know, stupid serf, that I am an official, I am of noble birth. However, I took my hat and put on my overcoat, because these gentlemen would never serve, and went out. At home I mostly lay on my bed. Then he rewrote some very good poems: “I haven’t seen my darling for an hour, I thought I haven’t seen him for a year; Having hated my life, Should I live, I said.” It must be Pushkin's work. In the evening, wrapped in an overcoat, I walked to Her Excellency’s entrance and waited for a long time to see if she would come out to get into the carriage to have another look, but no, she didn’t come out.

November 6.

The head of the department made me angry. When I arrived at the department, he called me over and started talking to me like this: “Well, please tell me, what are you doing?” - "Like what? “I’m not doing anything,” I answered. “Well, think carefully! After all, you are already over forty years old - it’s time to gain some sense. What do you imagine? Do you think I don't know all your mischief? After all, you are dragging after the director's daughter! Well, look at you, just think, what are you? After all, you are zero, nothing more. After all, you don’t have a penny to your name. Just look at your face in the mirror, why should you think about that!” Damn it, his face looks somewhat like an apothecary bottle, and there is a tuft of hair on his head, curled with a tuft, and he holds it up, and smears it with some kind of rosette, so he already thinks that he is the only one who can do everything. I understand, I understand why he is angry with me. He is envious; he saw, perhaps, signs of favor shown to me preferably. Yes, I spit on him! Great importance is the court councilor! hung a gold chain for his watch, ordered boots for thirty rubles - damn him! Am I one of the commoners, a tailor, or a non-commissioned officer's child? I'm a nobleman. Well, I can get promoted too. I am still forty-two years old - the time at which, in fact, the service is just beginning. Wait a minute, buddy! We will also be a colonel, and maybe, God willing, something more. Let’s get ourselves a reputation that’s even better than yours. What did you get into your head, that besides you, there is no longer any decent person? Give me a Ruchev tailcoat, tailored in fashion, and if I tie myself a tie just like you, then you won’t hold a candle to me. There is no income - that’s the problem.

November 8.

I was at the theater. They played the Russian fool Filatka. Laughed a lot. There was also some kind of vaudeville with funny rhymes on the solicitors, especially on one college registrar, written very freely, so that I was amazed how the censorship missed it, and they directly say about the merchants that they are deceiving the people and that their sons are rowdy and interfering with the nobility . There is also a very funny couplet about journalists: that they love to scold everyone and that the author asks for protection from the public. Writers are writing very funny plays these days. I love going to the theater. As soon as you have a penny in your pocket, you can’t resist going. But some of our officials are such pigs: they absolutely won’t go to the theater, man; Are you going to give him a ticket for free? One actress sang very well. I remembered that... oh, channel!.. nothing, nothing... silence.

November 9.

At eight o'clock I went to the department. The head of the department looked as if he had not noticed my arrival. For my part, too, it was as if nothing had happened between us. I reviewed and compared papers. Left at four o'clock. I walked past the director's apartment, but there was no one in sight. After dinner I spent most of my time lying on the bed.

November 11.

Today I sat in our director’s office, fixed twenty-three pens for him and for her, ah! ah!.. for Her Excellency four feathers. He really likes to have a lot of feathers. Uh! there must be a head! Everything is silent, but in my head, I think, everything is discussed. I would like to know what he thinks about most; What's going on in that head? I would like to take a closer look at the life of these gentlemen, all these equivocations and court things - how they are, what they do in their circle - that’s what I would like to know! I thought several times to start a conversation with His Excellency, but, damn it, I just can’t listen to my tongue: you can only say whether it’s cold or warm outside, but you can’t say anything else. I would like to look into the living room, where you only sometimes see the door open, behind the living room into another room. Oh, what a rich decoration! What mirrors and porcelains! I would like to look there, at the half where Her Excellency is - that’s where I would like to go! In the boudoir: how there are all these jars, bottles, flowers, such that it’s scary to breathe on them; how her dress lay scattered there, more like air than a dress. I would like to look into the bedroom... there, I think, are miracles, there, I think, is paradise, like there is no heaven. I would like to see the little stool on which she places her foot when getting out of bed, how she puts a white stocking like snow on this foot... ah! ah! ah! nothing, nothing... silence.

Today, however, a light seemed to illuminate me: I remembered that conversation between two little dogs that I heard on Nevsky Prospekt. “Okay,” I thought to myself, “now I know everything. We need to capture the correspondence that these crappy little dogs had between themselves. There I’ll probably learn something.” I admit, I even called Medzhi to me once and said: “Listen, Medzhi, now we are alone; Whenever you want, I’ll lock the door so no one can see - tell me everything you know about the young lady, who she is and how she’s doing? I promise you that I won’t reveal it to anyone.” But the cunning dog tucked its tail, shrunk in half and quietly walked out the door as if it had not heard anything. I have long suspected that a dog is much smarter than a man; I was even sure that she could speak, but that there was only some kind of stubbornness in her. She is an extraordinary politician: she notices everything, every step of a person. No, by all means, tomorrow I will go to Zverkov’s house, interrogate Fidel and, if possible, intercept all the letters that Medzhi wrote to her.

November 12.

At two o'clock in the afternoon I set off in order to definitely see Fidel and interrogate her. I hate cabbage, the smell of which emanates from all the small shops in Meshchanskaya; Moreover, from under the gates of each house there was such hell that I, holding my nose, ran at full speed. And the vile artisans release so much soot and smoke from their workshops that it is absolutely impossible for a noble person to walk here. When I made my way to the sixth floor and rang the bell, a girl came out, not completely bad-looking, with small freckles. I recognized her. It was the same one who walked with the old woman. She blushed a little, and I immediately realized: you, my dear, want a groom. “What do you want?” she said. “I need to talk to your little dog.” The girl was stupid! I have now learned that I am stupid! At this time the little dog came running barking; I wanted to grab her, but the vile thing almost grabbed my nose with her teeth. I saw, however, her basket in the corner. Eh, that's what I need! I went up to him, rummaged through the straw in the wooden box and, to my extraordinary pleasure, pulled out a small bundle of small pieces of paper. The nasty little dog, seeing this, first bit me on the calf, and then, when she sniffed that I had taken the papers, she began to squeal and fawn, but I said: “No, my dear, goodbye!” and started to run. I think the girl mistook me for a crazy person because she was extremely scared. Having arrived home, I wanted to get to work right away and sort out these letters, because by candlelight I see somewhat poorly. But Mavra decided to wash the floor. These stupid Chukhonki are always inappropriately clean. And so I went for a walk and thought about this incident. Now, finally, I will find out all the deeds, thoughts, all these springs and will finally get to everything. These letters will reveal everything to me. Dogs are smart people, they know all political relations, and therefore, it’s true, everything will be there: a portrait and all the affairs of this husband. There will be something about the one who... nothing, silence! In the evening I came home. Mostly he lay on the bed.

November 13.

Well, let's see: the letter is quite clear. However, everything in the handwriting looks like something doglike. Let's read:

Dear Fidel! I still can’t get used to your bourgeois name. As if they couldn’t give you anything better? Fidel, Rosa - what a vulgar tone! however, all this is aside. I am very glad that we decided to write to each other.

The letter is written very correctly. Punctuation and even the letter ъ are in their place everywhere. Yes, even our head of department simply won’t write like that, although he explains that he studied at a university somewhere. Let's look further:

It seems to me that sharing thoughts, feelings and impressions with another is one of the first blessings in the world.

Hm! the idea was drawn from one work translated from German. I don't remember the name.

I say this from experience, although I have not run around the world further than the gates of our house. Isn't my life spent in pleasure? My young lady, whom dad calls Sophie, loves me madly.

Ay, ay!.. nothing, nothing. Silence!

Dad also caresses her very often. I drink tea and coffee with cream. Ah, ma chere 1
My dear.

I have to tell you that I don’t see any pleasure in the big gnawed bones that our Polkan eats in the kitchen. Bones are good only from game, and moreover, when no one has yet sucked the brains out of them. It is very good to mix several sauces together, but only without capers and without herbs; but I don’t know anything worse than the habit of giving dogs balls of bread. Some gentleman sitting at the table, who held all sorts of rubbish in his hands, will begin to knead the bread with these hands, call you over and put a ball in your teeth. It’s somehow rude to refuse, so eat; with disgust, but eat...

The devil knows what it is! What nonsense! As if there was no better subject to write about. Let's see on another page. Wouldn't there be something more specific?

I am very willing to inform you about all the incidents that happen to us. I have already told you something about the main gentleman, whom Sophie calls Papa. This is a very strange man.

A! here it is at last! Yes, I knew: they have a political view on all subjects. Let's see what dad:

...a very strange man. He is more silent. Speaks very rarely; but a week ago I was constantly talking to myself: “Will I get it or not?” He will take a piece of paper in one hand, fold the other empty and say: “Will I receive it or not?” Once he turned to me with a question: “What do you think, will I get Medji or not?” I couldn’t understand anything at all, I sniffed his boot and walked away. Then, ma chere, a week later dad came back in great joy. All morning gentlemen in uniforms came to him and congratulated him on something. At the table he was as cheerful as I had ever seen, telling jokes, and after dinner he lifted me to his neck and said: “Look, Madji, what this is.” I saw some kind of ribbon. I smelled it, but decidedly did not find any aroma; Finally, she slowly licked it: it was a little salty.

Hm! This little dog, it seems to me, is too much... to not be whipped! A! He's so ambitious! This is something to take note of.

Goodbye! ma here! I’m running and so on... and so on... Tomorrow I’ll finish the letter. Well hello! I'm with you again now. Today my young lady Sophie...

A! Well, let's see what Sophie. Eh, channel!.. Nothing, nothing... let's continue.

...my young lady Sophie was in extreme turmoil. She was getting ready for a ball, and I was glad that in her absence I could write to you. My Sophie is always extremely happy to go to the ball, although she always gets almost angry when she gets dressed. I just don’t understand, ma chere, the pleasure of going to a ball. Sophie arrives home from the ball at six o'clock in the morning, and I can almost always guess from her pale and skinny appearance that she, poor thing, was not allowed to eat there. I admit, I could never live like that. If they hadn’t given me hazel grouse sauce or fried chicken wings, then... I don’t know what would have happened to me. The sauce with porridge is also good. But carrots, or turnips, or artichokes will never be good...

Extremely uneven syllable. It is immediately clear that it was not a person who wrote. It will start as it should, but will end like a dog. Let's look at one more letter. It's a bit long. Hm! and the number is not posted.

Oh! dear, how you can feel the approach of spring. My heart is beating, as if everything is expecting something. There is a constant noise in my ears, so I often stand with my feet up for several minutes, listening to the doors. I will tell you that I have many courtesans. I often sit on the window and look at them. Oh, if you only knew what kind of freaks there are between them. Some are very tacky, a mongrel, terribly stupid, stupidity written all over their face, walks pompously down the street and imagines that he is a noble person, thinks that everyone will stare at him like that. Not at all. I didn’t even pay attention, since I wouldn’t have seen him. And what a terrible Great Dane stops in front of my window! If he stood on his hind legs, which, the brute, he probably can’t do, he would be a whole head taller than my Sophie’s dad, who is also quite tall and stout. This idiot must be a terrible insolent person. I grumbled at him, but he doesn’t need enough. At least he winced! stuck out his tongue, hung his huge ears and looked out the window - such a man! But do you really think, ma chere, that my heart is indifferent to all quests - oh no... If you saw one gentleman climbing over the fence of a neighboring house, named Trezor. Oh, ma chere, what a face he has!

Ugh, to hell!.. What rubbish!.. And how can you fill letters with such nonsense. Give me a man! I want to see a person; I demand food - that which would nourish and delight my soul; but instead of such trifles... let’s turn the page, wouldn’t it be better:

...Sophie was sitting at the table and sewing something. I looked out the window because I like to look at passersby. Suddenly a footman came in and said: “Teplov” - “Ask,” Sophie screamed and rushed to hug me... “Ah, Medzhi, Medzhi!” If only you knew who it is: a dark-haired man, a cadet cadet, and what eyes! black and light, like fire,” and Sophie ran away to her place. A minute later, a young chamberlain with black sideburns entered, went to the mirror, straightened his hair and looked around the room. I grumbled and sat down in my seat. Sophie soon came out and bowed cheerfully at his shuffling; and I, as if not noticing anything, continued to look out the window; however, she tilted her head slightly to one side and tried to hear. what are they talking about. Ah, ma chere, what nonsense they were talking about. They talked about how one lady in a dance made another figure instead of one; also that a certain Bobov looked very much like a stork in his frill and almost fell; that some Lidina imagines that she has Blue eyes, while they are green - and the like. “Where is it,” I thought to myself, “if we compare the chamber cadet with Trezor!” Sky! who cares! Firstly, the chamber cadet has a completely smooth wide face and whiskers around it, as if he had tied a black scarf around it; and Trezor has a thin muzzle and a white bald spot on his very forehead. Trezor’s waist cannot be compared with that of a military cadet. And the eyes, techniques, and grips are completely different. Oh, what a difference! I don’t know, ma chere, what she found in her Teplov. Why does she admire him so much?..

It seems to me that something is wrong here. It is impossible that she could be so enchanted by a chamber cadet. Let's look further:

It seems to me that if you like this chamber cadet, then you will soon like the official who sits in your dad’s office. Ah, ma chere, if you only knew what a freak he is. A perfect turtle in a bag...

What kind of official would this be?..

His last name is strange. He always sits and mends his feathers. The hair on his head is very similar to hay. Dad always sends him instead of a servant.

It seems to me that this vile dog is aiming at me. Where is my hair like hay?

Sophie can't stop laughing when she looks at him.

You're lying, damned little dog! What a vile language! As if I don't know that this is a matter of envy. It's like I don't know whose stuff is here. This is the stuff of the head of the department. After all, a person swore an oath of irreconcilable hatred - and now he harms and harms, at every step he harms. Let's look, however, at one more letter. There, perhaps, the matter will reveal itself.

Ma chere Fidel, forgive me for not writing for so long. I was in complete ecstasy. Some writer truly rightly said that love is a second life. Moreover, there are big changes in our house now. We now have a cadet cadet every day. Sophie is madly in love with him. Dad is very cheerful. I even heard from our Gregory, who sweeps the floor and always almost talks to himself, that there will be a wedding soon; because dad definitely wants to see Sophie either as a general, or as a chamber cadet, or as a military colonel...

Damn it! I can’t read anymore... Everyone is either a chamber cadet or a general. Everything that is best in the world goes to either the chamber cadets or the generals. You find some poor wealth and you think of getting it by hand, the chamber cadet or general breaks it from you. Damn it! I would like to become a general myself: not in order to get a hand and so on, no, I would like to be a general just to see how they will wriggle around and do all these different court things and equivocations, and then tell them that I spit on both of you. Damn it. It's a shame! I tore the stupid little dog's letters to shreds.

December 3.

Can't be. Liars! There won't be a wedding! So what if he's a chamberlain cadet? After all, this is nothing more than dignity; not some visible thing that you can pick up. After all, being a chamberlain cadet will not add a third eye to your forehead. After all, his nose is not made of gold, but just like mine, like everyone else’s; After all, he smells it, not eats it, sneezes, not coughs. Several times I have already wanted to find out why all these differences occur. Why am I a titular councilor and why on earth am I a titular councilor? Maybe I’m some kind of count or general, but this is the only way I seem to be a titular adviser? Maybe I myself don’t know who I am. After all, there are so many examples in history: some simple person, not exactly a nobleman, but just some tradesman or even a peasant, and suddenly it turns out that he is some kind of nobleman, and sometimes even a sovereign. When something like this sometimes comes out of a peasant, what can come out of a nobleman? Suddenly, for example, I walk in wearing a general’s uniform: I have an epaulette on my right shoulder, an epaulette on my left shoulder, a blue ribbon over my shoulder - what? How will my beauty sing then? What will dad himself, our director, say? Oh, he is a great ambitious man! this is a Mason, certainly a Mason, although he pretends to be this and that, but I immediately noticed that he is a Mason: if he gives his hand to someone, he sticks out only two fingers. But can’t I be granted a governor-general, or a quartermaster, or some other thing this very minute? I would like to know why I am a titular councilor? Why titular adviser?

December 5.

I've been reading newspapers all morning today. Strange things are happening in Spain. I couldn't even make them out well. They write that the throne has been abolished and that the ranks are in a difficult situation about electing an heir and that is why there are disturbances. I find this extremely strange. How can the throne be abolished? They say that some donna should ascend to the throne. Donna cannot ascend to the throne. No way. There must be a king on the throne. Yes, they say there is no king - it cannot be that there is no king. A state cannot exist without a king. There is a king, but he is somewhere in the unknown. He may be there, but some family reasons, or fears from neighboring powers, such as France and other lands, force him to hide, or there are some other reasons.

December 8.

I really wanted to go to the department, but various reasons and thoughts held me back. I couldn't get Spanish affairs out of my head. How can it be that Donna becomes queen? They won't allow this. And, firstly, England will not allow it. And besides, political affairs throughout Europe: the Austrian emperor, our sovereign... I admit, these incidents killed and shocked me so much that I absolutely could not do anything all day. Mavra noticed to me that I was extremely entertained at the table. And sure enough, I seemed to absent-mindedly throw two plates on the floor, which immediately broke. After lunch I went to the mountains. I couldn't learn anything instructive. Mostly he lay on his bed and talked about the affairs of Spain.

Today is the day of the greatest celebration! Spain has a king. He was found. I am this king. It was only today that I found out about this. I admit, it was as if I was suddenly illuminated by lightning. I don’t understand how I could think and imagine that I was a titular councilor. How could this crazy thought come into my head? It’s good that no one had yet thought of putting me in a madhouse then. Now everything is open to me. Now I see everything in full view. But before, I don’t understand, before everything was in front of me in some kind of fog. And this all happens, I think, because people imagine that the human brain is in the head; not at all: it is brought by the wind from the Caspian Sea. First I told Mavra who I was. When she heard that the Spanish king was in front of her, she clasped her hands and almost died of fear. She, stupid, had never seen the Spanish king before. I, however, tried to calm her down and in merciful words tried to assure her of my favor, and that I was not at all angry because she sometimes cleaned my boots badly. After all, these are black people. They are not allowed to talk about lofty matters. She was frightened because she believed that all the kings in Spain were like Philip II. But I explained to her that there was no resemblance between me and Philip and that I didn’t have a single capuchin... I didn’t go to the department... To hell with it! No, buddies, you can’t lure me in now; I won’t rewrite your nasty papers!

March 86th. Between day and night.

Today our executor came to tell me to go to the department, that it has been more than three weeks since I went to work. I went to the department as a joke. The head of the department thought that I would bow to him and begin to apologize, but I looked at him indifferently, not too angry and not too favorably, and sat down in my place, as if not noticing anyone. I looked at all the office bastard and thought: “What if you knew who was sitting between you... Lord God! what a mess you would make, and the head of the department himself would begin to bow to me from the waist in the same way as he now bows to the director.” They put some papers in front of me so that I could make an extract from them. But I didn’t even lay a finger on it. A few minutes later everything began to bustle. They said the director was coming. Many officials rushed to show themselves to him. But I'm not moving. When he passed through our department, everyone buttoned up their tailcoats; but I'm absolutely fine! What a director! for me to stand in front of him - never! What kind of director is he? He's a traffic jam, not a director. An ordinary cork, a simple cork, nothing more. This is what bottles are sealed with. The funniest thing for me was when they handed me a piece of paper to sign. They thought that I would write on the very tip of the sheet: the head of such and such. No matter how it is! and in the most important place where the director of the department signs, I scribbled: “Ferdinand VIII.” You should have seen the reverent silence that reigned; but I only nodded with my hand, saying: “No signs of submission are needed!” - and left. From there I went straight to the director's apartment. He was not home. The footman wanted not to let me in, but I told him so much that he gave up. I went straight to the restroom. She was sitting in front of the mirror, jumped up and stepped away from me. I, however, did not tell her that I was the Spanish king. I only said that happiness awaits her such as she cannot even imagine, and that, despite the intrigues of the enemies, we will be together. I didn’t want to say anything more and left. Oh, this insidious creature is a woman! I have just now realized what a woman is. Until now, no one has yet found out who she is in love with: I was the first to discover it. A woman is in love with a devil. Yes, not kidding. Physicists write nonsense that she is this and that - she loves only one devil. You see, from the box on the first tier she aims her lorgnette. Do you think that she is looking at this fat man with a star? Not at all, she looks at the devil who is standing behind him. There he hid in his tailcoat. There he is, pointing his finger at her from there! And she will marry him. It will come out. But all these people, their bureaucratic fathers, all these people, are running around in all directions and coming to the courtyard and saying that they are patriots and this and that: these patriots want rent, rent! Mother, father, God will be sold for money, ambitious people, sellers of Christ! All this is ambition, and ambition because under the tongue there is a small vial and in it a small worm the size of a pinhead, and all this is done by some barber who lives in Gorokhovaya. I don't remember his name; but it is reliably known that he, together with one midwife, wants to spread Mohammedanism throughout the world, and that is why, they say, in France most of the people recognize the faith of Mohammed.

A few words about N.V. Gogol

When I was doing teaching practice at school, as a fourth-year student, I was lucky enough to give tenth-graders lessons on Gogol’s works. As a result, the schoolchildren nicknamed me Gogol: probably, it was influenced not only by the theme of the lessons, but also by the portrait resemblance, which, perhaps, is present, especially in the shape of the nose. And Gogol paid increased attention to the nose in his work.

This is me, photo from the creative evening

And since we're talking about portraits, let's give the floor V. Nabokov, describing the above daguerreotype as follows: “ In this photograph he is depicted in three-quarter view and holds in the thin fingers of his right hand an elegant cane with a bone knob (like a cane - a writing pen). Long, but neatly smoothed hair is parted on the left side. The unpleasant mouth is decorated with thin mustaches. The nose is large and sharp, matching the other sharp features of the face. Dark shadows, like those that surround the eyes of romantic heroes of old cinema, give his gaze a deep and somewhat haunted expression. He is wearing a frock coat with wide lapels and a smart vest. And if the faded imprint of the past could bloom with colors, we would see the bottle-green color of the vest with orange and purple sparkles, small blue eyes; in essence, it resembles the skin of some overseas reptile" Nabokov states that " in Switzerland he spent the whole day killing lizards that crawled onto sunny mountain paths. The cane he used for this can be seen in a daguerreotype taken in Rome in 1845." But this statement may not be trusted, since Nabokov is not always accurate, is very prone to hoaxes, and the killing of lizards was drawn from a source unknown to me. The image itself is very symbolic: the feather cane is used to fight creeping reptiles, creatures of the infernal world - very similar to the image of Gogol the writer.

N.V. Gogol is best known to everyone as a prose writer and playwright, but he, in addition, was both a publicist and a literary critic, wrote poetry and was even a teacher of the Church - he has, for example, a catechetical (i.e., church-educational) work "Reflections on the Divine Liturgy" . By the way, in none of the theological works have I come across such a brief and succinct definition of the Liturgy as is present in the “Introduction” of Gogol’s book: « The Divine Liturgy is an eternal repetition of the great feat of love that has been accomplished for us».

Gogol is one of the most mystical Russian writers; First of all, the concept itself is associated with his name "mystical realism" as an artistic method, which was later used by Dostoevsky, Bulgakov and other major writers who allowed the otherworldly into their artistic world. It was based on Gogol's work that the only Soviet horror film was made - "Viy", of course. In Gogol's works, almost more often than in other writers, the devil is mentioned - and not only remembered, but also depicted, for example, in "The Night Before Christmas."

As V. Nabokov expressively wrote, “the underdeveloped, wobbling hypostasis of the unclean, with whom Gogol mainly communicated, is for every decent Russian a frail foreigner, a shaking, frail imp with toad blood, on skinny German, Polish and French legs, a prowling petty scoundrel, inexpressibly disgusting. Crushing him is both sickening and sweet, but his writhing black flesh is so vile that no force in the world will force you to do it with your bare hands, and if you get to him with some kind of weapon, you will shudder with disgust" But there were other types of demons, which in Gogol’s works acquired features of frightening authenticity. In my poem "Shadow" , the drunken lyrical hero talks with his own shadow, which, of course, is not just a shadow. She refers to Gogol as an expert on otherworldly visitors. I will quote a couple of quatrains:

"Drink as much as you like, please."

Break your glasses, sprinkle your verses,

But don't complain to me later,

What kind of hari do you see?

With tails, horns, hooves -

Yes, they were described by a certain Gogol...” -

“Listen, you curious mug,

Get away from here for God’s sake!”

Biography of N.V. Gogol’s work is very peculiar: a solitary monastic life, strangely combined with a “wanderlust”, more like a constant escape; and creativity - grotesque-phantasmagorical, epic-lyrical, mystical, satirical and preaching; and the burned second volume of Dead Souls; and a unique death as a result of extreme fasting; and legends associated with lethargic sleep and a head stolen from the grave... There is room for a biographer to roam. WITH biography N.V. Gogol can be found, the article from "Wikipedia" .

Portrait gallery

V.A. Gogol-Yanovsky, the writer's father; M.I. Gogol-Yanovskaya (Kosyarovskaya),
writer's mother

Portraits of N.V. Gogol

F. Moller A.I. Ivanov

B. Karpov F. Jordan

K. Mather E.A. Dmitriev-Mamonov

Two graves

Grave N.V. Gogol at the Novodevichy cemetery in Moscow;

Former grave of N.V. Gogol in the St. Daniel Monastery in Moscow

"Diary of a Madman"

The plot of “Notes of a Madman” goes back to two different plans of Gogol in the early 30s: to "Notes of a Mad Musician" and to the unrealized comedy "Vladimir 3rd degree" . At that time, Gogol was fascinated by the stories of Vladimir Odoevsky from the series "Madhouse" , devoted to the development of the topic of imaginary or real madness in highly gifted natures. From Odoevsky’s fascination with romantic plots, the unrealized idea of ​​“Notes of a Mad Musician” arose, obviously. “Vladimir of the 3rd degree,” if it had been completed, would also have had a madman as its hero, different, however, from the “creative” madmen in that he would have been a man who had set himself the prosaic goal of receiving the cross of Vladimir of the 3rd degree; Having not received it, he “at the end of the play... went crazy and imagined that he himself was” this order. Instead of these two things, one was written - absolutely brilliant.

Illustration by O. Besedin

Please check out text of the story or listen to it in audio format

The story is structured in the form of a diary of Aksentiy Ivanovich Poprishchin, a titular adviser, i.e. a minor official who served as a department head (“ They thought that I would write on the very tip of the sheet: the head of such and such"). This position was slightly higher than that of Akaki Akakievich Bashmachkin, the hero of “The Overcoat,” who, being also a titular adviser, served as a clerk, but did not bring much income: from the very first diary entry dated October 3, we learn that the hero went to the department solely for in order to try to beg for a month's salary in advance and preparing in advance for the failure of this enterprise. He is dissatisfied with the service as a source of income: “ I don't understand the benefits of serving in the department. No resources at all. In the provincial government, civil and state chambers, it’s a completely different matter: there, you look, someone is huddled in the very corner and peeing. The guy on him is disgusting, his face is so bad you want to spit, but look at the dacha he’s renting! “The only thing that suits him at his place of service is its nobility: “ True, but our service is noble, cleanliness in everything is such that provincial government will never see: tables are made of mahogany, and all the bosses are on your side." Already in this one can see the first signs of megalomania, which will blossom wildly later: the hero values ​​polite treatment from his superiors and the high status of the institution in which he serves more than salary. So far this is nothing more than pride or self-esteem, but there will be more in the future.

On the street, on the way to the department, the hero sees an official walking behind a young lady and exclaims: “ What kind of beast is our brother official! By God, he won’t yield to any officer: if someone walks by in a hat, he’ll certainly catch your eye" This statement was unlikely to correspond to reality - where can an official compete with an officer in terms of amorous affairs! - but on the other hand it increased Poprishchin’s own status and ranked him in the category of real ladies’ man. This is no longer a completely sensible assessment of reality, let us take note.

Next, the hero sees the director’s daughter, who has arrived at the store, presses herself against the wall and wraps herself in an overcoat so as not to be recognized, and the reader learns that the hero is in love with this young lady: “ How she looked to the right and to the left, how she flashed her eyebrows and eyes... Lord, my God! I'm lost, completely lost" It’s not entirely appropriate to talk about delusions of grandeur here, since you can’t command your heart. But this love will be the starting point for mania to develop: the hero must correspond to this heavenly creature, must be worthy of this high-status young lady... And how can this be achieved?

His feelings are in turmoil, and at this very moment he hears a conversation between the dogs Meji (the young lady) and Fidel (I think, no offense to Castro, in this story Fidel is a bitch nickname). This is already a clear sign of insanity, but how does the hero perceive this circumstance? " I admit, I was very surprised to hear her speak humanly. But later, when I understood all this well, then I stopped being surprised. Indeed, many similar examples have already happened in the world." He read these examples (about cows entering a store and asking for a pound of tea) in newspapers and perceived them completely uncritically. It is clear that the border between the possible and the impossible is already blurred for the hero.

Illustration by E. Vizin

He was truly surprised only by the conversation about the correspondence between Meji and Fidel: “ I have never heard in my life that a dog can pee. Only a nobleman can write correctly" As you can easily see, what surprises the hero is not that the dog is capable of writing letters, but that the dog, without having nobility, writes them. The hero's further behavior, namely tracking down where Fidel lives and the intention, having taken possession of the dog's correspondence, to find out something important about the owner Medzhi, tells us about a serious flaw in the hero's perception of reality.

The next day, October 4, Poprishchin met with the young lady, whom he describes in an absolutely enthusiastic tone, remembering both God and all the saints: “ Saints, how she was dressed!.. and how she looked: the sun, by God, the sun!.. Ah, ah, ah! what a voice! Canary, really, canary!.. Saints, what a scarf! the finest, cambric - amber, perfect amber! he exudes generalism" Naturally, it was not a date, but the girl simply looked into her father’s office, saw an official sharpening feathers, and was amused by dropping a handkerchief and watching as he rushed to pick up the handkerchief. From this episode we can only conclude that her image in Poprishchin’s eyes is as idealized as possible.

Video fragment 1. Film “Notes of a Madman.”

An hour after this, Poprishchin sat at the table in prostration (this can be judged by the use of the verb “sat” instead of any other indicating the type of activity), until the servant sent him home, which caused an extremely painful reaction from his wounded pride: “ I can’t stand the circle of footmen: they always fall apart in the hall, and even if they bothered to nod their heads. This is not enough: once one of these beasts decided to ply me with tobacco without getting up from my seat. Do you know, stupid serf, that I am an official, I am of noble birth" The hero’s pride is visible, the same view of himself as a bearer of high status, which will subsequently result in delusions of grandeur.

Illustration by I.E. Repina

« At home I mostly lay on my bed. Then he rewrote some very good poems: “Not seeing my darling for an hour, I thought I hadn’t seen him for a year; Having hated my life, I said, should I live.” It must be Pushkin's work. In the evening, wrapped in an overcoat, I walked to Her Excellency’s entrance and waited for a long time to see if she would come out to get into the carriage to have another look - but no, she didn’t come out" Here we see that the hero behaves quite canonically for a lover: he dreams, is carried away by poetry, tries to see the object of his adoration at least from afar. In addition, the recording shows the level of literary taste of the hero, which is quite consistent with reading notes about talking cows. The hero does not show any signs of insanity, except love insanity, to which almost everyone is susceptible.

Illustration by I.E. Repina

The next entry in the diary is dated November 6th, i.e. it was done a month after the previous one. Why? What did the official do for a month? Why didn't you show this in your diary? I looked after the director's daughter and made no progress in this direction. Otherwise there would be records. The reason for recording on November 6 was a serious experience, resentment: “ The head of the department made me angry " He infuriated me by saying that it was inappropriate for such a person, who is nothing of himself, to drag himself after the director’s daughter. Poprishchin’s reasoning is as follows: “ I understand, I understand why he is angry with me. He is envious; he saw, perhaps, signs of favor shown to me preferably. I don’t give a damn about him!.. Am I really one of the commoners, a tailor or a non-commissioned officer’s child? I'm a nobleman. Well, I can get promoted too. I am still forty-two years old - the time at which, in fact, the service is just beginning. Wait a minute, buddy! We will also be a colonel, and maybe, if God willing, then something more " Here the hero’s spiritual breakdown is already clearly manifested: he dreams of becoming a colonel or something more, otherwise he will never see the general’s daughter, and he sees the path to this as natural: to rise to the rank. But by the time you reach the rank, the boss’s daughter will have time to grow old, according to common sense reasoning, which Poprishchina has not yet abandoned. This means - and this is the only logical outcome - he must rise in some other way, not by consistently moving up the career ladder, but quickly, in order to have time to offer himself to his chosen one.

An entry dated November 8 speaks of a visit to the theater, testifying to Poprishchin’s undemanding taste: “ They played the Russian fool Filatka. Laughed a lot ", and another actress reminded him that. The entry from November 9 speaks of a routine visit to the department and a boycott by the head of the department. Finally, the entry from November 11 brings us back to the dog’s correspondence.

Exhausted by the torments of love, the hero dreams: “ I would like to look there, at the half where Her Excellency is - that’s where I would like to go! In the boudoir: how there are all these jars, bottles, flowers, such that it’s scary to breathe on them; how her dress lay scattered there, more like air than a dress. I would like to look into the bedroom... there, I think, are miracles, there, I think, is paradise, like there is no heaven. I would like to see the little stool on which she places her foot when getting out of bed, how a stocking white as snow is put on this foot... ah! ah! ah! nothing, nothing... silence».

Illustration by N.V. Kuzmin

The goal is clearly unattainable, but the hero cannot come to terms with this, and then he remembers the dog Medzhi, tries to interrogate her about the owner, does not receive an answer, from which he concludes not that dogs cannot talk, but just the opposite: “ I have long suspected that a dog is much smarter than a man; I was even sure that she could speak, but that there was only some kind of stubbornness in her. She is an extraordinary politician: she notices everything, every step of a person. No, by all means, tomorrow I will go to Zverkov’s house, interrogate Fidel and, if possible, intercept all the letters that Medzhi wrote to her».

The next day, November 12, the letters were captured, and on November 13 they were read. A fragment of the film Notes of a Madman (1968) gives us an excellent film adaptation of this.

Video fragment 2. Film “Notes of a Madman.”

So, the hero, from the correspondence of the dogs, learns the true attitude of the director’s daughter towards him and about her upcoming wedding with the chamber cadet. He is indignant and tears up the dog’s letters. We may wonder where the information came from if dogs can't write letters. Gogol does not give an explanation, since there is no author’s text in the story - there is only the text of a mentally ill character. It can be assumed that Poprishchin either acquired supernatural insight (i.e. received a message from the devil who played with his soul), or actualized rumors and his own observations, which he previously did not want to believe. But the result of receiving information about the upcoming wedding is obvious: the idea that he urgently needs to rise up takes possession of the hero.

Illustration by N.G. Goltz

An entry dated December 3 states: “ Can't be. Liars! There won't be a wedding! So what if he's a chamberlain cadet?" Obviously, in the three weeks that have passed since the previous entry, the information has been confirmed. This leads the hero into complete despair, and he hopes for nothing but a miracle. At the same time, he gains a firm belief that a miracle is possible, and it will happen to him: “ Why am I a titular councilor and why on earth am I a titular councilor? Maybe I’m some kind of count or general, but this is the only way I seem to be a titular adviser? Maybe I myself don’t know who I am. After all, there are so many examples in history: some simple person, not exactly a nobleman, but just some tradesman or even a peasant, and suddenly it turns out that he is some kind of nobleman, and sometimes even a sovereign. When something like this sometimes comes out of a peasant, what can come out of a nobleman?.. But can’t I be granted a governor-general, or a intendant, or some other thing this very minute? I would like to know why I am a titular councilor? Why titular adviser?»

Entries dated December 5 and 8 indicate that the hero is very concerned about a newspaper report that the throne has been abolished in Spain and that there is no king there. On December 8, the hero does not even go to the department, because he cannot escape his thoughts about the Spanish events. " I confess that these incidents killed and shocked me so much that I absolutely could not do anything all day... Mostly I lay on the bed and talked about the affairs of Spain" That is, the hero has a fix idea on which he becomes fixated. The result is ultimate madness, namely delusions of grandeur.

The following entry is dated: “ Year 2000 April 43rd " I remember this year well, but April 43 still wasn’t there. The following dates are even more intricate:“March 86. Between day and night”, “No date. The day was without a number,” “I don’t remember the date. It wasn't a month either. It was God knows what it was”, “Number 1”, “Madrid. Fevruary the thirtieth”, “January of the same year, which occurred after February”, “Number 25”, “Chi 34th layer Mts gdao. February 349". And in 2000, when I was a 4th year student at the university and during teaching practice I gave schoolchildren a lesson on the works of N.V. Gogol, Gogol’s hero Poprishchin, realizing himself as King Ferdinand VIII of Spain, discovered at the same time that “ This all happens, I think, because people imagine that the human brain is in the head; not at all: it is brought by the wind from the Caspian Sea».

Illustration by N.G. Goltz

What follows is best illustrated by a fragment of the film “Notes of a Madman,” in which the actor’s performance Evgenia Lebedeva truly brilliant.

Video fragment 3. Film “Notes of a Madman.”

From the point of view of the stylistic, and at the same time clinical, note of the madman Poprishchin, starting from the moment the leapfrog with dates began, the phenomenon called schizophasia . It is not at all difficult, even without being a specialist, to find commonality between the classic example of schizophasia given in the Medical Encyclopedia (see the same link) and Poprishchin’s statements.

Here are two pieces for comparison:

« Born on Herzen Street, in grocery store No. 22. A well-known economist, a librarian by vocation. Popularly known as a collective farmer. There is a salesman in the store. In economics, so to speak, it is necessary. This is, so to speak, a system... uh... consisting of 120 units. Take pictures of the Murmansk Peninsula and get te-le-fun-ken. And the accountant works on a different line - on the line of the librarian. Because there will be no air, there will be an academician! Well, you can take a picture of the Murmansk Peninsula. You can become an air ace. You can become an air planet. And you will be sure that this planet will be accepted according to the textbook. This means that one planet will benefit physics».

And more literary and logical, but obviously with the same diagnosis:

« All this is ambition, and ambition because under the tongue there is a small vial and in it a small worm the size of a pinhead, and all this is done by some barber who lives in Gorokhovaya. I don't remember his name; but it is reliably known that he, together with one midwife, wants to spread Mohammedanism throughout the world, and that is why, they say, in France most of the people recognize the faith of Mohammed».

By the way, Herzen Street (now Bolshaya Morskaya) and Gorokhovaya Street intersect. Nabokov also lived on Bolshaya Morskaya. This is about the question of literary and ideological intersections.

Or:

“The moon is usually made in Hamburg; and it is done very badly. I'm surprised England doesn't pay attention to this. It is made by a lame cooper, and it is clear that he is a fool and has no idea about the moon. He put in pitch rope and some wood oil; and that’s why there’s a terrible stench all over the earth, so you have to cover your nose. And that’s why the moon itself is such a delicate ball that people can’t live, and now only their noses live there. And for this very reason we cannot see our noses, for they are all in the moon».

Illustration by E. Kanaeva

If we talk about the value of Poprishchin’s madness, then he himself received tangible benefits from it in terms of self-esteem: he showed everyone how great he was, and they listened to him with fear and respect; he was able to explain himself to his chosen one, and he did it quite coldly and haughtily, and not servilely before her as usual; he found his Spain with strange customs (beating with sticks during initiation into kings) and his shaven-headed people, who, at his command, are ready to climb into the sky to get the moon... But still, the Spanish customs finished him off, and he is in the entry from “Chi 34 slo Mts gdao. February 349" expresses thoughts in an unusually sensible and poetic manner, quite in the spirit of lyrical digressions from "Dead Souls". Nabokov, in his article about Gogol, was not too lazy to take the entire entry from this date as an epigraph, but I will take it as an epilogue.

“No, I don’t have the strength to endure anymore. God! what are they doing to me! They're pouring on my head cold water! They don’t listen, they don’t see, they don’t listen to me. What have I done to them? Why are they torturing me? What do they want from me, poor thing? What can I give them? I dont have anything. I am unable, I cannot bear all their torments, my head is burning, and everything is spinning before me. Help me! take me! give me three horses as fast as a whirlwind! Sit down, my coachman, ring my bell, soar your horses, and carry me from this world! Further, further, further, so that nothing, nothing is visible. There the sky swirls before me; a star sparkles in the distance, the forest rushes with dark trees and the moon; a bluish fog spreads underfoot; the string rings in the fog; on one side the sea, on the other Italy; Over there you can see the Russian huts. Is my house turning blue in the distance? Is my mother sitting in front of the window? Mother, save your poor son! drop a tear on his sore little head! look how they torture him! press the poor orphan to your chest! he has no place in the world! they're chasing him! Mother! feel sorry for your sick child!..”

Well said, isn't it? And we are already beginning to hope for the hero’s recovery, although he was probably happier when he was sick. But no, the last phrase of the story suggests that the ephemeral world still surrounds Poprishchin-Ferdinand:

« Do you know that the Algerian dey has a bump right under his nose? »

Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol

Diary of a Madman

October 3.

An extraordinary adventure happened today. I got up quite late in the morning, and when Mavra brought me cleaned boots, I asked what time it was. Hearing that it had already struck ten, I hurried to get dressed as quickly as possible. I admit, I would not have gone to the department at all, knowing in advance what a sour face our department head would make. He’s been telling me for a long time: “What is it, brother, that your head is always such a mess? Sometimes you rush around like crazy, sometimes you confuse things so much that Satan himself can’t figure it out, you put a small letter in the title, you don’t put in a number or number.” Damn heron! He is probably jealous that I am sitting in the director’s office and sharpening pens for His Excellency. In a word, I would not have gone to the department if it were not for the hope of seeing the treasurer and perhaps begging from this Jew at least some of his salary in advance. Here's another creation! So that he would someday give out money in advance for a month - Lord my God, may the Last Judgment come sooner. Ask, even if you ask, even if you are in need, he won’t give it away, the gray devil. And at the apartment, his own cook hits him on the cheeks. The whole world knows this. I don't understand the benefits of serving in the department. No resources at all. In the provincial government, civil and state chambers, it’s a completely different matter: there, you look, someone is huddled in the very corner and peeing. The guy on him is disgusting, his face is so bad you want to spit, but look at the dacha he’s renting! Don’t bring a gilded porcelain cup to him: “this, he says, is a doctor’s gift”; and give him a couple of trotters, or a droshky, or a beaver worth three hundred rubles. He looks so quiet, he says so delicately: “Lend me a knife to fix the feather,” and then he cleans it so much that he leaves only one shirt on the petitioner. True, but our service is noble, the cleanliness in everything is such that provincial government will never see: the tables are made of mahogany, and all the bosses are on You. Yes, I admit, if it weren’t for the nobility of the service, I would have left the department a long time ago.

I put on an old overcoat and took an umbrella because it was pouring rain. There was no one on the streets; Only women, covered with the skirts of their dresses, and Russian merchants under umbrellas, and couriers caught my eye. Of the nobles, only our official brother came across to me. I saw him at the crossroads. When I saw him, I immediately said to myself: “Hey! no, my dear, you’re not going to the department, you’re hurrying after the one running ahead and looking at her legs.” What kind of beast is our brother official! By God, he won’t yield to any officer: if someone walks by in a hat, he’ll certainly catch on. As I was thinking this, I saw a carriage drive up to the store I was passing by. I recognized it now: it was our director’s carriage. But he had no need to go to the store, I thought: “That’s right, this is his daughter.” I pressed myself against the wall. The footman opened the doors, and she flew out of the carriage like a bird. How she looked to the right and to the left, how she flashed her eyebrows and eyes... Lord, my God! I was lost, completely lost. And why would she go out in such a rainy season! Now affirm that women have no great passion for all these rags. She didn’t recognize me, and I myself deliberately tried to wrap myself up as much as possible, because I was wearing a very dirty overcoat and, moreover, an old style. Nowadays they wear cloaks with long collars, but I had short ones, one on top of the other; and the cloth is not degassed at all. Her little dog, not having time to jump into the door of the store, remained on the street. I know this little dog. Her name is Meji. I didn’t have time to stay a minute when I suddenly heard a thin voice: “Hello, Madji!” Here you go! Who is speaking? I looked around and saw two ladies walking under an umbrella: one old woman, the other young; but they had already passed, and next to me I heard again: “It’s a sin to you, Medzhi!” What the hell! I saw that Madji was sniffing with the little dog that was following the ladies. “Hey! – I said to myself. - Come on, am I drunk? Only this seems to rarely happen to me.” “No, Fidel, you’re wrong to think,” I saw for myself what Meji said, “I was, aw! aw! I was, aw, aw, aw! very sick." Oh, you little dog! I admit, I was very surprised to hear her speak humanly. But later, when I understood all this well, then I stopped being surprised. Indeed, many similar examples have already happened in the world. They say that a fish swam out in England and said two words in such a strange language that scientists have been trying to determine for three years and still have not discovered anything. I also read in the newspapers about two cows who came to the shop and asked for a pound of tea. But, I admit, I was much more surprised when Meji said: “I wrote to you, Fidel; It’s true that Polkan didn’t bring my letter!” May I not receive a salary! I have never heard in my life that a dog can pee. Only a nobleman can write correctly. Of course, some merchants, clerks, and even serfs sometimes pee; but their writing is mostly mechanical: no commas, no periods, not a syllable.

This surprised me. I confess that recently I sometimes begin to hear and see things that no one has ever seen or heard before. “I’ll go,” I said to myself, “after this little dog and find out what she thinks.”

I unfurled my umbrella and followed the two ladies. We crossed to Gorokhovaya, turned to Meshchanskaya, from there to Stolyarnaya, finally to the Kokushkin Bridge and stopped in front of a large house. “I know this house,” I said to myself. “This is Zverkov’s house.” What a car! What kind of people don’t live there: how many cooks, how many visitors! and our brother officials are like dogs, one sits on top of the other. I have a friend there who plays the trumpet well. The ladies went up to the fifth floor. “Okay,” I thought, “now I won’t go, but I’ll notice the place and at the first opportunity I won’t fail to take advantage.”

October 4.

Today is Wednesday, and that’s why I was in our boss’s office. I purposely came early and, having sat down, rearranged all the feathers. Our director must be a very smart person. His entire office is lined with bookcases. I read the title of some: all learning, such learning that our brother doesn’t even have an attack: everything is either in French or German. And look at his face: wow, what importance shines in his eyes! I've never heard him say an extra word. Only, when you submit the papers, will he ask: “What’s it like outside?” - “Damp, Your Excellency!” Yes, no match for our brother! Statesman. I notice, however, that he especially loves me. If only I had a daughter... oh, filth!.. Nothing, nothing, silence! I read Little Bee. What a stupid French people! Well, what do they want? I would, by God, take them all and flog them with rods! There I also read a very pleasant depiction of a ball, described by a Kursk landowner. Kursk landowners write well. After that, I noticed that it was already half past twelve, and ours had not left his bedroom. But at about half past two an incident occurred which no pen can describe. The door opened, I thought it was the director, and I jumped out of my chair with the papers; but it was she, herself! Holy saints, how she was dressed! her dress was white, like a swan: wow, so lush! and how I looked: the sun, by God the sun! She bowed and said, "Dad A wasn't here? Ah ah ah! what a voice! Canary, really, canary! “Your Excellency,” I wanted to say, “do not order execution, but if you already want to execute, then execute with your general’s hand.” Yes, damn it, somehow I couldn’t move my tongue, and I only said: “No way, sir.” She looked at me, at the books, and dropped her handkerchief. I rushed as fast as I could, slipped on the damned parquet floor and almost broke my nose, but I held on and took out a handkerchief. Saints, what a scarf! the finest, cambric - amber, perfect amber! he exudes generalism. She thanked him and smiled a little, so that her sugar lips hardly touched, and then left. I sat for another hour when suddenly a footman came and said: “Go home, Aksenty Ivanovich, the master has already left home.” I can’t stand the circle of footmen: they always fall apart in the hall, and even if they bothered to nod their heads. This is not enough: once one of these beasts decided to ply me with tobacco without getting up from my seat. Do you know, stupid serf, that I am an official, I am of noble birth. However, I took my hat and put on my overcoat, because these gentlemen would never serve, and went out. At home I mostly lay on my bed. Then he rewrote some very good poems: “I haven’t seen my darling for an hour, I thought I haven’t seen him for a year; Having hated my life, Should I live, I said.” It must be Pushkin's work. In the evening, wrapped in an overcoat, I walked to Her Excellency’s entrance and waited for a long time to see if she would come out to get into the carriage to have another look, but no, she didn’t come out.

The head of the department made me angry. When I arrived at the department, he called me over and started talking to me like this: “Well, please tell me, what are you doing?” - "Like what? “I’m not doing anything,” I answered. “Well, think carefully! After all, you are already over forty years old - it’s time to gain some sense. What do you imagine? Do you think I don't know all your mischief? After all, you are dragging after the director's daughter! Well, look at you, just think, what are you? After all, you are zero, nothing more. After all, you don’t have a penny to your name. Just look at your face in the mirror, why should you think about that!” Damn it, his face looks somewhat like an apothecary bottle, and he has a tuft of hair on his head, curled with a tuft, and holds it up, and smears it with some kind of rosette, so he already thinks that he is the only one who can do everything. I understand, I understand why he is angry with me. He is envious; he saw, perhaps, signs of favor shown to me preferably. Yes, I spit on him! Great importance is the court councilor! hung a gold chain for his watch, ordered boots for thirty rubles - damn him! Am I one of the commoners, a tailor, or a non-commissioned officer's child? I'm a nobleman. Well, I can get promoted too. I am still forty-two years old - the time at which, in fact, the service is just beginning. Wait a minute, buddy! We will also be a colonel, and maybe, God willing, something more. Let’s get ourselves a reputation that’s even better than yours. What did you get into your head, that besides you, there is no longer any decent person? Give me a Ruchev tailcoat, tailored in fashion, and if I tie myself a tie just like you, then you won’t hold a candle to me. There is no income - that’s the problem.

Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol

Diary of a Madman

October 3.

An extraordinary adventure happened today. I got up quite late in the morning, and when Mavra brought me cleaned boots, I asked what time it was. Hearing that it had already struck ten, I hurried to get dressed as quickly as possible. I admit, I would not have gone to the department at all, knowing in advance what a sour face our department head would make. He’s been telling me for a long time: “What is it, brother, that your head is always such a mess? Sometimes you rush around like crazy, sometimes you confuse things so much that Satan himself can’t figure it out, you put a small letter in the title, you don’t put in a number or number.” Damn heron! He is probably jealous that I am sitting in the director’s office and sharpening pens for His Excellency. In a word, I would not have gone to the department if it were not for the hope of seeing the treasurer and perhaps begging from this Jew at least some of his salary in advance. Here's another creation! So that he would someday give out money in advance for a month - Lord my God, may the Last Judgment come sooner. Ask, even if you ask, even if you are in need, he won’t give it away, the gray devil. And at the apartment, his own cook hits him on the cheeks. The whole world knows this. I don't understand the benefits of serving in the department. No resources at all. In the provincial government, civil and state chambers, it’s a completely different matter: there, you look, someone is huddled in the very corner and peeing. The guy on him is disgusting, his face is so bad you want to spit, but look at the dacha he’s renting! Don’t bring a gilded porcelain cup to him: “this, he says, is a doctor’s gift”; and give him a couple of trotters, or a droshky, or a beaver worth three hundred rubles. He looks so quiet, he says so delicately: “Lend me a knife to fix the feather,” and then he cleans it so much that he leaves only one shirt on the petitioner. True, but our service is noble, the cleanliness in everything is such that provincial government will never see: the tables are made of mahogany, and all the bosses are on You. Yes, I admit, if it weren’t for the nobility of the service, I would have left the department a long time ago.

I put on an old overcoat and took an umbrella because it was pouring rain. There was no one on the streets; Only women, covered with the skirts of their dresses, and Russian merchants under umbrellas, and couriers caught my eye. Of the nobles, only our official brother came across to me. I saw him at the crossroads. When I saw him, I immediately said to myself: “Hey! no, my dear, you’re not going to the department, you’re hurrying after the one running ahead and looking at her legs.” What kind of beast is our brother official! By God, he won’t yield to any officer: if someone walks by in a hat, he’ll certainly catch on. As I was thinking this, I saw a carriage drive up to the store I was passing by. I recognized it now: it was our director’s carriage. But he had no need to go to the store, I thought: “That’s right, this is his daughter.” I pressed myself against the wall. The footman opened the doors, and she flew out of the carriage like a bird. How she looked to the right and to the left, how she flashed her eyebrows and eyes... Lord, my God! I was lost, completely lost. And why would she go out in such a rainy season! Now affirm that women have no great passion for all these rags. She didn’t recognize me, and I myself deliberately tried to wrap myself up as much as possible, because I was wearing a very dirty overcoat and, moreover, an old style. Nowadays they wear cloaks with long collars, but I had short ones, one on top of the other; and the cloth is not degassed at all. Her little dog, not having time to jump into the door of the store, remained on the street. I know this little dog. Her name is Meji. I didn’t have time to stay a minute when I suddenly heard a thin voice: “Hello, Madji!” Here you go! Who is speaking? I looked around and saw two ladies walking under an umbrella: one old woman, the other young; but they had already passed, and next to me I heard again: “It’s a sin to you, Medzhi!” What the hell! I saw that Madji was sniffing with the little dog that was following the ladies. “Hey! – I said to myself. - Come on, am I drunk? Only this seems to rarely happen to me.” “No, Fidel, you’re wrong to think,” I saw for myself what Meji said, “I was, aw! aw! I was, aw, aw, aw! very sick." Oh, you little dog! I admit, I was very surprised to hear her speak humanly. But later, when I understood all this well, then I stopped being surprised. Indeed, many similar examples have already happened in the world. They say that a fish swam out in England and said two words in such a strange language that scientists have been trying to determine for three years and still have not discovered anything. I also read in the newspapers about two cows who came to the shop and asked for a pound of tea. But, I admit, I was much more surprised when Meji said: “I wrote to you, Fidel; It’s true that Polkan didn’t bring my letter!” May I not receive a salary! I have never heard in my life that a dog can pee. Only a nobleman can write correctly. Of course, some merchants, clerks, and even serfs sometimes pee; but their writing is mostly mechanical: no commas, no periods, not a syllable.

This surprised me. I confess that recently I sometimes begin to hear and see things that no one has ever seen or heard before. “I’ll go,” I said to myself, “after this little dog and find out what she thinks.”

I unfurled my umbrella and followed the two ladies. We crossed to Gorokhovaya, turned to Meshchanskaya, from there to Stolyarnaya, finally to the Kokushkin Bridge and stopped in front of a large house. “I know this house,” I said to myself. “This is Zverkov’s house.” What a car! What kind of people don’t live there: how many cooks, how many visitors! and our brother officials are like dogs, one sits on top of the other. I have a friend there who plays the trumpet well. The ladies went up to the fifth floor. “Okay,” I thought, “now I won’t go, but I’ll notice the place and at the first opportunity I won’t fail to take advantage.”

October 4.

Today is Wednesday, and that’s why I was in our boss’s office. I purposely came early and, having sat down, rearranged all the feathers. Our director must be a very smart person. His entire office is lined with bookcases. I read the title of some: all learning, such learning that our brother doesn’t even have an attack: everything is either in French or German. And look at his face: wow, what importance shines in his eyes! I've never heard him say an extra word. Only, when you submit the papers, will he ask: “What’s it like outside?” - “Damp, Your Excellency!” Yes, no match for our brother! Statesman. I notice, however, that he especially loves me. If only I had a daughter... oh, filth!.. Nothing, nothing, silence! I read Little Bee. What a stupid French people! Well, what do they want? I would, by God, take them all and flog them with rods! There I also read a very pleasant depiction of a ball, described by a Kursk landowner. Kursk landowners write well. After that, I noticed that it was already half past twelve, and ours had not left his bedroom. But at about half past two an incident occurred which no pen can describe. The door opened, I thought it was the director, and I jumped out of my chair with the papers; but it was she, herself! Holy saints, how she was dressed! her dress was white, like a swan: wow, so lush! and how I looked: the sun, by God the sun! She bowed and said, "Dad A wasn't here? Ah ah ah! what a voice! Canary, really, canary! “Your Excellency,” I wanted to say, “do not order execution, but if you already want to execute, then execute with your general’s hand.” Yes, damn it, somehow I couldn’t move my tongue, and I only said: “No way, sir.” She looked at me, at the books, and dropped her handkerchief. I rushed as fast as I could, slipped on the damned parquet floor and almost broke my nose, but I held on and took out a handkerchief. Saints, what a scarf! the finest, cambric - amber, perfect amber! he exudes generalism. She thanked him and smiled a little, so that her sugar lips hardly touched, and then left. I sat for another hour when suddenly a footman came and said: “Go home, Aksenty Ivanovich, the master has already left home.” I can’t stand the circle of footmen: they always fall apart in the hall, and even if they bothered to nod their heads. This is not enough: once one of these beasts decided to ply me with tobacco without getting up from my seat. Do you know, stupid serf, that I am an official, I am of noble birth. However, I took my hat and put on my overcoat, because these gentlemen would never serve, and went out. At home I mostly lay on my bed. Then he rewrote some very good poems: “I haven’t seen my darling for an hour, I thought I haven’t seen him for a year; Having hated my life, Should I live, I said.” It must be Pushkin's work. In the evening, wrapped in an overcoat, I walked to Her Excellency’s entrance and waited for a long time to see if she would come out to get into the carriage to have another look, but no, she didn’t come out.