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

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

Plot

The story is a diary of the protagonist. In the beginning, he describes his life and work, as well as the people around him. He then writes about his feelings for the director's daughter, and soon afterward, signs of insanity begin to appear - he talks to her dog, Maggie, after which he gets the letters that Maggie wrote to another dog. After a few days, he completely breaks away from reality - he realizes that he is the king of Spain. His madness can be seen even by the numbers in the diary - if the diary starts on October 3, then the understanding that he is the king of Spain comes, according to his dates on April 43, 2000. And the further the more the hero plunges into the depths of his fantasy. He ends up in a lunatic asylum, but takes it as an arrival in Spain. At the end of the recording, they completely lose their meaning, turning into a set 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 ideas of Gogol in the early 1930s: Notes of a Mad Musician, mentioned in the well-known list of contents of Arabesques, and 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 Mad House cycle, which later became part of the Russian Nights cycle and , indeed, dedicated to the development of the theme of imaginary or real madness in highly gifted ("brilliant") natures. The involvement of Gogol's own ideas in -34 with these stories by Odoevsky is evident from the undoubted similarity of one of them - The Improviser - with The Portrait. From the same passion for Odoevsky's romantic plots, apparently, the unrealized plan of "Notes of a Mad Musician" arose; The Notes of a Madman, which is directly related to him, is thus connected, through Odoevsky's Madhouse, with the romantic tradition of stories about artists. "Vladimir of the 3rd degree", if it were completed, would also have a madman as a hero, who, however, differs significantly from the "creative" madmen in that he would be a man who set himself the prosaic goal of receiving the cross of Vladimir of the 3rd degree; not having received it, he "at the end of the play ... went crazy and imagined that he himself was" this order. Such is the new interpretation of the theme of madness, which is also approaching, in a certain sense, Poprishchin's madness.

From the idea of ​​a comedy about officials, left by Gogol in 1834, a number of everyday, stylistic and plot details passed into the then created "Notes". The general, dreaming of receiving an order and trusting his ambitious dreams to a lap dog, is already given in The Official's Morning, that is, in the surviving passage from the beginning of the comedy, referring to the year. In the surviving further comedy scenes, one can easily find comedic prototypes of Poprishchin himself and his environment - in the petty officials Schneider, Kaplunov and Petrushevich, who were introduced there. Poprishchin's comment about officials who do not like to visit the theater goes directly 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 Poprishchin is aiming at him, calling the official who does not like the theater a “man” and a “pig”. In Petrushevich, on the contrary, one must recognize Gogol's first attempt at that idealization of a poor official, which found its embodiment in Poprishchina itself. “He served, served, and what he served,” Petrushevich says “with a bitter smile,” anticipating Poprishchin’s similar statement at the very beginning of his notes. Then Petrushevich's refusal both from the ball and from the "Boston" outlines that break with the environment, which leads Poprishchin to madness. Both Kaplunov and Petrushevich - both were then placed in the same humiliating relationship for them with the boss's lackey as Poprishchin. From Zakatishchev (later Sobachkin), on the other hand, threads are stretched to that bribe-taker of Zapiski, to whom "give a pair of trotters or droshky"; Zakatishchev, in anticipation of a bribe, dreams of the same thing: “Oh, I’ll buy nice trotters ... I would like a stroller.” Let us also compare the clerical dialectisms of comedy (for example, the words of Kaplunov: “And he lies, the scoundrel”) with similar elements in Poprishchin’s language: “Though be in need”; cf. also Schneider's clerical nickname: "damned nemchura" and "damned heron" in "Notes".

Connected, therefore, with Gogol's first comedy concept, the picture of departmental life and morals in "Notes" goes back to Gogol's personal observations during his own service, from which the concept 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. About the "ruchev tailcoat" - Poprishchin's dream - it is said 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 trait 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 hook came out about“ Notes of a Madman “; but, thank God, today is a little better; at least I have to confine myself to throwing out the best places ... If not for this delay, my book, perhaps, came out tomorrow.

Poetics of the story

“Notes of a Madman” precisely as notes, that is, a story about himself as a hero, have no precedents or analogies in Gogol's work. The forms of narration cultivated by Gogol before and after the Notes were inapplicable to this idea. The theme of madness at the same time in three aspects (social, aesthetic and personal-biographical), which Gogol found in it, could most naturally be deployed by the hero’s direct speech: with a focus on speech characteristics, with the selection of sharp dialectisms of the official leading 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 fantastic grotesque in them (correspondence of dogs borrowed from Hoffmann); At the same time, the well-known involvement of the hero in the world of art was natural. However, the music originally intended for this did not reconcile with the finally determined type of hero, and the place of music in the notes of an official was taken by the theater, a form of art with which all three aspects of the theme were equally successfully combined at once. The Alexandrinsky stage is therefore included in the 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 in Hoffmann. There it is affirmed 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 the literary critic Andrei Kuznetsov, it is no coincidence that the choice female name Sophie: “Among other characters in Russian literature bearing this name, Sofya Pavlovna Famusova stands out from Griboyedov’s comedy “Woe from Wit”, adjoining Gogol’s story with the development of the theme of madness (and the denunciation of the crazy society around him, - recall Poprishchi’s: “Leases, leases want these patriots!“). Poprishchin, apparently, correlates (in the case of using comedy) with Chatsky after "going crazy", that is, starting from the passage "Year 2000 ...", and before this passage he is comparable to Molchalin: his duties and attitude towards the director are very similar to attitude towards Famusov Molchalin. Accordingly, the unsteady love line of Poprishchin-Sophie also gains more weight (the irony about Sophie's disposition towards Poprishchin is multiplied many times over). And the remark Poprishchin makes at the moment when he remembers Sophie (a remark that has become a catch phrase): “Nothing ... nothing ... silence!” - Directly leads us to the name of the hero Griboyedov, that is, to Molchalin.

Khlestakov’s remark, which was present in the original version of the comedy The Inspector General, is directly related to the idea of ​​​​the story: “And how strange Pushkin composes, imagine: in front of him is rum in a glass, the most glorious rum, a hundred rubles a bottle, which is reserved for only one Austrian emperor, - and then, as soon as he starts writing, the pen only tr ... tr ... tr ... Recently he wrote such a play: A cure for cholera that makes hair stand on end. We have one official who went crazy when he read it. On the same day, a wagon came for him and took him to the hospital ... "

Criticism

Modern "Arabesque" criticism as a whole turned out to be friendly to Gogol's new story.

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

The hostile "Arabesques" Senkovsky also responded sympathetically, seeing in the "Notes of a Madman" the same virtues 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).

Much brighter and deeper was Belinsky’s review (in the article “On the Russian Story and Gogol’s Stories”): “Take the Notes of a Madman, this ugly grotesque, this strange, whimsical dream of an artist, this good-natured mockery of life and man, miserable life, miserable a man, this caricature in which there is such an abyss of poetry, such an abyss of philosophy, this mental history of illness, set forth in poetic form, amazing in its truth and depth, worthy of Shakespeare's brush: you are still laughing at a simpleton, but your laughter is already dissolved by bitterness; this is laughter at a madman, whom nonsense both makes laugh and arouses compassion. - Belinsky repeated this review of his in a review (1843) of the “Works of Nikolai Gogol”: “Notes of a Madman” is one of the deepest 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 plot of the story.

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

Quotes and reminiscences from Notes of a Madman

An unfinished story called "Notes of a Madman" is in Leo Tolstoy. 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 describes the gradual descent of a person into madness, but in a modern setting. Also "Diary of a Madman" is a popular blog subtitle.

A similar name - "Notes of a Psychopath" - is carried by the diaries of Venedikt Erofeev.

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 Anne in Wonderland by Carroll, describing how the Hatter and the March Hare quarreled with Time. One of the poems of the cycle "Part of Speech" by Joseph Brodsky begins with the words "From nowhere with love, 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? Andrey Monastyrsky, for example, with his "Kashirskoye Highway" and the metaphysics of VDNH, Prigov, screaming his sacred alphabets and writing 27 thousand poems, Zvezdochetov and his "Amanitas", Yura Leiderman with delusional, inaccessible texts, Kabakov with his "Man, flew into space”, Igor Makarevich carving the skull of Pinocchio out of wood. I am silent about the St. Petersburg psychos, because I know about them only by hearsay, but they say they have a nest there. Any reader can easily add to this list.

Productions

Screen adaptations

• "Notes of a Madman", Soviet film.

Theatrical performances

Starring - Maxim Koren, stage director Marianna Napalova.

Notes

Links

Works by Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol
poems	Ganz Küchelgarten · Dead Souls
Tales and stories	« Evenings on a Farm Near Dikanka » (Sorochinsky Fair · Evening on the eve of Ivan Kupala · May night, or drowned woman · Missing charter · Christmas Eve · Terrible revenge · Ivan Fedorovich Shponka and his aunt · haunted 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 · business man morning · Litigation · Lakeyskaya · excerpt · Theatrical tour after the presentation of a new comedy
Publicism	Woman · "Boris Godunov", a poem by Pushkin · About Kozlov's poetry · Sculpture, painting and music · About the Middle Ages · On 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 Journal 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
Lost and excerpts	Vladimir of the third degree · Rome · Nights at the villa · Alfred ·

Current page: 1 (total book has 2 pages)

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 clean boots, I asked what time it was. Hearing that it had long been past ten, I hastened to get dressed as soon as possible. I confess that I would not have gone to the department at all, knowing in advance what a sour face our head of the department would make. He has been telling me for a long time: “What is it with you, brother, is there always such a jumble in your head? Sometimes you rush about like a madman, sometimes you confuse things so much that Satan himself won’t make out, you put a small letter in the title, you don’t set either a number or a number. Damn heron! he must be jealous that I sit in the director's office and sharpen feathers for his excellency. In a word, I would not have gone to the department if it had not been for the hope of seeing the treasurer and perhaps somehow begging this Jew for at least some of his salary in advance. Here's another creation! So that he would give out some money in advance for a month - my God, my God, but rather the Last Judgment will come. Ask, at least crack, at least be in need - it won’t give out, gray-haired devil. And at the apartment, his own cook beats him on the cheeks. This is known to the whole world. I don't understand the benefits of serving in the department. No resources at all. Here in the provincial administration, civil and state chambers, it’s a completely different matter: there, you look, another clung to the very corner and pees. Frachishka on him is ugly, his face is such that you want to spit, but look at what kind of dacha he hires! Porcelain gilded cup and do not bring it to him: "This," he says, "is a doctor's gift"; and give him a couple of trotters, or a droshky, or a beaver of three hundred rubles. He looks so quiet, he says so delicately: “Lend a knife to mend a feather,” and then he will clean it so that he will leave only one shirt on the petitioner. True, on the other hand, our service is noble, cleanliness in everything is such as the provincial government will never see: mahogany tables, and all the bosses on You. Yes, I confess, if it were not for the nobility of the service, I would have left the department long ago.

I put on an old overcoat and took an umbrella because it was pouring with rain. There was no one on the streets; only women, covering themselves with the skirts of their dresses, and Russian merchants under umbrellas, and couriers caught my eye. Of the nobles, only our brother official caught me. I saw him at the crossroads. As soon as I saw him, I immediately said to myself: “Hey! no, my dear, you are not going to the department, you are in a hurry to follow the one that runs in front, and look at her legs. What a beast our brother official is! By God, he will not yield to any officer: come in some one in a hat, he will certainly hook you. As I was thinking this, I saw a carriage pull up in front of the shop I was passing by. I now recognized it: it was our director's carriage. “But he doesn’t need to go to the store,” I thought, “that’s right, this is his daughter.” I leaned against the wall. The footman opened the doors, and she fluttered out of the carriage like a bird. How she glanced right and left, how she flashed her eyebrows and eyes ... Lord, my God! I'm gone, I'm completely gone. And why would she go out in such a rainy season. Say now that women do not have a great passion for all these rags. She did not 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, of an old style. Now cloaks are worn with long collars, but I had short ones, one on top of the other; Yes, and the cloth is not completely deformed. Her little dog, not having time to jump up at the door of the store, remained on the street. I know this dog. Her name is Meji. Before I had time to stay a minute, I suddenly heard a thin voice: “Hello, Medji!” Here's to you! 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 again there was heard near me: “Sin for you, Maggie!” What the hell! I saw Maggie sniffing around with the little dog that was following the ladies. "Ege!" I said to myself: “Come on, am I drunk? It just doesn't seem to happen to me very often." - "No, Fidel, you think in vain," - I saw for myself that Medji said: "I was, aw! aw! I was, aw, aw, aw! very sick." Oh, you doggy! I confess that I was very surprised to hear her speaking in a human way. But later, when I understood all this well, then at the same time I ceased to be surprised. Indeed, there have already been many such examples in the world. They say that in England a fish swam up that 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 into the shop and asked for a pound of tea. But, I confess, I was much more surprised when Maggie said: “I wrote to you, Fidel; it’s true, Polkan didn’t bring my letter!” Yes, so that I do not receive a salary! I never heard in my life that a dog could write. Only a noble can write correctly. It is, of course, some of the merchants-clerks and even the serfs sometimes add; but their writing is for the most part mechanical: no commas, no periods, no 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, “follow this little dog and find out what she is and what she thinks.”

I unfolded my umbrella and went to fetch the two ladies. We crossed into Gorokhovaya, turned into Meshchanskaya, from there to Stolyarnaya, finally to 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 does not live in it: how many cooks, how many visitors! and our brother officials - like dogs, one on the other sits. I also have a friend there who plays the trumpet well. The ladies went up to the fifth floor. “Very well,” I thought, “now I won’t go, but I’ll notice a place and at the first opportunity I won’t fail to use it.”

October 4.

Today is Wednesday, and therefore I was with our boss in the office. I arrived early on purpose and, sitting down, mended 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 learning, such learning that our brother doesn't even have an attack: everything is either in French or in German. And look into his face: fu, what importance shines in his eyes! I have never heard him say an extra word. Only unless, when you submit papers, he asks: “What is it like in the yard?” “Damp, Your Excellency!” Yes, not our brother couple! State man. I notice, however, that he especially loves me. If only my daughter ... oh, the canal! .. Nothing, nothing, silence! I read The Bee. Eka stupid French people! Well, what do they want? I would take, by God, all of them, and flogged them with rods! In the same place I read a very pleasant image of the ball, described by the Kursk landowner. Kursk landowners write well. After that, I noticed that it was already half past twelve, and ours did not leave his bedroom. But about half-past two an incident happened which no pen can describe. The door opened, I thought it was the director, and jumped up from the chair with the papers; but it was her, she herself! Saints, how she was dressed! her dress was as white as a swan: phew, what a fluffy one! but as she looked: the sun, by God, the sun! She bowed and said, "Daddy wasn't here?" Ah, ah, ah! what a voice! Canary, right, canary! “Your Excellency,” I was about to say, “do not order the execution, but if you already want to execute, then execute with your general’s hand.” Yes, damn it, somehow the tongue didn’t turn around, and I only said: “No way, sir.” She looked at me, at the books, and dropped her handkerchief. I rushed with all my might, slipped on the cursed parquet floor and almost got my nose stuck, but I managed to restrain myself and took out my handkerchief. Saints, what a handkerchief! the thinnest, cambric - ambergris, perfect ambergris! and breathes from him the generalship. She thanked and smiled a little, so that her sugar lips almost did not move, and after that she left. I was sitting for another hour, when suddenly a lackey came and said: "Go home, Aksenty Ivanovich, the master has already left home." I can't stand the circle of lackeys: they always fall apart in the hall, and at least bother to nod their head. This is not enough: once one of these beasts took it into her head to regale me with tobacco without getting up. 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 myself, because these gentlemen would never serve, and went out. Most of the time he lay on the bed at home. Then he rewrote very good poems: “Darling for an hour without seeing, I thought I hadn’t seen a year; Hating my life, Is it good for me to live, I said. Must be Pushkin's work. In the evening, wrapped in an overcoat, he went to her Excellency's entrance and waited for a long time to see if she would get into the carriage to look once more - but no, she did not go out.

November 6.

Irritated by the head of the department. When I arrived at the department, he called me to him and began to speak to me like this: “Well, tell me, please, what are you doing?” - "Like what? I don't do anything, I replied. "Well, think carefully! after all, you are already over forty years old - it's time to gain your mind. What are you imagining? Do you think I don't know all your pranks? After all, you are dragging after the director's daughter! Well, look at you, just think, what are you? because you are zero, nothing more. After all, you have not a penny for your soul. Take a look at your face in the mirror, where should you think about that! Damn it, his face looks somewhat like an apothecary's vial, and on his head a piece of hair, curled in a tuft, keeps it up, and smears it with some kind of rosette, he already thinks that he alone can do everything. I understand, I understand why he is angry with me. He is envious; he saw, perhaps preferentially, signs of benevolence shown to me. Yes, I spit on him! Great is the importance of the court adviser! hung out a gold chain for his watch, orders boots for thirty rubles - damn it! Am I one of some commoners, tailors or non-commissioned officer children? I am a nobleman. Well, I can do it too. I am still forty-two years old - the time at which, for real, the service has just begun. Wait, buddy! we will be a colonel, and maybe, God willing, something even bigger. We will make ourselves a reputation even better than yours. What did you take into your head that, besides you, there is no longer a decent person at all? Give me a ruchev tailcoat, tailored in fashion, and if I tie myself the same tie as you, then you won’t become a match for me. There is no wealth - that's the trouble.

November 8.

Was in the theatre. 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 collegiate registrar, very freely written, so I was surprised how the censors missed it, and they say directly about the merchants that they deceive the people and that their sons are rowdy and climb into the nobility . There is also a very funny verse about journalists: that they like to scold everything and that the author asks the public for protection. Writers write very amusing plays these days. I love being in the theatre. As soon as a penny starts up in your pocket, you can’t bear not to go. But among our brothers of officials there are such pigs: they will definitely not go, peasant, to the theater; unless you give him a ticket for nothing. One actress sang very well. I remembered that ... oh, the channel! .. nothing, nothing ... silence.

November 9.

At eight o'clock I went to the department. The head of the department showed such a look as if he had not noticed my arrival. I, too, from my side, as if there was nothing between us. Reviewed and checked papers. Left at four o'clock. I passed by the director's apartment, but there was no one to be seen. After dinner, I mostly lay on the bed.

November 11.

Today I sat in our director's office, repaired twenty-three feathers for him and for her, ah! ah! .. for her excellency four feathers. He really likes to have more feathers. Wu! must be the head! Everything is silent, but in my head, I think, everything is discussed. I would like to know what he thinks about the most; what is going on in that head. I would like to take a closer look at the life of these gentlemen, all these equivocations and court tricks - how they are, what they do in their circle - that's what I would like to know! I thought several times of starting a conversation with his excellency, only, damn it, I just can’t obey the tongue: you only say whether it’s cold or warm in the yard, but you won’t say anything more decisively. I would like to look into the drawing room, where you only occasionally see an open door, behind the drawing room into another room. Oh, what a rich decoration! What mirrors and porcelain! I would like to look there, on that half, where Her Excellency is - that's where I would like to! To the boudoir: how are all these jars, bottles, flowers standing there, 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, miracles, there, I think, paradise, which is not in heaven. To look at that small bench on which she stands, getting out of bed, her leg, how a white stocking, like snow, is put on this leg ... ah! ouch! ouch! nothing, nothing... silence.

Today, however, it was as if a light had dawned on me: I remembered that conversation between two little dogs that I heard on Nevsky Prospekt. “Good,” I thought to myself, “now I know everything. It is necessary to seize the correspondence that these wretched little dogs carried on among themselves. I'm sure I'll learn something there." I confess, I even called Medji to me once and said: “Listen, Medji, now we are alone; I, when you want, and lock the door, so that no one will see - tell me everything you know about the young lady, what is she and how? I'll swear to you that I won't tell anyone." But the sly little dog tucked its tail between its legs, doubled its size, and quietly went out the door as if it hadn't heard anything. I have long suspected that a dog is much smarter than a man; I was even sure that she could talk, but that there was only some kind of stubbornness in her. She is an extraordinary politician: she notices everything, all the steps of a person. No, by all means, tomorrow I will go to Zverkov's house, interrogate Fidel and, if possible, intercept all the letters Medji wrote to her.

November 12.

At two o'clock in the afternoon I set off to see Fidel without fail and interrogate her. I hate cabbage, the smell of which comes from all the petty shops in Meshchanskaya; besides, from under the gates of every house there is such a hell that I, plugging my nose, ran at full speed. Yes, and vile artisans let in soot and smoke from their workshops so much 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 entirely ugly, with little freckles. I recognized her. It was the one who was walking 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 dog." The girl was stupid! I just found out I'm stupid! The little dog at that time came running barking; I wanted to grab her, but, vile, she almost grabbed my nose with her teeth. I saw, however, in the corner of her basket. Hey, this is 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 out that I had taken the papers, she began to squeal and caress, but I said: “No, my dear, goodbye!” and started to run. I think that the girl took me for a madman, because she was extremely frightened. When I got home, I wanted to get to work at the same hour and sort out these letters, because by candlelight I see a little badly. But Mavra decided to wash the floor. These stupid little chicks are always inopportunely clean. And so I went for a walk and thought about this incident. Now, finally, I will know all the deeds, thoughts, all these springs, and I will finally get to everything. These letters will open 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 that ... nothing, silence! By evening I came home. Mostly lay on the bed.

November 13.

Well, let's see: the letter is pretty clear. However, in the handwriting everything is as if something canine. Let's read:

Dear Fidel! I still can't get used to your petty-bourgeois name. As if they couldn't give you 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 very well written. Punctuation and even the letter ъ are everywhere in their place. Yes, our head of the department simply will not write something like that, although he interprets that he studied at the 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 is drawn from a single work translated from German. I don't remember the names.

I say this from experience, although I did not run around the world further than the gate of our house. Is my life not spent in pleasure? My young lady, whom dad calls Sophie, loves me without memory.

Ai, ai! .. nothing, nothing. Silence!

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

I must tell you that I do not see pleasure at all 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 brain 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 giving dogs balls of bread. Some gentleman sitting at the table, who held all sorts of rubbish in his hands, will begin to crush bread with these hands, call you and put a ball in your teeth. To refuse somehow discourteously, well, 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 look at another page. Wouldn't there be something better.

With great pleasure I am ready to notify you of all the incidents that happen to us. I already told you something about the main master, whom Papa calls Sophie. This is a very strange person.

A! finally here! Yes, I knew they had a political view of everything. Let's see what dad is:

... a very strange person. He is more silent. Speaks very rarely; but a week ago he kept talking to himself: “Will I get it or won’t I get it?” He will take a piece of paper in one hand, fold an empty one with the other and say: “Will I receive it or not?” Once he turned to me with a question: “What do you think, will I get Maggie or not?” I could understand absolutely nothing, sniffed his boot and walked away. Then, ma chere, a week later papa came in great joy. All morning gentlemen in uniforms went to him and congratulated him on something. At the table he was as cheerful as I had ever seen, he told jokes, and after dinner he lifted me to his neck and said: “Look, Madgie, what it is.” I saw some ribbon. I sniffed it, but decidedly found no fragrance; finally slowly licked: a little salty.

Hm! This little dog, it seems to me, is already too ... not to be whipped! A! he is so ambitious! This needs to be taken into account.

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

A! Well, let's see what Sophie is. Eh, the canal! .. Nothing, nothing ... we will continue.

...my young lady Sophie was in extreme turmoil. She was going to the 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 is always almost angry when dressing. I don't understand, ma chere, the pleasure of going to a ball. Sophie comes home from the ball at six o'clock in the morning, and I always almost guess from her pale and thin look that she, poor thing, was not allowed to eat there. I confess I could never live like this. If they didn't give me the grouse sauce or roast chicken wings, then ... I don't know what would have happened to me. The porridge sauce is also good. And 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. It will start as it should, but it will end like a dog. Let's look at one more letter. Something long. Hm! and no number is given.

Oh! dear, how palpable the approach of spring. My heart is beating like everything is waiting for something. I have an eternal noise in my ears, so that I often, raising my leg, stand for several minutes, listening to the doors. I will tell you that I have many courtesans. I often sit at the window and look at them. Ah, if you knew what kind of freaks there are between them. Another prelude, mongrel, is terribly stupid, stupidity is written on his face, he walks down the street with dignity and imagines that he is a noble person, he thinks that everyone will look at him that way. Not at all. I didn't even pay attention because I didn't see him. And what a terrible dog stops in front of my window! If he stood on his hind legs, which, rude, he probably doesn’t know how, then he would be a whole head taller than my dad Sophie, who is also quite tall and fat. This bastard must be a terrible brat. I grumbled at him, but he didn't have enough needs. At least grimaced! stuck out his tongue, hung his huge ears and looks out the window - such a man! But do you really think, ma chere, that my heart is indifferent to all searches - oh no ... If you saw one gentleman climbing over the fence of a neighboring house, named Trezor. Ah, ma chere, what a muzzle he has!

Ugh, to hell!.. Such rubbish!.. And how can one 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; and instead of such trifles ... let's turn over 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 passers-by. Suddenly a footman came in and said: "Teplov" - "Ask," Sophie shouted and rushed to hug me ... "Ah, Madji, Madji! If you knew who it is: brunette, chamber junker, and what eyes! black and light as fire, ”and Sophie ran to her place. A minute later a young chamber junker 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 myself, as if not noticing anything, continued to look out the window; however, she tilted her head somewhat 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 dancing instead of one figure made another; also that some Bobov looked very much like a stork in his jabot and almost fell; that some Lidina imagines that she has Blue eyes while they are green, and the like. "Where," I thought to myself, "if you compare the chamber junker with Trezor!" Sky! who cares! Firstly, the chamber junker has a completely smooth, broad face and sideburns around it, as if he had tied a black handkerchief around it; and Trezor has a thin muzzle, and on the very forehead there is a white bald spot. Trezor's waist cannot be compared with that of a chamber junker. And the eyes, techniques, 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 there is something wrong here. It cannot be that she could be so fascinated by the chamber junker. Let's look further:

It seems to me that if you like this chamber junker, then soon you will like the official who sits in dad's office. Ah, ma chere, if you knew what a freak it is. The perfect turtle in a bag...

What kind of official would that be?

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

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

Sophie can't help but laugh when she looks at him.

You lie, you damn dog! What a vile language! Like I don't know it's a matter of envy. It's like I don't know whose stuff it is. These are the pieces of the head of the department. After all, a man swore by irreconcilable hatred - and now he harms and harms, harms at every step. Let's see, however, one more letter. There, perhaps, the matter will be revealed by itself.

Ma chere Fidel, forgive me for not writing for so long. I was in complete rapture. Some writer truly justly said that love is the second life. Besides, there are big changes in our house now. The chamber junker is now with us every day. Sophie is madly in love with him. Dad is very cheerful. I even heard from our Gregory, who sweeps the floor and almost always talks to himself, that there will be a wedding soon; because papa wants to see Sophie by all means either for a general, or for a chamber junker, or for a military colonel ...

Damn it! I can no longer read... Everyone is either a chamber junker or a general. Everything that is the best in the world, everything goes to either the chamber junkers or the generals. If you find poor wealth for yourself, you think to get it with your hand, the chamber junker or the general rips it off from you. Damn it! I wish I could become a general myself: not to get a hand and stuff, no, I would like to be a general just to see how they go around and do all these different court tricks and equivocations, and then tell them that I spit on both of you. Damn it. Annoying! I tore the stupid dog's letters to shreds.

December 3.

Can't be. Bullshit! There will be no wedding! Well, from the fact that he is a chamber junker. After all, this is nothing more than dignity; not some visible thing that can be taken in hand. After all, due to the fact that the chamber junker, a third eye will not be added to the forehead. After all, his nose is not made of gold, but just like mine, like everyone else; because he sniffs them, but does not eat, sneezes, and does not cough. Several times I have already wanted to get to the source of all these differences. Why am I a titular councillor, and why am I a titular councillor? Maybe I'm some kind of count or general, but only this way I seem like a titular adviser? Maybe I don't know who I am. After all, there are so many examples from history: some simple, not even 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 enter in a general's uniform: I have both on the right shoulder of the epaulette, and on the left shoulder of the epaulette, a blue ribbon over my shoulder - what? how will my beauty sing then? what will dad himself, our director, say? Oh, this is a big ambition! this is a Mason, certainly a Mason, although he pretends to be such and such, but I immediately noticed that he is a Mason: if he gives someone his hand, he sticks out only two fingers. But can't I be granted this very minute by the governor-general, or by the quartermaster, or some other one? I would like to know why I am a titular councillor? Why a titular adviser?

December 5.

I've been reading newspapers all morning today. Strange things are being done in Spain. I couldn't even make out them well. They write that the throne has been abolished and that the ranks are in a difficult position regarding the election of an heir, and therefore there are indignations. I find this extremely strange. How can the throne be abolished? They say that some donna should ascend the throne. Donna cannot ascend the throne. It can't. There must be a king on the throne. Yes, they say, there is no king - it cannot be that there is no king. There can be no state without a king. There is a king, but he is somewhere in the unknown. It may be that he is in the same place, but some family reasons, or fears on the part of neighboring powers, such as France and other lands, force him to hide, or there are some other reasons.

December 8.

I almost wanted to go to the department, but various reasons and thoughts held me back. I couldn't get the Spanish affairs out of my head. How can it be that the donna becomes a queen? They won't allow it. And, firstly, England will not allow it. And besides, the political affairs of all Europe: the Austrian emperor, our sovereign ... I confess that these incidents so killed and shocked me 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 seem to have thrown two plates on the floor in absent-mindedness, which immediately shattered. After lunch I went to the mountains. There was nothing instructive to learn. Most of the time he lay on the bed and talked about the affairs of Spain.

Today is the day of the greatest celebration! Spain has a king. He was found. This king is me. It was only today that I found out about this. I confess, I was suddenly as if lit up by lightning. I do not understand how I could think and imagine that I am a titular councillor. How could this crazy idea come into my head? It's good that no one had yet guessed to put me in a lunatic asylum then. Now everything is open to me. Now I see everything in full view. And 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 announced to Maura who I was. When she heard that the Spanish king was in front of her, she threw up her hands and almost died of fear. She, foolish, has never seen the Spanish king. However, I tried to reassure her and in gracious words I tried to assure her of her favor, and that I was not at all angry because she sometimes badly cleaned my boots. After all, they are black people. They are not allowed to talk about lofty matters. She was frightened because she was convinced that all the kings in Spain looked 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 him! No, buddies, don't lure me now; I will not rewrite your nasty papers!

March 86th. Between day and night.

Today our executor came to tell me to go to the department, that for more than three weeks I have not been going to the office. 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 clerical bastard and thought: “What if you knew who is sitting between you ... Lord God! no matter what nonsense you raised, and the head of the department himself would begin to bow to me in the same way as he bows to the director now. Some papers were placed in front of me so that I could make an extract out of them. But I didn't lift a finger. After a few minutes, everything went haywire. They said the director was coming. Many officials ran at each other to show themselves before him. But I'm nowhere. When he passed through our department, everyone buttoned up their tailcoats; but I'm absolutely nothing! What a director! for me to stand in front of him - never! What kind of director is he? He's a cork, not a director. Ordinary cork, simple cork, nothing else. This is what bottles are sealed with. I was most amused when they slipped me a paper for me to sign. They thought that I would write on the very tip of the sheet: the clerk is such and such. No matter how! and I, at the most important place where the director of the department signs, scribbled: "Ferdinand VIII." One should have seen what a reverent silence reigned; but I only nodded with my hand, saying: “No signs of allegiance 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 such a thing that he dropped his hands. I went straight to the restroom. She was sitting in front of a mirror, jumped up and stepped back from me. However, I did not tell her that I was the king of Spain. I only said that happiness awaited her, such as she could not even imagine, and that, despite the intrigues of enemies, we would be together. I didn't want to say anything else and left. Oh, this insidious creature - a woman! I have only now grasped what a woman is. Until now, no one has yet found out with whom she is in love: I was the first to discover it. The woman is in love with the devil. Yes, I'm not kidding. Physicists write nonsense, that she is this and that - she loves only one trait. You see, from the box of the first tier, she directs the lorgnette. Do you think she is looking at that fat man with the star? Not at all, she looks at the devil behind him. There he hid in his tailcoat. There he nods from there to her with his finger! And she will marry him. Will come out. But these are all, their bureaucratic fathers, these are all that bustle in all directions and climb into the courtyard and say that they are patriots and this and that: these patriots want rent, rent! Mother, father, God will be sold for money, ambitious, Christ-sellers! All this 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 all over the world, and therefore, 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 to give tenth-graders lessons on Gogol's work. As a result, the schoolchildren nicknamed me Gogol: probably, not only the topics of the lessons affected, but also the portrait resemblance, which, perhaps, is present, especially in the shape of the nose. And Gogol paid special attention to the nose in his work.

This is me, photo from the creative evening

And since we are talking about portraits, let's give the floor V. Nabokov, which describes the above daguerreotype: “ In this picture, he is shown in three-quarters 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. An unpleasant mouth is decorated with thin antennae. The nose is large, sharp, consistent with other sharp facial features. Dark shadows, like those that surround the eyes of the romantic heroes of the old cinema, give his gaze a deep and somewhat haunted expression. He wears a frock coat with wide lapels and a smart waistcoat. 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 sparks, small blue eyes; in fact, it resembles the skin of some overseas reptile". Nabokov claims that " in Switzerland, he spent a whole day killing lizards that crawled out onto sunny mountain paths. The cane he used for this can be seen on a daguerreotype taken in Rome in 1845.". But this statement can not be trusted, since Nabokov is not always accurate, he is very prone to hoaxes, and the killing of lizards is taken from a source unknown to me. The image itself is very symbolic: a cane-feather is used to fight creeping reptiles, creatures of the infernal world - very similar to the image of Gogol the writer.

N.V. Gogol is more known to everyone as a prose writer and playwright, but he was also a publicist and literary critic, wrote poetry and was even a teacher of the Church - he has, for example, a catechism (i.e., church-enlightenment) essay "Reflections on the Divine Liturgy" . By the way, in none of the theological works I have come across such a short and capacious definition of the Liturgy, which is present in the "Introduction" of Gogol's book: « The Divine Liturgy is the eternal repetition of the great feat of love 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 subsequently used by Dostoevsky, Bulgakov and other major writers who allowed the otherworldly into their artistic world. It is on the basis of Gogol's work that the only Soviet horror film was shot - "Viy", of course. In Gogol's works, almost more often than in other writers, the devil is commemorated - and not only commemorated, but also depicted - for example, in "The Night Before Christmas".

As V. Nabokov expressively wrote, “the underdeveloped, wobbly 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 nasty. Crushing it is both sickening and sweet, but its 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 it with some kind of tool, you will shudder in disgust". But there were other varieties 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 a specialist in otherworldly visitors. I'll quote a couple of verses:

"Drink as much as you like, please.

Beat glasses, sprinkle your verses,

But then don't complain to me

What hari do you see

With tails, horns, hooves -

Yes, someone Gogol described them ... "-

"Listen, curious mug,

Get out of here for God's sake!"

Biography of N.V. Gogol is very peculiar: and a solitary monastic life, strangely combined with "hunting for a change of place", more like a constant flight; and creativity - grotesque-phantasmagoric, epic-lyrical, mystical, satirical and preaching; and the burnt second volume of "Dead Souls"; and a unique death as a result of a special fast; and legends connected with a lethargic dream and a head stolen from a grave... There is a place 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 of N.V. Gogol at the Novodevichy Cemetery in Moscow;

The former grave of N.V. Gogol in St. Danilov 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 1930s: "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 cycle "Crazy House" devoted to the development of the theme of imaginary or real madness in highly gifted natures. From Odoevsky's passion for romantic plots, apparently, the unrealized plan of "Notes of a Mad Musician" also arose. "Vladimir of the 3rd degree", if it were completed, would also have a madman as a hero, different, however, from the "creative" madmen in that he would be a man who set himself the prosaic goal of receiving the cross of Vladimir of the 3rd degree; not having 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 familiarize yourself with the text of the story or listen to it on audio format

The story is built in the form of a diary of Aksenty Ivanovich Poprishchin, a titular adviser, i.e. petty official who served in the department as a clerk (" They thought that I would write on the very tip of the sheet: the clerk such and such"). This position was somewhat higher than that of Akaky 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 solicit a salary a month in advance and prepare 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. Here in the provincial administration, civil and state chambers, it’s a completely different matter: there, you look, another clung to the very corner and pees. Frachishka on him is ugly, his face is such that you want to spit, but look at what kind of dacha he hires! "The only thing that suits him at the place of service is her nobility:" True, on the other hand, our service is noble, cleanliness in everything is such as the provincial government will never see: mahogany tables, and all the bosses are on you.". Already in this one can see the first signs of megalomania, which will bloom violently later: the hero appreciates the polite treatment on the part of 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 following the young lady, and exclaims: “ What a beast our brother official is! By God, he won’t yield to any officer: come in some one in a hat, you will certainly hook". This statement hardly corresponded to reality - where can an official compete with an officer in terms of amorous affairs! - but on the other hand, Poprishchin raised his own status, ranked him among the real womanizers. This is not a completely sensible assessment of reality, let's take note.

Further, the hero sees the director's daughter, who has arrived at the store, presses against the wall and wraps herself in an overcoat so that they do not recognize him, the reader learns that the hero is in love with this young lady: “ How she glanced right and left, how she flashed her eyebrows and eyes... Lord, my God! I'm gone, I'm completely gone". It is not entirely appropriate to talk about megalomania here, since you cannot command the heart. But this love will be the starting point for the 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 that very moment he hears the conversation of the dogs Medzhi (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 is this circumstance perceived by the hero? " I confess that I was very surprised to hear her speaking in a human way. But later, when I understood all this well, then at the same time I ceased to be surprised. Indeed, there have already been many such examples in the world.". These examples (about cows entering a store and asking for a pound of tea) he read in the newspapers and took them completely uncritically. It can be seen that the line between the possible and the impossible for the hero is already blurred.

Illustration by E. Vizin

He was really surprised only by the conversation about the correspondence between Medji and Fidel: “ I never heard in my life that a dog could write. Only a nobleman can write correctly". As you can easily see, the hero is surprised not by the fact that a dog is able to write letters, but by the fact that a dog, having no nobility, writes them. The further behavior of the hero, namely, tracking down where Fidel lives, and the intention, having taken possession of the dog's correspondence, to find out something important about the mistress of Medji, 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 a completely enthusiastic tone, commemorating 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, right, canary!.. Saints, what a handkerchief! the thinnest, cambric - ambergris, perfect ambergris! and breathes from him generalism". Naturally, it was not a date, but the girl simply looked into her father's office, saw an official sharpening feathers, and had fun, dropping her handkerchief and watching how he rushed to pick up this handkerchief. From this episode, we can only conclude that her image in Poprishchin's eyes is maximally idealized.

Video fragment 1. Film "Notes of a madman".

An hour after that, Poprishchin sits at the table in prostration (this can be judged by the used verb “sat” instead of any other indicating the type of activity), until the servant sent him home, which caused an extremely painful reaction of wounded pride: “ I can't stand the circle of lackeys: they always fall apart in the hall, and at least bother to nod their head. This is not enough: once one of these beasts took it into her head to regale me with tobacco without getting up. Do you know, stupid serf, that I am an official, I am of noble birth". The pride of the hero is visible, the same view of himself as a carrier of high status, which will subsequently result in megalomania.

Illustration by I.E. Repin

« Most of the time he lay on the bed at home. Then he copied very good verses: "Darling for an hour without seeing, I thought I had not seen a year; Hating my life, Is it right for me to live, I said." Must be Pushkin's work. In the evening, wrapped in an overcoat, he went to her Excellency's entrance and waited for a long time to see if she would get into the carriage to look once more - but no, she did not go out". Here we see that the hero behaves quite canonically for a lover: he dreams, is fond of poetry, tries at least from a distance to see the object of his adoration. In addition, the entry shows the level of literary taste of the hero, which is quite consistent with reading notes about talking cows. There are no signs of insanity, except for the insanity of love, to which almost everyone is subject, the hero does not have.

Illustration by I.E. Repin

The next entry in the diary is dated November 6, i.e. It was made a month after the previous one. Why? What did the official do for a whole month? Why didn't you put it in your diary? He took care of 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: “ Annoyed by the head of the department ". He pissed me off by saying that it is not good for such a person who is nothing of himself to drag himself behind 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 preferentially, signs of benevolence shown to me. Yes, I spit on him! .. Am I one of some commoners, tailors or non-commissioned officer children? I am a nobleman. Well, I can do it too. I am still forty-two years old - the time at which, for real, the service has just begun. Wait, buddy! we will be a colonel, and maybe, if God wills, then something more ". Here, the hero’s mental breakdown is already clearly manifested: he dreams of becoming a colonel or something more, otherwise he will not see a general’s daughter, and he sees a natural path to this: to rise to the rank. But by the time you reach your service, the boss's daughter will have time to grow old, according to sound 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 successive progression up the career ladder, but quickly in order to have time to offer himself to the chosen one.

The November 8 entry speaks of a visit to the theatre, testifying to Poprishchin's undemanding taste: They played the Russian fool Filatka. Laughed a lot ”, and another actress reminded him that. The November 9 entry speaks of a routine visit to the department and a boycott by the head of the department. Finally, the November 11 entry brings us back to the dog mail.

Exhausted by love torments, the hero dreams: I would like to look there, on that half, where Her Excellency is - that's where I would like to! To the boudoir: how are all these jars, bottles, flowers standing there, 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, miracles, there, I think, paradise, which is not in heaven. To look at that little bench on which she stands, getting up from bed, her leg, how a stocking white as snow is put on this leg ... ah! ouch! ouch! 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 Medzhi's dog, tries to interrogate her about the mistress, 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 talk, but that there was only some kind of stubbornness in her. She is an extraordinary politician: she notices everything, all the steps of a person. No, by all means, tomorrow I will go to Zverkov's house, interrogate Fidel and, if possible, intercept all the letters Medji 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 junker. He is indignant and tears up the dog's letters. We may wonder where did the information come from if dogs can't write letters? Gogol does not give explanations, 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 updated the 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 it is urgent to rise up takes possession of the hero.

Illustration by N.G. golts

The December 3rd entry reads: Can't be. Bullshit! There will be no wedding! So what if he's a chamber junker". Obviously, in the three weeks that have passed since the previous entry, the information was confirmed. This leads the hero into utter despair, and he hopes for nothing but a miracle. At the same time, he acquires a firm belief that a miracle is possible, and it will happen to him: “ Why am I a titular councillor, and why am I a titular councillor? Maybe I'm some kind of count or general, but only this way I seem like a titular adviser? Maybe I don't know who I am. After all, there are so many examples from history: some simple, not even 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 that sometimes comes out of a peasant, what can come out of a nobleman?.. But can’t I be granted this very minute by the governor-general, or quartermaster, or some other one? I would like to know why I am a titular councillor? Why a titular adviser?»

The entries for December 5 and 8 say that the hero is very disturbed by 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 distract himself from thoughts about the Spanish events. " I confess that these incidents so killed and shocked me that I absolutely could not do anything all day ... For the most part I lay on the bed and talked about the affairs of Spain". That is, the hero has an idea fix, on which he gets hung up. The result is the ultimate insanity, namely megalomania.

The next entry is dated like this: Year 2000 April 43rd ". I remember this year well, but April 43 was still not in it. The following dates are even more convoluted:“March 86. Between day and night”, “No date. The day was without a number”, “I don’t remember the number. There was no month either. It was the devil knows what it is”, “Numbers of the 1st”, “Madrid. February thirtieth”, “January of the same year, which happened after February”, “Number 25”, “Chi 34 slo Mts gdao. February 349". And in 2000, when I was in my 4th year at the university and during teaching practice I gave schoolchildren a lesson on the work of N.V. Gogol, Gogol's hero Poprishchin, realizing himself the King of Spain Ferdinand VIII, 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. golts

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 crazy Poprishchin, starting from the moment the leapfrog with dates began, more and more pervades the phenomenon called schizophasia . It is not at all difficult, even without being a specialist, to find something in common 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:

« He was born on Herzen Street, in grocery store No. 22. A well-known economist, by vocation he is a librarian. The people are collective farmers. In the store - the seller. In the economy, 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 a librarian. Because there will be no air, there will be an academician! Well, here 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. So, one planet will benefit physics».

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

« All this 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 all over the world, and therefore, 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 to the question of literary and ideological intersections.

Or:

“The moon is usually made in Hamburg; and badly done. I wonder how England will not pay attention to this. It is made by a lame cooper, and it is clear that he is a fool, he has no idea about the moon. He put in a pitch rope and some wood oil; and that is why the stench is terrible all over the earth, so that you need to plug your nose. And that is why the moon itself is such a delicate ball that people cannot live in any way, and now only noses live there. And for that 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 him 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 condescendingly, 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 nevertheless, the Spanish customs finished him off, and he is in the entry from “Chi 34 layer Mts gdao. February 349 ”expresses thoughts in an extremely sensible and poetic way, quite in the spirit of lyrical digressions from“ Dead Souls ”. Nabokov, in his article on Gogol, was not too lazy to take the entire entry from this date as an epigraph - I will take it as an epilogue.

"No, I can't take it anymore. God! what are they doing to me! They pour on my head cold water! They don't listen, they don't see, they don't listen to me. What did I do to them? Why are they torturing me? What do they want from me, poor guy? What can I give them? I dont have anything. I am unable, I cannot endure all their torments, my head is on fire, and everything is spinning before me. Help me! take me! give me a trio of horses as fast as a whirlwind! Sit down, my coachman, ring, my bell, soar the horses, and carry me from this world! Further, further, further, so that nothing, nothing can be seen. There the sky swirls before me; an asterisk sparkles in the distance, the forest rushes with dark trees and a moon; gray fog creeps underfoot; the string rings in the fog; on one side the sea, on the other Italy; you can see the Russian huts too. Does my house turn blue in the distance? Is my mother sitting in front of the window? Mother, save your poor son! shed a tear on his sore little head! look how they torture him! hug your poor orphan to your breast! he has no place in the world! they chase him! Mother! have pity on your sick child!”

Beautifully said, isn't it? And we are already beginning to hope for the recovery of the hero, although he was probably happier when he was sick. But - no, the last phrase of the story says 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 clean boots, I asked what time it was. Hearing that it had long been past ten, I hastened to get dressed as soon as possible. I confess that I would not have gone to the department at all, knowing in advance what a sour face our head of the department would make. He has been telling me for a long time: “What is it with you, brother, is there always such a jumble in your head? Sometimes you rush about like a madman, sometimes you confuse things so much that Satan himself won’t make out, you put a small letter in the title, you don’t set either a number or a number. Damn heron! he must be jealous that I sit in the director's office and sharpen feathers for his excellency. In a word, I would not have gone to the department if it had not been for the hope of seeing the treasurer and perhaps somehow begging this Jew for at least some of his salary in advance. Here's another creation! So that he would give out some money in advance for a month - Lord my God, but rather the Last Judgment will come. Ask, at least crack, at least be in need - it won’t give out, gray-haired devil. And at the apartment, his own cook beats him on the cheeks. This is known to the whole world. I don't understand the benefits of serving in the department. No resources at all. Here in the provincial administration, civil and state chambers, it’s a completely different matter: there, you look, another clung to the very corner and pees. Frachishka on him is ugly, his face is such that you want to spit, but look at what kind of dacha he hires! 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 of three hundred rubles. He looks so quiet, he says so delicately: “Lend a knife to mend a feather,” and then he will clean it so that he will leave only one shirt on the petitioner. True, on the other hand, our service is noble, cleanliness in everything is such as the provincial government will never see: mahogany tables, and all the bosses on You. Yes, I confess, if it were not for the nobility of the service, I would have left the department long ago.

I put on an old overcoat and took an umbrella because it was pouring with rain. There was no one on the streets; only women, covering themselves with the skirts of their dresses, and Russian merchants under umbrellas, and couriers caught my eye. Of the nobles, only our brother official caught me. I saw him at the crossroads. As soon as I saw him, I immediately said to myself: “Hey! no, my dear, you are not going to the department, you are in a hurry to follow the one that runs in front, and look at her legs. What a beast our brother official is! By God, he will not yield to any officer: come in some one in a hat, he will certainly hook you. As I was thinking this, I saw a carriage pull up in front of the shop I was passing by. I now recognized it: it was our director's carriage. But he doesn’t need to go to the store, I thought: “That’s right, this is his daughter.” I leaned against the wall. The footman opened the doors, and she fluttered out of the carriage like a bird. How she glanced right and left, how she flashed her eyebrows and eyes... Lord, my God! I'm gone, I'm completely gone. And why would she go out at such a rainy time! Say now that women do not have a great passion for all these rags. She did not 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, of an old style. Now cloaks are worn with long collars, but I had short ones, one on top of the other; Yes, and the cloth is not completely deformed. Her little dog, not having time to jump up at the door of the store, remained on the street. I know this dog. Her name is Meji. Before I had time to stay a minute, I suddenly heard a thin voice: “Hello, Medji!” Here's to you! 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 again there was heard near me: “Sin for you, Maggie!” What the hell! I saw Maggie sniffing around with the little dog that was following the ladies. “Hey! I said to myself. “Come on, am I drunk?” It just doesn't seem to happen to me very often." “No, Fidel, you are wrong to think,” I saw for myself what Medji said, “I was, aw! aw! I was, aw, aw, aw! very sick." Oh, you doggy! I confess that I was very surprised to hear her speaking in a human way. But later, when I understood all this well, then at the same time I ceased to be surprised. Indeed, there have already been many such examples in the world. They say that in England a fish swam up that 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 into the shop and asked for a pound of tea. But, I confess, I was much more surprised when Maggie said: “I wrote to you, Fidel; it’s true, Polkan didn’t bring my letter!” Yes, so I did not receive a salary! I never heard in my life that a dog could write. Only a noble can write correctly. It is, of course, some merchants, clerks, and even serfs sometimes pee; but their writing is for the most part mechanical: no commas, no periods, no 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 is and what she thinks.”

I unfolded my umbrella and went to fetch the two ladies. We crossed into Gorokhovaya, turned into Meshchanskaya, from there to Stolyarnaya, finally to 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 does not live in it: how many cooks, how many visitors! and our brother officials - like dogs, one on the other sits. I also have a friend there who plays the trumpet well. The ladies went up to the fifth floor. "All right," I thought, "now I won't go, but I'll spot a place and at the first opportunity I won't fail to use it."

October 4.

Today is Wednesday, and therefore I was with our boss in the office. I arrived early on purpose and, sitting down, mended 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 learning, such learning that our brother doesn’t even have an attack: everything is either in French or in German. And look into his face: fu, what importance shines in his eyes! I have never heard him say an extra word. Only unless, when you submit papers, he asks: “What is it like in the yard?” “Damp, Your Excellency!” Yes, not our brother couple! State man. I notice, however, that he especially loves me. If only my daughter ... oh, the canal! .. Nothing, nothing, silence! I read The Bee. Eka stupid French people! Well, what do they want? I would take, by God, all of them, and flogged them with rods! In the same place I read a very pleasant image of the ball, described by the Kursk landowner. Kursk landowners write well. After that, I noticed that it was already half past twelve, and ours did not leave his bedroom. But about half-past two an incident happened which no pen can describe. The door opened, I thought it was the director, and jumped up from the chair with the papers; but it was her, she herself! Saints, how she was dressed! her dress was as white as a swan: phew, what a fluffy one! but as she looked: the sun, by God the sun! She bowed and said, "Dad A wasn't here?" Ah ah ah! what a voice! Canary, right, canary! “Your Excellency,” I was about to say, “do not order the execution, but if you already want to execute, then execute with your general’s hand.” Yes, damn it, somehow the tongue didn’t turn around, and I only said: “No way, sir.” She looked at me, at the books, and dropped her handkerchief. I rushed with all my might, slipped on the cursed parquet floor and almost got my nose stuck, but I managed to restrain myself and took out my handkerchief. Saints, what a handkerchief! the thinnest, cambric - ambergris, perfect ambergris! and breathes from him the generalship. She thanked and smiled a little, so that her sugar lips almost did not move, and after that she left. I was sitting for another hour, when suddenly a lackey came and said: "Go home, Aksenty Ivanovich, the master has already left home." I can't stand the circle of lackeys: they always fall apart in the hall, and at least bother to nod their head. This is not enough: once one of these beasts took it into her head to regale me with tobacco without getting up. 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 myself, because these gentlemen would never serve, and went out. Most of the time he lay on the bed at home. Then he rewrote very good poems: “Darling for an hour without seeing, I thought I hadn’t seen a year; Hating my life, Is it good for me to live, I said. Must be Pushkin's work. In the evening, wrapped in an overcoat, he went to her Excellency's entrance and waited for a long time to see if she would get into the carriage to look once more - but no, she did not go out.

Irritated by the head of the department. When I arrived at the department, he called me to him and began to speak to me like this: “Well, tell me, please, what are you doing?” - "Like what? I don't do anything," I replied. "Well, think carefully! after all, you are already over forty years old - it's time to gain your mind. What are you imagining? Do you think I don't know all your pranks? After all, you are dragging after the director's daughter! Well, look at you, just think, what are you? because you are zero, nothing more. After all, you have not a penny for your soul. Take a look at your face in the mirror, where should you think about that! Damn it, his face looks somewhat like an apothecary's vial, and on his head a piece of hair, curled in a tuft, keeps it up, and lubricates it with some kind of rosette, he already thinks that he alone can do anything. I understand, I understand why he is angry with me. He is envious; he saw, perhaps preferentially, signs of benevolence shown to me. Yes, I spit on him! Great is the importance of the court adviser! hung out a gold chain for his watch, orders boots for thirty rubles - damn it! Am I from some commoners, from tailors or from non-commissioned officer children? I am a nobleman. Well, I can do it too. I am still forty-two years old - the time at which, for real, the service has just begun. Wait, buddy! we will be a colonel, and maybe, if God wills, then something even bigger. We will make ourselves a reputation even better than yours. What did you take into your head that, besides you, there is no longer a decent person at all? Give me a ruchev tailcoat, tailored in fashion, and if I tie myself the same tie as you, then you won’t become a match for me. There is no wealth - that's the trouble.

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 clean boots, I asked what time it was. Hearing that it had long been past ten, I hastened to get dressed as soon as possible. I confess that I would not have gone to the department at all, knowing in advance what a sour face our head of the department would make. He has been telling me for a long time: “What is it with you, brother, is there always such a jumble in your head? Sometimes you rush about like a madman, sometimes you confuse things so much that Satan himself won’t make out, you put a small letter in the title, you don’t set either a number or a number. Damn heron! he must be jealous that I sit in the director's office and sharpen feathers for his excellency. In a word, I would not have gone to the department if it had not been for the hope of seeing the treasurer and perhaps somehow begging this Jew for at least some of his salary in advance. Here's another creation! So that he would give out some money in advance for a month - Lord my God, but rather the Last Judgment will come. Ask, at least crack, at least be in need - it won’t give out, gray-haired devil. And at the apartment, his own cook beats him on the cheeks. This is known to the whole world. I don't understand the benefits of serving in the department. No resources at all. Here in the provincial administration, civil and state chambers, it’s a completely different matter: there, you look, another clung to the very corner and pees. Frachishka on him is ugly, his face is such that you want to spit, but look at what kind of dacha he hires! 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 of three hundred rubles. He looks so quiet, he says so delicately: “Lend a knife to mend a feather,” and then he will clean it so that he will leave only one shirt on the petitioner. True, on the other hand, our service is noble, cleanliness in everything is such as the provincial government will never see: mahogany tables, and all the bosses on You. Yes, I confess, if it were not for the nobility of the service, I would have left the department long ago.

I put on an old overcoat and took an umbrella because it was pouring with rain. There was no one on the streets; only women, covering themselves with the skirts of their dresses, and Russian merchants under umbrellas, and couriers caught my eye. Of the nobles, only our brother official caught me. I saw him at the crossroads. As soon as I saw him, I immediately said to myself: “Hey! no, my dear, you are not going to the department, you are in a hurry to follow the one that runs in front, and look at her legs. What a beast our brother official is! By God, he will not yield to any officer: come in some one in a hat, he will certainly hook you. As I was thinking this, I saw a carriage pull up in front of the shop I was passing by. I now recognized it: it was our director's carriage. But he doesn’t need to go to the store, I thought: “That’s right, this is his daughter.” I leaned against the wall. The footman opened the doors, and she fluttered out of the carriage like a bird. How she glanced right and left, how she flashed her eyebrows and eyes... Lord, my God! I'm gone, I'm completely gone. And why would she go out at such a rainy time! Say now that women do not have a great passion for all these rags. She did not 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, of an old style. Now cloaks are worn with long collars, but I had short ones, one on top of the other; Yes, and the cloth is not completely deformed. Her little dog, not having time to jump up at the door of the store, remained on the street. I know this dog. Her name is Meji. Before I had time to stay a minute, I suddenly heard a thin voice: “Hello, Medji!” Here's to you! 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 again there was heard near me: “Sin for you, Maggie!” What the hell! I saw Maggie sniffing around with the little dog that was following the ladies. “Hey! I said to myself. “Come on, am I drunk?” It just doesn't seem to happen to me very often." “No, Fidel, you are wrong to think,” I saw for myself what Medji said, “I was, aw! aw! I was, aw, aw, aw! very sick." Oh, you doggy! I confess that I was very surprised to hear her speaking in a human way. But later, when I understood all this well, then at the same time I ceased to be surprised. Indeed, there have already been many such examples in the world. They say that in England a fish swam up that 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 into the shop and asked for a pound of tea. But, I confess, I was much more surprised when Maggie said: “I wrote to you, Fidel; it’s true, Polkan didn’t bring my letter!” Yes, so I did not receive a salary! I never heard in my life that a dog could write. Only a noble can write correctly. It is, of course, some merchants, clerks, and even serfs sometimes pee; but their writing is for the most part mechanical: no commas, no periods, no 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 is and what she thinks.”

I unfolded my umbrella and went to fetch the two ladies. We crossed into Gorokhovaya, turned into Meshchanskaya, from there to Stolyarnaya, finally to 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 does not live in it: how many cooks, how many visitors! and our brother officials - like dogs, one on the other sits. I also have a friend there who plays the trumpet well. The ladies went up to the fifth floor. "All right," I thought, "now I won't go, but I'll spot a place and at the first opportunity I won't fail to use it."

October 4.

Today is Wednesday, and therefore I was with our boss in the office. I arrived early on purpose and, sitting down, mended 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 learning, such learning that our brother doesn’t even have an attack: everything is either in French or in German. And look into his face: fu, what importance shines in his eyes! I have never heard him say an extra word. Only unless, when you submit papers, he asks: “What is it like in the yard?” “Damp, Your Excellency!” Yes, not our brother couple! State man. I notice, however, that he especially loves me. If only my daughter ... oh, the canal! .. Nothing, nothing, silence! I read The Bee. Eka stupid French people! Well, what do they want? I would take, by God, all of them, and flogged them with rods! In the same place I read a very pleasant image of the ball, described by the Kursk landowner. Kursk landowners write well. After that, I noticed that it was already half past twelve, and ours did not leave his bedroom. But about half-past two an incident happened which no pen can describe. The door opened, I thought it was the director, and jumped up from the chair with the papers; but it was her, she herself! Saints, how she was dressed! her dress was as white as a swan: phew, what a fluffy one! but as she looked: the sun, by God the sun! She bowed and said, "Dad A wasn't here?" Ah ah ah! what a voice! Canary, right, canary! “Your Excellency,” I was about to say, “do not order the execution, but if you already want to execute, then execute with your general’s hand.” Yes, damn it, somehow the tongue didn’t turn around, and I only said: “No way, sir.” She looked at me, at the books, and dropped her handkerchief. I rushed with all my might, slipped on the cursed parquet floor and almost got my nose stuck, but I managed to restrain myself and took out my handkerchief. Saints, what a handkerchief! the thinnest, cambric - ambergris, perfect ambergris! and breathes from him the generalship. She thanked and smiled a little, so that her sugar lips almost did not move, and after that she left. I was sitting for another hour, when suddenly a lackey came and said: "Go home, Aksenty Ivanovich, the master has already left home." I can't stand the circle of lackeys: they always fall apart in the hall, and at least bother to nod their head. This is not enough: once one of these beasts took it into her head to regale me with tobacco without getting up. 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 myself, because these gentlemen would never serve, and went out. Most of the time he lay on the bed at home. Then he rewrote very good poems: “Darling for an hour without seeing, I thought I hadn’t seen a year; Hating my life, Is it good for me to live, I said. Must be Pushkin's work. In the evening, wrapped in an overcoat, he went to her Excellency's entrance and waited for a long time to see if she would get into the carriage to look once more - but no, she did not go out.