Finally, a general description of NN city officials. is built on hidden grotesquery and is full of sarcasm: “The others were also more or less enlightened people: some read Karamzin, some Moskovskie Vedomosti, some didn’t even read anything at all. Who was what is called a tyuruk, that is, a person who needed to be kicked up to something; who was just a bob, lying, as they say, on his side all his life, which was even in vain to raise: he would not get up under any circumstances. As for good looks, we already know that they were all reliable people, there was no one consumptive among them. They were all of the kind to whom wives, in tender conversations taking place in solitude, gave names: egg capsules, chubby, pot-bellied, nigella, kiki, juju, etc.” (Chapter Eight).
Even the epitaph for the suddenly deceased prosecutor in the mouth of Chichikov looks like a mockery: “Here, the prosecutor! lived, lived, and then died! And so they will print in the newspapers that, to the regret of his subordinates and all mankind, a respectable citizen, a rare father, an exemplary husband has died, and they will write a lot of all sorts of things; They will add, perhaps, that he was accompanied by the crying of widows and orphans; but if you take a good look at the matter, all you really had was thick eyebrows.”
Death from fright caused by rumors about Chichikov, and the memory of thick eyebrows - that’s all that remains of a person who lived his life! (Later this theme would be picked up by Chekhov, who also depicted the death not of a person, but of an official.)
The collective portrait of the city “society” and the village “owners” should, according to Gogol, evoke not laughter, but horror and a desire to live differently. “And a person could stoop to such insignificance, pettiness, and disgustingness! Could have changed so much! And does this seem true? Everything seems to be true, anything can happen to a person. Today's fiery young man would recoil in horror if they showed him his own portrait in old age. Take with you on the journey, emerging from the soft years of youth into stern, embittering courage, take with you all human movements, do not leave them on the road, you will not pick them up later! The old age coming ahead is terrible, and nothing gives back and forth! The grave is more merciful than her, on the grave it will be written: “A man is buried here!”, but you can’t read anything in the cold, insensitive features of inhuman old age,” the author exclaims in the story about Plyushkin, but not only referring to him (chapter six).
“Compatriots! scary!... - Gogol shouts in “Testament” (1845) three years after the publication of “Dead Souls”. “My entire dying composition groans, sensing the gigantic growths and fruits whose seeds we sowed in life, without seeing or hearing what horrors would rise from them...” (“Selected passages from correspondence with friends”).
But in the poem this fear of immortal vulgarity is contrasted with the words of the lyricist and the prophet and artist's view.
We have already said that Gogol’s book is transformed from a picaresque novel into a poem, first of all, by the special activity of the Author. He not only objectively tells the story (although formally the narration in “Dead Souls” is told in the third person), but comments on what is happening: he laughs, is indignant, predicts, remembers. Fragments in which the author appears are often called lyrical digressions. What is the author retreating from? Of course, from the plot, which has always been the basis of the picaresque novel. But these digressions have important plot significance: without them, Dead Souls would be a completely different book.
The plot of "Dead Souls", turning into plot, washed away by numerous details and is expanded by the author's digressions.
The image of the Author is very important for unusual non-canonical Russian novels in verse and novels in short stories. But the Author in “Dead Souls” is of a different, special nature. He does not communicate with Chichikov and does not observe Nozdryov and Plyushkin. He is not present at all in the world of the novel, has no biography or face. The author in “Dead Souls” is not an image, but voice not interfering with the narrative, but only commenting and comprehending it.
Gogol later formulated his task in “The Author's Confession” (1847).
“I wanted ‹...› that after reading my essay, the whole Russian person would appear, as if involuntarily, with all the variety of riches and gifts that fell to his lot, especially before other peoples, and with all the many shortcomings that are in him , - also preferentially before all other peoples. I thought that the lyrical power that I had in stock would help me portray these virtues in such a way that the Russian people would be inflamed with love for them, and the power of laughter, which I also had in stock, would help me portray the shortcomings so vividly that the reader would hate them , even if I could find them in myself.”
ABOUT the power of laughter we have already said: it defines the plot of “Dead Souls” with all its illogical and grotesque details. It also goes into some digressions, when the author either discusses in extraordinary detail the differences in communication with the owners of two hundred and three hundred souls (chapter three), then ironically admits his envy of the appetite and stomach of average people (chapter four), then praises what he heard from the peasants to Plyushkin’s definition, although this apt word itself will never be repeated (chapter five).
In a large digression from chapter eight, the author pushes aside Chichikov, who is bending over the list of purchased peasants, and finally creates a collective image of the people. For the landowners, these dead men were a heavy burden. Kulak Sobakevich praised the business qualities of his peasants. In the author’s digression, “dead souls” suddenly come to life, unlike the inhabitants of the city of NN., they receive first and last names, behind which, as if by magic, strong, living passions and amazing destinies arise.
Stepan Cork, the epic hero who marched all over Russia with an ax and absurdly died during the construction of a church.
His partner, Uncle Micah, immediately, without hesitation, replaced Cork with the words: “Eh, Vanya, what a blessing for you.”
The courtyard man Popov (a sort of Russian soldier Schweik), playing a tricky game with the police captain and feeling great both in the field and in any prison: “No, the Vesegonsk prison will be cleaner: even though it’s a waste of money, there’s a place there, and there’s more society!”
Finally, another hero, barge hauler Abakum Fyrov. “And really, where is Fyrov now? He walks noisily and cheerfully on the grain pier, having arranged himself with the merchants. Flowers and ribbons on the hat, the whole gang of barge haulers is having fun, saying goodbye to their mistresses and wives, tall, slender, wearing monasteries and ribbons; round dances, songs, the whole square is in full swing, and meanwhile the porters, with shouts, curses and prodding, hooking nine pounds on their backs with hooks, noisily pour peas and wheat into deep vessels, roll down coolies with oats and cereals, and in the distance they can see all over Square heaps of sacks piled into a pyramid, like cannonballs, and the entire grain arsenal peeks out enormously, until it is all loaded into deep marmot ships and the endless fleet rushes like a goose along with the spring ice. That's where you'll work hard, barge haulers! and together, as before they walked and raged, you will set to work and sweat, dragging the strap under one endless song, like Rus'.”
These dead souls suddenly turn out to be more alive than the living. Of course, among them there are also losers: the drunken shoemaker Maxim Telyatnikov, or the one who threw himself into an ice hole after going to the tavern, or Grigory, who was killed for no reason. You won’t get there. But in general, in this retreat, Gogol creates the image of that desired ideal Rus' - working, quick-witted, riotous, singing - which is opposed not only by the landowners, but also by the still living stupid Uncle Mityai and Uncle Minyai, who cannot separate the mating horses.
Other author's digressions no longer revive the characters, do not expand the portrait gallery of the novel, but represent pure lyricism, original prose poems. Stylistically, they sharply oppose the plot narrative part of the novel. There are almost no grotesque details here, but there are many high poetic words. Intonationally, these digressions are kept in an elegiac tone.
1.1.3. How does the description of Lensky’s possible “ordinary” fate compare with the author’s reflection from chapter 6 of N.V. Gogol’s poem “Dead Souls” (see below)?
1.2.3. What brings the poem of M. Yu. Lermontov closer to the poem given below by A. A. Blok?
Read the fragments of the works below and complete task 1.1.3.
XXXVI My friends, you feel sorry for the poet: In the color of joyful hopes, Having not yet completed them for the light, Almost out of baby clothes, Withered! Where is the hot excitement? Where is the noble aspiration And the feelings and thoughts of young people, Tall, gentle, daring? Where are the stormy desires of love, And the thirst for knowledge and work, And fear of vice and shame, And you, cherished dreams, You, ghost of unearthly life, You, holy dreams of poetry! XXXVII Perhaps he is for the good of the world Or at least he was born for glory; His silent lyre Loud, continuous ringing In centuries I could lift it. Poet, Perhaps on the steps of light A high stage awaited. His suffering shadow Perhaps she took it with her Holy secret, and for us The life-giving voice has died, And beyond the grave line The anthem of the times will not reach her, Blessing of the Tribes. XXXVIII.XXXIX Or maybe even that: a poet The ordinary one was waiting for his fate. The youthful summers would have passed: The ardor of his soul would cool. He would change in many ways I would part with the muses, get married, In the village, happy and horny, I would wear a quilted robe; I would really know life I would have gout at the age of forty, I drank, ate, got bored, got fat, grew weaker And finally in my bed I would die among children, Whining women and doctors. |
A. S. Pushkin “Eugene Onegin”
***********************
Mavra left, and Plyushkin, sitting down in an armchair and taking the pen in his hand, spent a long time turning the four in all directions, wondering if it was possible to separate another eight from it, but finally became convinced that it was impossible; stuck the pen into an inkwell with some kind of moldy liquid and a lot of flies at the bottom and began to write, making letters that looked like musical notes, constantly holding his agility hand, which was scattered all over the paper, sparingly molding line after line and not without regret thinking that there will still be a lot of blank space left.
And a person could stoop to such insignificance, pettiness, and disgustingness! could have changed so much! And does this seem true? Everything seems to be true, anything can happen to a person. Today's fiery young man would recoil in horror if they showed him his own portrait in old age. Take with you on the journey, emerging from the soft years of youth into stern, embittering courage, take with you all human movements, do not leave them on the road, you will not pick them up later! The old age coming ahead is terrible, terrible, and nothing gives back and back! The grave is more merciful than her; on the grave it will be written: “A man is buried here!” - but you can’t read anything in the cold, unfeeling features of inhuman old age.
N.V. Gogol “Dead Souls”
Read the works below and complete task 1.2.3.
Motherland My reason will not defeat her. Nor glory bought with blood, Nor the peace full of proud trust, Nor the dark old treasured legends No joyful dreams stir within me. But I love - for what, I don’t know myself - Its steppes are coldly silent, Her boundless forests sway, The floods of its rivers are like seas; On a country road I like to ride in a cart And, with a slow gaze piercing the shadow of the night, Meet on the sides, sighing for an overnight stay, The trembling lights of sad villages; I love the smoke of burnt stubble, A convoy spending the night in the steppe And on a hill in the middle of a yellow field A couple of white birches. With joy unknown to many, I see a complete threshing floor A hut covered with straw Window with carved shutters; And on a holiday, on a dewy evening, Ready to watch until midnight To dance with stomping and whistling Under the talk of drunken men. M. Yu. Lermontov, 1841 | Russia Again, like in the golden years, Three worn out harnesses flutter, And the painted knitting needles knit Into loose ruts... Russia, poor Russia, I want your gray huts, Your songs are windy to me, - Like the first tears of love! I don't know how to feel sorry for you And I carefully carry my cross... Which sorcerer do you want? Give me your robber beauty! Let him lure and deceive, - You won’t be lost, you won’t perish, And only care will cloud Your beautiful features... Well then? One more concern - The river is noisier with one tear, And you are still the same - forest and field, Yes, the patterned board goes up to the eyebrows... And the impossible is possible The long road is easy When the road flashes in the distance An instant glance from under a scarf, When it rings with guarded melancholy The dull song of the coachman!.. A. A. Block |
Explanation.
1.1.3. Pushkin does not exclude the possibility that Lensky will be drawn into philistine life, and he will become the same provincial landowner that he meets in the Larins’ house. Lensky has the prerequisites for this: he has already settled in the village, became a landowner, and is going to marry Olga Larina, a narrow-minded young lady, devoid of high ideals, an empty coquette. Gogol reflects on human degradation using the example of Plyushkin. Warns how terrible this fall can become. Calls for preserving the Human within: “Take it with you on the journey, emerging from the soft youthful years into stern, embittered courage, take with you all human movements, do not leave them on the road, you will not pick them up later!”
1.2.3. Lermontov could not imagine himself without his homeland, without Russia. But I couldn’t imagine Russia without the Russian people.
I love my fatherland, but with a strange love!
My reason will not defeat her, -
the poet admits in the poem “Motherland”. This love came from the very heart, which was infinitely dear to the “cold silence of the steppes,” and the “boundless swaying forests,” and “the floods of its rivers, like seas,” and “the trembling lights of sad villages.” But the poet’s view of his beloved homeland was not at all idealized. That is why Lermontov called his love for his homeland “strange” - it combined happiness and pain, the desire to do everything possible for his native land and the consciousness of his own powerlessness.
Blok’s poem is permeated with similar sentiments.
I don't know how to feel sorry for you
And I carefully carry my cross... -
exclaims the poet. He, like Lermontov, is perfectly familiar with all the hardships of the life of his people, their suffering, and therefore the poet’s heart mourns along with the Motherland. However, the poet still believes that Russia will not perish and will be reborn, no matter what trials befall it.
A piece of paper that they deigned to cover the glass with.
But I can see in my eyes that I’ve tinkered.
But what would I like? After all, I have no use with her; I don't know how to read and write.
You're lying, you demolished the sexton: he's messing around, so you demolished it for him.
Yes, the sexton, if he wants, can get himself papers. He hasn't seen your scrap!
Just wait a minute: at the Last Judgment the devils will beat you up with iron slingshots for this! You'll see how they cook!
But why will they punish me if I didn’t even pick up a quarter? It’s more likely some other woman’s weakness, but no one has ever reproached me for theft.
But the devils will get you! They’ll say: “Here’s to you, swindler, for deceiving the master!”, and they’ll give you a hot roast!
And I’ll say: “You’re welcome!” By God, no way, I didn’t take it...” Yes, there she is lying on the table. You always reproach us unnecessarily!
Plyushkin definitely saw a quarter and stopped for a minute, chewed his lips and said:
Well, why did you disagree like that? What a pain! Tell her just one word, and she’ll answer with a dozen! Go and bring the light to seal the letter. Wait, you grab a tallow candle, tallow is a sticky business: it will burn - yes and no, only a loss, and you bring me a splinter!
Mavra left, and Plyushkin, sitting down in an armchair and taking the pen in his hand, spent a long time turning the quarter in all directions, wondering if it was possible to separate another octam from it, but finally he was convinced that it was impossible; stuck the pen into an inkwell with some kind of moldy liquid and a lot of flies at the bottom and began to write, making letters that looked like musical notes, constantly holding his agility hand, which was bouncing all over the paper, sparingly molding line after line and not without regret thinking about it , that there will still be a lot of blank space left.
And a person could stoop to such insignificance, pettiness, and disgustingness! could have changed so much! And does this seem true? Everything seems to be true, anything can happen to a person. Today's fiery young man would recoil in horror if they showed him his own portrait in old age. Take with you on the journey, emerging from the soft years of youth into stern, embittering courage, take with you all human movements, do not leave them on the road, you will not pick them up later! The old age coming ahead is terrible, and nothing gives back and forth! The grave is more merciful than her, on the grave it will be written: “A man is buried here!”, but you can’t read anything in the cold, unfeeling features of inhuman old age.
“Do you know any friend of yours,” said Plyushkin, folding the letter, “who would need runaway souls?”
Do you have any runaways? - Chichikov quickly asked, waking up.
That's the point, there is. The son-in-law made adjustments: he says that there was no trace, but he is a military man: he is a master of stamping a spur, and if he bothered with the courts...
How many of them will there be?
Yes, there will also be dozens up to seven.
And by God, so! After all, I’ve been running around for a year now. The people are painfully gluttonous, out of idleness they have acquired the habit of cracking food, but I myself have nothing to eat... And I would take anything for them. So advise your friend: if you find only a dozen, then he’ll have a nice amount of money. After all, a revision soul costs five hundred rubles.
“No, we won’t even let a friend smell this,” Chichikov said to himself and then explained that there was no way to find such a friend, that the costs alone for this matter would cost more, because the courts would have to cut off the tails of their own caftan and go further away; but what if it is already really squeezed like that, then, being
A man is buried here
The poem by N.V. Gogol presents a whole gallery of images of serf-owners who have long lost their human image: some from idleness, some from vulgarity, some from their cruelty. But they all lost their spirituality in pursuit of money and power. We see them through the eyes of the main character, but we can draw conclusions about their behavior and lifestyle on our own, because Gogol’s hero is also, in a sense, a negative character.
Chichikov begins his tour of the landowners with Manilov. His main goal is to bargain for as many “dead souls” of peasants as possible, in order to later sell them at a higher price. This sugary landowner gladly gives a list of his peasants to a new acquaintance for free, since he is too lazy to even ask why he needs them.
Manilov is an unusually lazy and idle man, who has been reading the same book on the same page for two years now. He also doesn't know who is working in his house and for how long, because
He is not at all interested in the peasants' issues. There were only five such careless landowners on Chichikov’s path.
Each of them has its own distinctive features, but none of them is depicted as a positive hero.
Along with Manilov were Sobakevich, Korobochka, Nozdryov and Plyushkin. Sobakevich was too cruel and rude a manager. The box is stingy and stupid. Nozdryov is riotous and scandalous.
But the most ambiguous impression on the main character was made by Plyushkin - a man who was difficult to attribute to any class. He looked terribly old and crooked, like a housekeeper in a cap. The men called him “patched” behind his back.
Plyushkin wore very old, careless and sometimes shabby clothes. He didn’t throw anything away, but brought all the rubbish home, his mind was so corroded by stinginess. Apparently, even in his youth he was an overly thrifty owner, but after the loss of his wife and over the years he became a total miser.
Communicating with him, it seemed to Chichikov that this man never had a past, no present, and the future seemed vague. He once had children, a house full of hospitality, a functioning household. However, in the state in which Chichikov found him, he seemed mentally ill.
His son and eldest daughter did not live up to his hopes. The youngest daughter died, and he himself resembled a “buried alive” man. The author does not hide his attitude towards this hero, describing the manor's house as a huge burial crypt.
The description of not only the owner’s estate, but also the entire village is imbued with special melancholy. Plyushkin had more than a thousand peasants at his disposal, and they all lived in decrepit houses with holes in the roof and windows without glass.
While communicating with this character, Chichikov feels for a moment that everything human in him has long since died. There was nothing living in him. On the one hand, old age left its cruel, hopeless imprint, and on the other hand, he himself was an unbearable character, a man whose inhumanity and mental illness the forced serfs were now forced to put up with.
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