Overcoat - analysis of the work. Overcoat (story), plot, characters, dramatizations, film adaptations

The history of the creation of Gogol's work "The Overcoat"

Gogol, according to the Russian philosopher N. Berdyaev, is “the most mysterious figure in Russian literature.” To this day, the writer’s works cause controversy. One of such works is the story “The Overcoat”.
In the mid-30s. Gogol heard a joke about an official who lost his gun. It sounded like this: there lived one poor official who was a passionate hunter. He saved for a long time for a gun, which he had long dreamed of. His dream came true, but, sailing across the Gulf of Finland, he lost it. Returning home, the official died of frustration.
The first draft of the story was called “The Tale of an Official Stealing an Overcoat.” In this version, some anecdotal motives and comic effects were visible. The official's last name was Tishkevich. In 1842, Gogol completed the story and changed the hero's surname. The story is published, completing the cycle of “Petersburg Tales”. This cycle includes the stories: “Nevsky Prospekt”, “The Nose”, “Portrait”, “The Stroller”, “Notes of a Madman” and “The Overcoat”. The writer worked on the cycle between 1835 and 1842. The stories are united based on a common place of events - St. Petersburg. Petersburg, however, is not only the place of action, but also a kind of hero of these stories, in which Gogol depicts life in its various manifestations. Typically, writers, when talking about St. Petersburg life, illuminated the life and characters of the capital's society. Gogol was attracted to petty officials, artisans, and poor artists—“little people.” It was no coincidence that St. Petersburg was chosen by the writer; it was this stone city that was especially indifferent and merciless to the “little man.” This topic was first opened by A.S. Pushkin. She becomes the leader in the work of N.V. Gogol.

Genre, genre, creative method

An analysis of the work shows that the influence of hagiographic literature is visible in the story “The Overcoat”. It is known that Gogol was an extremely religious person. Of course, he was well acquainted with this genre of church literature. Many researchers have written about the influence of the life of St. Akaki of Sinai on the story “The Overcoat,” including famous names: V.B. Shklovsky and G.L. Makogonenko. Moreover, in addition to the striking external similarity of the destinies of St. Akaki and Gogol's hero were traced the main common points of plot development: obedience, stoic patience, the ability to endure various kinds of humiliation, then death from injustice and - life after death.
The genre of “The Overcoat” is defined as a story, although its volume does not exceed twenty pages. It received its specific name - a story - not so much for its volume, but for its enormous semantic richness, which is not found in every novel. The meaning of the work is revealed only by compositional and stylistic techniques with the extreme simplicity of the plot. A simple story about a poor official who invested all his money and soul into a new overcoat, after the theft of which he dies, under the pen of Gogol found a mystical denouement and turned into a colorful parable with enormous philosophical overtones. “The Overcoat” is not just an accusatory satirical story, it is a wonderful work of art that reveals the eternal problems of existence that will not be translated either in life or in literature as long as humanity exists.
Sharply criticizing the dominant system of life, its internal falsehood and hypocrisy, Gogol’s work suggested the need for a different life, a different social structure. The great writer’s “Petersburg Tales,” which include “The Overcoat,” are usually attributed to the realistic period of his work. Nevertheless, they can hardly be called realistic. The sad story about the stolen overcoat, according to Gogol, “unexpectedly takes on a fantastic ending.” The ghost, in whom the deceased Akaki Akakievich was recognized, tore off everyone’s greatcoat, “without discerning rank and title.” Thus, the ending of the story turned it into a phantasmagoria.

Subject of the analyzed work

The story raises social, ethical, religious and aesthetic problems. Public interpretation emphasized the social side of “The Overcoat.” Akakiy Akakievich was viewed as a typical “little man”, a victim of the bureaucratic system and indifference. Emphasizing the typicality of the “little man’s” fate, Gogol says that death did not change anything in the department; Bashmachkin’s place was simply taken by another official. Thus, the theme of man - a victim of the social system - is brought to its logical conclusion.
The ethical or humanistic interpretation was built on the pitiful moments of “The Overcoat”, the call for generosity and equality, which was heard in Akaki Akakievich’s weak protest against office jokes: “Leave me alone, why are you offending me?” - and in these penetrating words other words rang: “I am your brother.” Finally, the aesthetic principle, which came to the fore in the works of the 20th century, focused mainly on the form of the story as the focus of its artistic value.

The idea of ​​the story "The Overcoat"

“Why depict poverty... and the imperfections of our lives, digging people out of life, from the remote corners of the state? ...no, there is a time when it is otherwise impossible to direct society and even a generation towards the beautiful until you show the full depth of its real abomination,” wrote N.V. Gogol, and in his words lies the key to understanding the story.
The author showed the “depth of abomination” of society through the fate of the main character of the story - Akaki Akakievich Bashmachkin. His image has two sides. The first is spiritual and physical squalor, which Gogol deliberately emphasizes and brings to the fore. The second is the arbitrariness and heartlessness of those around him in relation to the main character of the story. The relationship between the first and second determines the humanistic pathos of the work: even a person like Akaki Akakievich has the right to exist and be treated fairly. Gogol sympathizes with the fate of his hero. And it makes the reader involuntarily think about the attitude towards the entire world around him, and, first of all, about the sense of dignity and respect that every person should arouse towards himself, regardless of his social and financial status, but only taking into account his personal qualities and merits.

Nature of the conflict

The idea is based on N.V. Gogol lies in the conflict between the “little man” and society, a conflict leading to rebellion, to the uprising of the humble. The story “The Overcoat” describes not only an incident from the hero’s life. The whole life of a person appears before us: we are present at his birth, the naming of his name, we learn how he served, why he needed an overcoat and, finally, how he died. The story of the life of the “little man”, his inner world, his feelings and experiences, depicted by Gogol not only in “The Overcoat”, but also in other stories of the “Petersburg Tales” series, became firmly entrenched in Russian literature of the 19th century.

The main characters of the story “The Overcoat”

The hero of the story is Akaki Akakievich Bashmachkin, a petty official of one of the St. Petersburg departments, a humiliated and powerless man “of short stature, somewhat pockmarked, somewhat reddish, somewhat blind in appearance, with a small bald spot on his forehead, with wrinkles on both sides of his cheeks.” The hero of Gogol's story is offended by fate in everything, but he does not complain: he is already over fifty, he has not gone beyond copying papers, has not risen to a rank higher than a titular councilor (a civil servant of the 9th class, who does not have the right to acquire personal nobility - unless he born a nobleman) - and yet humble, meek, devoid of ambitious dreams. Bashmachkin has neither family nor friends, he does not go to the theater or to visit. All his “spiritual” needs are satisfied by copying papers: “It is not enough to say: he served zealously, - no, he served with love.” Nobody considers him to be a person. “The young officials laughed and made jokes at him, as much as their clerical wit was enough...” Bashmachkin did not answer a single word to his offenders, did not even stop working and did not make mistakes in the letter. All his life Akaki Akakievich serves in the same place, in the same position; His salary is meager - 400 rubles. per year, the uniform has long been no longer green, but a reddish flour color; Colleagues call an overcoat worn to holes a hood.
Gogol does not hide the limitations, scarcity of interests of his hero, and tongue-tiedness. But something else comes to the fore: his meekness, uncomplaining patience. Even the hero’s name carries this meaning: Akaki is humble, gentle, does no evil, innocent. The appearance of the overcoat reveals the hero’s spiritual world; for the first time, the hero’s emotions are depicted, although Gogol does not give the character’s direct speech - only a retelling. Akaki Akakievich remains speechless even at the critical moment of his life. The drama of this situation lies in the fact that no one helped Bashmachkin.
An interesting vision of the main character from the famous researcher B.M. Eikhenbaum. He saw in Bashmachkin an image that “served with love”; in the rewriting, “he saw some kind of varied and pleasant world of his own,” he did not think at all about his dress or anything else practical, he ate without noticing the taste, he did not indulge in any entertainment, in a word, he lived in some kind of ghostly and strange world, far from reality, he was a dreamer in uniform. And it’s not for nothing that his spirit, freed from this uniform, so freely and boldly develops its revenge - this is prepared by the whole story, here is its whole essence, its whole whole.
Along with Bashmachkin, the image of an overcoat plays an important role in the story. It is also fully correlated with the broad concept of “uniform honor,” which characterized the most important element of noble and officer ethics, to the norms of which the authorities under Nicholas I tried to introduce commoners and all officials in general.
The loss of his overcoat turns out to be not only a material, but also a moral loss for Akaki Akakievich. After all, thanks to the new overcoat, Bashmachkin felt like a human being for the first time in a departmental environment. The new overcoat can save him from frost and illness, but, most importantly, it serves as protection for him from ridicule and humiliation from his colleagues. With the loss of his overcoat, Akaki Akakievich lost the meaning of life.

Plot and composition

“The plot of “The Overcoat” is extremely simple. The poor little official makes an important decision and orders a new overcoat. While she is being sewn, she turns into the dream of his life. The very first evening he puts it on, his overcoat is taken off by thieves on a dark street. The official dies of grief, and his ghost haunts the city. That’s the whole plot, but, of course, the real plot (as always with Gogol) is in the style, in the internal structure of this... anecdote,” this is how V.V. retold the plot of Gogol’s story. Nabokov.
Hopeless need surrounds Akaki Akakievich, but he does not see the tragedy of his situation, since he is busy with business. Bashmachkin is not burdened by his poverty because he does not know any other life. And when he has a dream - a new overcoat, he is ready to endure any hardships, just to bring the realization of his plans closer. The overcoat becomes a kind of symbol of a happy future, a beloved brainchild, for which Akaki Akakievich is ready to work tirelessly. The author is quite serious when he describes his hero’s delight at realizing his dream: the overcoat is sewn! Bashmachkin was completely happy. However, with the loss of his new overcoat, Bashmachkin is overtaken by real grief. And only after death is justice done. Bashmachkin's soul finds peace when he returns his lost item.
The image of the overcoat is very important in the development of the plot of the work. The plot of the story revolves around the idea of ​​sewing a new overcoat or repairing an old one. The development of the action is Bashmachkin’s trips to the tailor Petrovich, an ascetic existence and dreams of a future overcoat, the purchase of a new dress and a visit to the name day, on which Akaki Akakievich’s overcoat must be “washed.” The action culminates in the theft of a new overcoat. And finally, the denouement lies in Bashmachkin’s unsuccessful attempts to return the overcoat; the death of a hero who caught a cold without his overcoat and yearns for it. The story ends with an epilogue - a fantastic story about the ghost of an official who is looking for his overcoat.
The story about the “posthumous existence” of Akaki Akakievich is full of horror and comedy at the same time. In the deathly silence of the St. Petersburg night, he tears off the overcoats from officials, not recognizing the bureaucratic difference in ranks and operating both behind the Kalinkin Bridge (that is, in the poor part of the capital) and in the rich part of the city. Only having overtaken the direct culprit of his death, “one significant person”, who, after a friendly official party, goes to “a certain lady Karolina Ivanovna,” and having torn off his general’s overcoat, the “spirit” of the dead Akaki Akakievich calms down and disappears from St. Petersburg squares and streets. Apparently, “the general’s overcoat suited him perfectly.”

Artistic originality

“Gogol’s composition is not determined by the plot - his plot is always poor; rather, there is no plot at all, but only one comic (and sometimes not even comic in itself at all) situation is taken, which serves, as it were, only as an impetus or reason for the development comic techniques. This story is especially interesting for this kind of analysis, because in it a pure comic tale, with all the techniques of language play characteristic of Gogol, is combined with pathetic declamation, forming, as it were, a second layer. Gogol doesn’t allow his characters in “The Overcoat” to speak much, and, as always with him, their speech is formed in a special way, so that, despite individual differences, it never gives the impression of everyday speech,” wrote B.M. Eikhenbaum in the article “How Gogol’s “Overcoat” was Made.”
The narration in “The Overcoat” is told in the first person. The narrator knows the life of officials well and expresses his attitude to what is happening in the story through numerous remarks. “What to do! the St. Petersburg climate is to blame,” he notes regarding the hero’s deplorable appearance. The climate forces Akaki Akakievich to go to great lengths to buy a new overcoat, that is, in principle, directly contributes to his death. We can say that this frost is an allegory of Gogol’s Petersburg.
All the artistic means that Gogol uses in the story: portrait, depiction of details of the environment in which the hero lives, the plot of the story - all this shows the inevitability of Bashmachkin’s transformation into a “little man.”
The style of storytelling itself, when a pure comic tale, built on wordplay, puns, and deliberate tongue-tiedness, is combined with sublime, pathetic declamation, is an effective artistic means.

Meaning of the work

The great Russian critic V.G. Belinsky said that the task of poetry is “to extract the poetry of life from the prose of life and to shake souls with a faithful portrayal of this life.” N.V. is precisely such a writer, a writer who shakes the soul by depicting the most insignificant pictures of human existence in the world. Gogol. According to Belinsky, the story “The Overcoat” is “one of Gogol’s most profound creations.” Herzen called “The Overcoat” “a colossal work.” The enormous influence of the story on the entire development of Russian literature is evidenced by the phrase recorded by the French writer Eugene de Vogüe from the words of “one Russian writer” (as is commonly believed, F.M. Dostoevsky): “We all came out of Gogol’s “The Overcoat.”
Gogol's works have been repeatedly staged and filmed. One of the last theatrical productions of “The Overcoat” was staged at the Moscow Sovremennik. On the new stage of the theatre, called “Another Stage”, intended primarily for staging experimental performances, “The Overcoat” was staged by director Valery Fokin.
“Staging Gogol’s “The Overcoat” has been my long-time dream. In general, I believe that Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol has three main works: “The Inspector General,” “Dead Souls” and “The Overcoat,” Fokin said. — I had already staged the first two and dreamed of “The Overcoat,” but I couldn’t start rehearsing because I didn’t see the leading actor... It always seemed to me that Bashmachkin was an unusual creature, neither female nor male, and someone... then here an unusual person, and really an actor or actress, had to play this,” says the director. Fokin's choice fell on Marina Neelova. “During the rehearsal and in what happened during the work on the play, I realized that Neelova was the only actress who could do what I had in mind,” says the director. The play premiered on October 5, 2004. The set design of the story and the performing skills of actress M. Neyolova were highly appreciated by the audience and the press.
“And here is Gogol again. Sovremennik again. Once upon a time, Marina Neelova said that she sometimes imagines herself as a white sheet of paper, on which every director is free to depict whatever he wants - even a hieroglyph, even a drawing, even a long, tricky phrase. Maybe someone will imprison a blot in the heat of the moment. A viewer who looks at “The Overcoat” may imagine that there is no woman named Marina Mstislavovna Neyolova in the world, that she was completely erased from the drawing paper of the universe with a soft eraser and a completely different creature was drawn in her place. Gray-haired, thin-haired, evoking in everyone who looks at him both disgusting disgust and magnetic attraction.”
(Newspaper, October 6, 2004)

“In this series, Fokine’s “The Overcoat”, which opened a new stage, looks like just an academic repertoire line. But only at first glance. Going to a performance, you can safely forget about your previous ideas. For Valery Fokin, “The Overcoat” is not at all where all humanistic Russian literature with its eternal pity for the little man came from. His “Overcoat” belongs to a completely different, fantastic world. His Akaki Akakievich Bashmachkin is not an eternal titular adviser, not a wretched copyist, unable to change verbs from the first person to the third, he is not even a man, but some strange creature of the neuter gender. To create such a fantastic image, the director needed an actor who was incredibly flexible and flexible, not only physically, but also psychologically. The director found such a versatile actor, or rather actress, in Marina Neelova. When this gnarled, angular creature with sparse tangled tufts of hair on his bald head appears on stage, the audience unsuccessfully tries to guess in him at least some familiar features of the brilliant prima “Contemporary”. In vain. Marina Neelova is not here. It seems that she has physically transformed, melted into her hero. Somnambulistic, cautious and at the same time awkward old man’s movements and a thin, plaintive, rattling voice. Since there is almost no text in the play (Bashmachkin’s few phrases, consisting mainly of prepositions, adverbs and other particles that absolutely do not have any meaning, serve rather as a speech or even sound characteristic of the character), the role of Marina Neyolova practically turns into a pantomime. But the pantomime is truly fascinating. Her Bashmachkin settled comfortably in his old giant overcoat, as if in a house: he fiddles around there with a flashlight, relieves himself, and settles down for the night.”
(Kommersant, October 6, 2004)

This is interesting

“As part of the Chekhov Festival, on the Small Stage of the Pushkin Theater, where puppet productions often tour and the audience can accommodate only 50 people, the Chilean Theater of Miracles played Gogol’s “The Overcoat.” We don’t know anything about the puppet theater in Chile, so we could have expected something quite exotic, but in fact it turned out that there was nothing specifically foreign in it - it was just a good little performance, made sincerely, with love and without any special ambitions. What was funny was that the characters here are called exclusively by their patronymics and all these “Buenos Dias, Akakievich” and “Por Favor, Petrovich” sounded comical.
The Milagros Theater is a sociable affair. It was created in 2005 by the famous Chilean TV presenter Alina Kuppernheim together with her classmates. Young women say that they fell in love with “The Overcoat,” which is not very well known in Chile (it turns out that “The Nose” is much more famous there), while still studying, and they all studied to become drama theater actresses. Having decided to make a puppet theater, we spent two whole years composing everything together, adapting the story ourselves, coming up with a set design, and making puppets.
The portal of the Milagros Theater, a plywood house that barely accommodates four puppeteers, was placed in the middle of the Pushkinsky stage and a small curtain-screen was closed. The performance itself is performed in a “black room” (puppeteers dressed in black almost disappear against the backdrop of a black velvet backdrop), but the action began with a video on the screen. First there is a white silhouette animation - little Akakievich is growing up, he gets all the bumps, and he wanders - long, thin, big-nosed, hunched over more and more against the background of the conventional Petersburg. The animation gives way to a torn video - the crackling and noise of the office, flocks of typewriters flying across the screen (several eras are deliberately mixed here). And then, through the screen, in a spot of light, the red-haired man himself, with deep bald patches, Akakievich himself gradually appears at a table with papers that are kept being brought and brought to him.
In essence, the most important thing in the Chilean performance is the skinny Akakievich with long and awkward arms and legs. It is led by several puppeteers at once, some are responsible for the hands, some for the legs, but the audience does not notice this, they just see how the doll becomes alive. Here he scratches himself, rubs his eyes, groans, with pleasure straightens his stiff limbs, kneading every bone, now he carefully examines the network of holes in his old overcoat, ruffled, stomps around in the cold and rubs his frozen hands. It is a great art to work so harmoniously with a puppet, few people master it; Just recently at the Golden Mask we saw a production by one of our best puppet directors who knows how such miracles are made - Evgeniy Ibragimov, who staged Gogol's The Players in Tallinn.
There are other characters in the play: colleagues and superiors looking out from the doors and windows of the stage, the little red-nosed fat man Petrovich, the gray-haired Significant Person sitting at the table on a dais - all of them are also expressive, but cannot be compared with Akakievich. With how he humiliatingly and timidly huddles in Petrovich’s house, and how later, having received his lingonberry-colored overcoat, he giggles embarrassedly, turns his head, calling himself handsome, like an elephant on parade. And it seems that the wooden doll even smiles. This transition from jubilation to terrible grief, which is so difficult for “live” actors, comes out very naturally for the doll.
During the festive party that colleagues threw to “sprinkle” the hero’s new overcoat, a sparkling carousel was spinning on the stage and small flat dolls made from cut out old photographs were spinning in a dance. Akakievich, who was previously worried that he did not know how to dance, returns from the party, full of happy impressions, as if from a disco, continuing to dance and sing: “boom-boom - tudu-tudu.” This is a long, funny and touching episode. And then unknown hands beat him and take off his overcoat. Further, a lot will happen with running around the authorities: the Chileans expanded several Gogol lines into a whole anti-bureaucratic video episode with a map of the city, which shows how officials drive from one to another a poor hero trying to return his overcoat.
Only the voices of Akakievich and those who are trying to get rid of him are heard: “You should contact Gomez on this issue. - Please Gomez. — Do you want Pedro or Pablo? - Should I Pedro or Pablo? - Julio! - Please Julio Gomez. “You need to go to another department.”
But no matter how inventive all these scenes are, the meaning is still in the red-haired sad hero who returns home, lies down in bed and, pulling the blanket, for a long time, sick and tormented by sad thoughts, tosses and turns and tries to nestle comfortably. Completely alive and desperately alone.”
(“Vremya Novostey” 06/24/2009)

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In the department... but it’s better not to say in which department. There is nothing angrier than all kinds of departments, regiments, offices and, in a word, all kinds of official classes. Now every private person considers the whole society insulted in his own person. They say that quite recently a request was received from one police captain, I don’t remember any city, in which he clearly states that state regulations are perishing and that his sacred name is being pronounced in vain. And as proof, he attached to the request a huge volume of some romantic work, where every ten pages the police captain appears, sometimes even completely drunk. So, in order to avoid any troubles, it is better to call the department in question one department. So, in one department served one official; the official cannot be said to be very remarkable, short in stature, somewhat pockmarked, somewhat reddish, even somewhat blind in appearance, with a small bald spot on his forehead, with wrinkles on both sides of his cheeks and a complexion that is called hemorrhoidal... What to do! The St. Petersburg climate is to blame. As for the rank (for with us, first of all, it is necessary to declare the rank), he was what is called an eternal titular adviser, over whom, as you know, various writers mocked and made jokes, having the commendable habit of leaning on those who cannot bite . The official's last name was Bashmachkin. Already from the name itself it is clear that it once came from a shoe; but when, at what time and how it came from the shoe, none of this is known. And father, and grandfather, and even brother-in-law, and all the completely Bashmachkins, walked in boots, changing the soles only three times a year. His name was Akaki Akakievich. Perhaps it will seem somewhat strange and searched out to the reader, but we can assure you that they were not looking for it in any way, but that such circumstances happened of their own accord that it was impossible to give another name, and this is exactly how it happened. Akaki Akakievich was born against the night, if memory serves, on March 23rd. The deceased mother, an official and a very good woman, arranged to properly baptize the child. Mother was still lying on the bed opposite the door, and on her right hand stood her godfather, a most excellent man, Ivan Ivanovich Eroshkin, who served as the head of the Senate, and the godfather, the wife of a quarterly officer, a woman of rare virtues, Arina Semyonovna Belobryushkova. The mother in labor was given the choice of any of the three, which one she wanted to choose: Mokkiya, Session, or name the child in the name of the martyr Khozdazat. “No,” thought the deceased, “the names are all the same.” To please her, they turned the calendar in a different place; Three names came out again: Triphilius, Dula and Varakhasiy. “This is the punishment,” said the old woman, “what are all the names; I really have never heard of anything like that. Let it be Varadat or Varukh, or else Triphilius and Varakhasiy.” They turned the page again and out came: Pavsikakhy and Vakhtisy. “Well, I already see,” said the old woman, “that, apparently, this is his fate. If so, it would be better for him to be called like his father. The father was Akaki, so let the son be Akaki.” This is how Akaki Akakievich came to be. The child was christened, and he began to cry and made such a grimace, as if he had a presentiment that there would be a titular councilor. So this is how all this happened. We brought this up so that the reader can see for himself that this happened entirely out of necessity and it was impossible to give another name. When and at what time he entered the department and who assigned him, no one could remember. No matter how many directors and various bosses changed, he was always seen in the same place, in the same position, in the same position, as the same official for writing, so that later they were convinced that he had apparently been born into the world already completely ready, in uniform and with a bald spot on his head. The department showed him no respect. The guards not only did not get up from their seats when he passed, but did not even look at him, as if a simple fly had flown through the reception area. The bosses treated him somehow coldly and despotically. Some assistant to the clerk would directly shove papers under his nose, without even saying “copy it,” or “here’s an interesting, pretty little thing,” or anything pleasant, as is used in well-bred services. And he took it, looking only at the paper, without looking at who gave it to him and whether he had the right to do so. He took it and immediately set about writing it. The young officials laughed and made jokes at him, as much as their clerical wit was sufficient, and immediately told him various stories compiled about him; they said about his owner, a seventy-year-old old woman, that she was beating him, they asked when their wedding would take place, they threw pieces of paper on his head, calling it snow. But Akaki Akakievich did not answer a single word to this, as if no one was in front of him; it didn’t even have an impact on his studies: among all these worries, he didn’t make a single mistake in writing. Only if the joke was too unbearable, when they pushed him by the arm, preventing him from going about his business, he said: “Leave me alone, why are you offending me?” And there was something strange in the words and in the voice with which they were spoken. There was something in him so inclining to pity that one young man, recently made up his mind, who, following the example of others, had allowed himself to laugh at him, suddenly stopped, as if pierced, and from then on everything seemed to change before him and appeared in a different form. Some unnatural force pushed him away from the comrades with whom he met, mistaking them for decent, secular people. And for a long time later, in the midst of the most cheerful moments, a low official with a bald spot on his forehead appeared to him, with his penetrating words: “Leave me alone, why are you offending me? - and in these penetrating words other words rang: “I am your brother.” And the poor young man covered himself with his hand, and many times later in his life he shuddered, seeing how much inhumanity there is in man, how much ferocious rudeness is hidden in refined, educated secularism, and, God! even in that person whom the world recognizes as noble and honest... It is unlikely that anywhere one could find a person who would live like this in his position. It is not enough to say: he served zealously; no, he served with love. There, in this copying, he saw his own diverse and pleasant world. Pleasure was expressed on his face; He had some favorite letters, which if he got to, he was not himself: he laughed, and winked, and helped with his lips, so that in his face, it seemed, one could read every letter that his pen wrote. If rewards were given to him in proportion to his zeal, he, to his amazement, might even end up as a state councilor; but he served, as his wits, his comrades, put it, a buckle in his buttonhole and acquired hemorrhoids in the lower back. However, it cannot be said that there was no attention to him. One director, being a kind man and wanting to reward him for his long service, ordered that he be given something more important than ordinary copying; It was precisely from the already completed case that he was ordered to make some kind of connection to another public place; the only thing was to change the title title and change here and there the verbs from the first person to the third. This gave him such work that he became completely sweaty, rubbed his forehead and finally said: “No, better let me rewrite something.” Since then they left it to be rewritten forever. Outside of this rewriting, it seemed that nothing existed for him. He didn’t think at all about his dress: his uniform was not green, but some kind of reddish flour color. The collar on him was narrow, low, so that his neck, despite the fact that it was not long, coming out of the collar, seemed unusually long, like those of those plaster kittens, dangling their heads, which are carried on the heads of dozens of Russian foreigners. And there was always something stuck to his uniform: either a piece of hay, or some kind of thread; In addition, he had a special art, walking along the street, of keeping up with the window at the very time when all sorts of rubbish was being thrown out of it, and therefore he was always carrying watermelon and melon rinds and similar nonsense on his hat. Not once in his life did he pay attention to what was going on and happening every day on the street, which, as you know, his brother, a young official, who extends the insight of his glib gaze to such an extent that he even notices who on the other side of the sidewalk, the stirrup of his trousers was torn off at the bottom, which always brings a sly smile to his face. But if Akakiy Akakievich looked at anything, he saw his clean, even handwriting lines written out on everything, and only if, out of nowhere, a horse’s muzzle was placed on his shoulder and blew a whole wind into his cheek with its nostrils, then he only noticed that he is not in the middle of the line, but rather in the middle of the street. Coming home, he immediately sat down at the table, quickly slurped up his cabbage soup and ate a piece of beef with onions, not noticing their taste at all, ate it all with flies and with everything that God had sent at that time. Noticing that his stomach was beginning to swell, he got up from the table, took out a jar of ink and copied the papers he had brought home. If such things did not happen, he made a copy on purpose, for his own pleasure, for himself, especially if the paper was remarkable not for the beauty of the style, but for its address to some new or important person. Even in those hours when the gray sky of St. Petersburg completely goes out and all the official people have eaten and dined as best they could, in accordance with the salary received and their own whim - when everything has already rested after the departmental ruffling of feathers, running around, their own and other people’s necessary activities and everything what a restless person asks himself voluntarily, even more than necessary, when officials rush to devote the remaining time to pleasure: whoever is smarter rushes to the theater; some on the street, assigning him to look at some hats; some for the evening - to spend it in compliments to some pretty girl, the star of a small bureaucratic circle; who, and this happens most often, simply goes to his brother on the fourth or third floor, in two small rooms with a hallway or kitchen and some fashionable pretensions, a lamp or other little thing that cost many donations, refusals of dinners, festivities - in a word, even at a time when all the officials are scattered in the small apartments of their friends to play storm whist, sipping tea from glasses with penny crackers, inhaling smoke from long chibouks, telling during the delivery some gossip that has come from high society, from which a Russian person can never refuse in any condition, or even when there is nothing to talk about, retelling the eternal anecdote about the commandant, who was told that the tail of the horse of the Falconet monument was cut off - in a word, even when everyone is trying to have fun “Akaky Akakievich did not indulge in any entertainment. No one could say that they had ever seen him at any party. Having written to his heart's content, he went to bed, smiling in anticipation at the thought of tomorrow: will God send something to rewrite tomorrow? This is how the peaceful life of a man flowed, who, with a salary of four hundred, knew how to be satisfied with his lot, and would have lasted, perhaps, to a very old age, if there had not been various disasters scattered along the road of life, not only titular, but even secret, real, courtly and to all advisers, even those who do not give advice to anyone, do not take it from anyone themselves. There is a strong enemy in St. Petersburg of everyone who receives a salary of four hundred rubles a year or so. This enemy is none other than our northern frost, although, however, they say that he is very healthy. At nine o'clock in the morning, precisely at the hour when the streets are covered with people going to the department, it begins to give such strong and prickly clicks indiscriminately on all noses that the poor officials absolutely do not know where to put them. At this time, when even those occupying the highest positions have pain in their foreheads from the frost and tears appear in their eyes, poor titular advisers are sometimes defenseless. All salvation consists in running across five or six streets as quickly as possible in a skinny overcoat and then stamping your feet thoroughly in the Swiss until all the abilities and talents for official functions that have frozen on the road thaw. For some time Akakiy Akakievich began to feel that he was somehow especially strongly burned in the back and shoulder, despite the fact that he tried to run across the legal space as quickly as possible. He finally wondered if there were any sins in his overcoat. Having examined it carefully at home, he discovered that in two or three places, namely on the back and on the shoulders, it had become like a sickle; the cloth was so worn out that it showed through, and the lining was unraveling. You need to know that Akakiy Akakievich’s overcoat also served as a subject of ridicule for officials; Even the noble name of the overcoat was taken away from it and they called it a hood. In fact, it had some strange structure: its collar became smaller and smaller every year, for it served to undermine other parts of it. The hemming did not show the skill of the tailor and came out, for sure, baggy and ugly. Having seen what was the matter, Akaki Akakievich decided that the overcoat would need to be taken to Petrovich, a tailor who lived somewhere on the fourth floor on the back stairs, who, despite his crooked eye and pockmarks all over his face, was quite successful in repairing official and all sorts of other trousers and tailcoats - of course, when he was in a sober state and did not have any other enterprise in mind. Of course, we shouldn’t say much about this tailor, but since it’s already established that in a story the character of every person is completely defined, then there’s nothing to be done, give us Petrovich here too. At first he was simply called Gregory and was a serf for some gentleman; He began to be called Petrovich from the time he received his vacation pay and began to drink quite heavily on all sorts of holidays, first on major ones, and then, indiscriminately, on all church holidays, wherever there was a cross on the calendar. From this side, he was faithful to his grandfather’s customs, and, arguing with his wife, he called her a worldly woman and a German. Since we have already mentioned the wife, we will need to say a few words about her; but, unfortunately, not much was known about her, except that Petrovich has a wife, she even wears a cap, not a scarf; but, as it seems, she could not boast of beauty; at least, when meeting her, only the guards soldiers looked under her cap, blinking their mustaches and emitting some kind of special voice. Climbing the stairs leading to Petrovich, which, to be fair, was all anointed with water, slops and permeated through and through with that alcoholic smell that eats the eyes and, as you know, is inseparably present on all the black staircases of St. Petersburg houses - climbing the stairs, Akaki Akakievich was already thinking about how much Petrovich would ask for, and mentally decided not to give more than two rubles. The door was open because the hostess, while preparing some fish, released so much smoke into the kitchen that it was impossible to see even the cockroaches. Akaki Akakievich walked through the kitchen, unnoticed even by the hostess herself, and finally entered the room, where he saw Petrovich sitting on a wide, unpainted wooden table with his legs tucked under him, like a Turkish pasha. The legs, according to the custom of tailors sitting at work, were naked. And the first thing that caught my eye was the thumb, very famous to Akakiy Akakievich, with some kind of mutilated nail, thick and strong, like a turtle’s skull. Petrovich had a skein of silk and thread hanging around his neck, and some rags were on his knees. He had already been threading the thread through the needle’s ear for about three minutes, but it didn’t get in, and therefore he became very angry at the darkness and even at the thread itself, grumbling in a low voice: “It won’t fit, barbarian; You got me, you scoundrel!” It was unpleasant for Akaki Akakievich that he came precisely at the moment when Petrovich was angry: he liked to order something for Petrovich when the latter was already somewhat under the influence, or, as his wife put it, “besieged with a fusel, one-eyed devil.” In such a state, Petrovich usually very willingly gave in and agreed, every time he even bowed and thanked. Then, however, the wife came, crying that her husband was drunk and therefore took it cheaply; but sometimes you add one kopeck, and it’s in the bag. Now Petrovich seemed to be in a sober state, and therefore tough, intractable and willing to charge God knows what prices. Akaki Akakievich realized this and was about to, as they say, retreat, but the matter had already begun. Petrovich narrowed his only eye very intently at him, and Akaki Akakievich involuntarily said: - Hello, Petrovich! “I wish you hello, sir,” said Petrovich and glanced sideways at Akaki Akakievich’s hands, wanting to see what kind of loot he was carrying. - And I’m here for you, Petrovich, that... You need to know that Akaki Akakievich spoke mostly in prepositions, adverbs and, finally, particles that absolutely have no meaning. If the matter was very difficult, then he even had the habit of not finishing his sentences at all, so that quite often, having begun a speech with the words: “This, really, is absolutely ...” - and then nothing happened, and he himself forgot , thinking that he had already said everything. - What is it? - said Petrovich and at the same time examined with his only eye his entire uniform, from the collar to the sleeves, the back, tails and loops - which was all very familiar to him, because it was his own work. This is the custom among tailors: this is the first thing he will do when he meets you. - And I have this one, Petrovich... an overcoat, a cloth... you see, everywhere in other places, it’s quite strong, it’s a little dusty, and it seems as if it’s old, but it’s new, but only in one place a little of that... on the back, and there’s a little wear on one shoulder, and a little on this shoulder - you see, that’s all. And a little work... Petrovich took the hood, laid it out first on the table, looked at it for a long time, shook his head and reached out to the window with his hand for a round snuffbox with a portrait of some general, which one is unknown, because the place where the face was was pierced with a finger and then sealed with a quadrangular a piece of paper. Having sniffed the tobacco, Petrovich spread the hood in his hands and examined it against the light and again shook his head. Then he turned it with the lining up and shook it again, again took off the lid with the general sealed with a piece of paper, and, putting tobacco in his nose, closed it, hid the snuffbox and finally said: - No, you can’t fix it: a bad wardrobe! Akaki Akakievich’s heart skipped a beat at these words. - Why not, Petrovich? - he said in an almost pleading voice of a child, - after all, everything on your shoulders has worn out, because you have some pieces... “Yes, you can find pieces, there will be pieces,” said Petrovich, “but you can’t sew them up: the thing is completely rotten, if you touch it with a needle, it just creeps.” - Let him crawl, and you will immediately patch him up. “Yes, there’s nothing to put the patches on, there’s nothing to strengthen her, the support is too great.” Only glory is like cloth, but if the wind blows, it will fly apart. - Well, just attach it. How can that be, really!.. “No,” said Petrovich decisively, “nothing can be done.” It's really bad. You better, when the cold winter season comes, make yourself a little one out of it, because it doesn’t keep your stocking warm. The Germans invented this in order to take more money for themselves (Petrovich loved to stab the Germans on occasion); and apparently you’ll have to make a new overcoat. At the word “new,” Akaky Akakievich’s vision became blurred, and everything that was in the room began to get confused before him. He clearly saw only the general with his face covered with paper, who was on the lid of Petrovich’s snuffbox. - What about the new one? - he said, still as if in a dream, - after all, I don’t have money for this. “Yes, a new one,” Petrovich said with barbaric calm. - Well, if I had to get a new one, how would it... — That is, what will it cost?- Yes. “Yes, more than three fifty hundred will have to be spent,” said Petrovich and at the same time pursed his lips significantly. He was very fond of strong effects, he loved to suddenly somehow completely puzzle and then look sideways at the puzzled face he would make after such words. - One hundred and fifty rubles for an overcoat! - cried poor Akaki Akakievich, cried out, perhaps for the first time since he was a child, for he was always distinguished by the quietness of his voice. “Yes, sir,” said Petrovich, “and what a great overcoat.” If you put a marten on the collar and put on a silk-lined hood, it will cost two hundred. “Petrovich, please,” Akakiy Akakievich said in a pleading voice, not hearing and not trying to hear the words Petrovich said and all its effects, “correct it somehow, so that it will serve at least a little longer.” “No, this will come out: killing work and wasting money,” said Petrovich, and after such words Akaki Akakievich came out completely destroyed. And after he left, Petrovich stood for a long time, significantly pursing his lips and not starting to work, being pleased that he had not let himself down, and had not betrayed his tailoring skills either. Going out into the street, Akaki Akakievich was like in a dream. “This is such a thing,” he said to himself, “I really didn’t think it would turn out this way...” and then, after some silence, he added: “So that’s how it is!” Finally, this is what happened, and I really couldn’t even imagine that it would be like this.” This was followed again by a long silence, after which he said: “So and so! This is definitely an absolutely unexpected, this... there’s no way... this kind of circumstance!” Having said this, instead of going home, he went in the completely opposite direction, without suspecting it. On the way, the chimney sweep touched him with his unclean side and blackened his entire shoulder; a whole cap of lime fell on him from the top of the house under construction. He didn’t notice any of this, and then, when he came across a watchman, who, having placed his halberd near him, was shaking tobacco from a horn onto his calloused fist, then he only came to his senses a little, and that’s because the watchman said: “Why are you getting into the very snout? “Don’t you have a trukhtuar?” This made him look back and turn home. It was only here that he began to collect his thoughts, saw his situation in a clear and present form, and began to talk to himself no longer abruptly, but judiciously and frankly, as with a prudent friend with whom you can talk about matters most intimate and close to your heart. “Well, no,” said Akakiy Akakievich, “now you can’t talk to Petrovich: now he’s... his wife, apparently, beat him somehow. But I’d rather come to him on Sunday morning: after Saturday eve he’ll be cross-eyed and sleepy, so he’ll need to get over his hangover, and his wife won’t give him money, and at that time I’ll give him a ten-kopeck piece, and he’ll give it to him in his hand. more accommodating and the overcoat then and that...” So Akaki Akakievich reasoned with himself, encouraged himself and waited for the first Sunday, and, seeing from a distance that Petrovich’s wife was leaving the house somewhere, he went straight to him. Petrovich, as a matter of fact, after Saturday had severely squinted his eyes, held his head to the floor and was completely asleep; but for all that, as soon as he found out what was the matter, it was as if the devil had pushed him. “You can’t,” he said, “if you please, order a new one.” Akakiy Akakievich then gave him a ten-kopeck piece. “Thank you, sir, I’ll give you a little refreshment for your health,” said Petrovich, “and don’t worry about the overcoat: it’s not fit for purpose. I’ll sew you a new overcoat to perfection, we’ll leave it at that.” Akakiy Akakievich was still talking about repairs, but Petrovich didn’t hear enough and said: “I’ll definitely sew you a new one, if you please, we’ll put in the effort. It will even be possible the way fashion has gone: the collar will be fastened with silver paws under the appliqué.” It was then that Akaki Akakievich saw that it was impossible to do without a new overcoat, and he completely lost heart. How, in fact, with what, with what money to make it? Of course, one could partly rely on future awards for the holiday, but this money has long been allocated and distributed in advance. It was necessary to get new trousers, to pay the shoemaker an old debt for attaching new heads to the old boots, and to order three shirts and two pieces of underwear from the seamstress, which is indecent to name in a printed style - in a word, all the money had to completely go away; and even if the director were so merciful that instead of forty rubles the bonus would be forty-five or fifty, then all the same there would remain some kind of nonsense, which would be a drop in the ocean in the greatcoat capital. Although, of course, he knew that Petrovich had a whim to suddenly charge God knows what exorbitant price, so that it happened that the wife herself could not resist screaming: “Why are you going crazy, such a fool! Another time he’ll never take the job, but now he’s been ruined by the difficult task of asking for a price that’s not even worth it.” Although, of course, he knew that Petrovich would undertake to do it for eighty rubles; however, where will these eighty rubles come from? Another half could be found: half would be found; maybe even a little more; but where to get the other half?.. But first the reader must find out where the first half came from. Akaki Akakievich had the habit of putting a penny from every ruble he spent into a small box, locked with a key, with a hole cut in the lid for throwing money into. At the end of every six months, he reviewed the accumulated copper amount and replaced it with small silver. He continued this way for a long time, and thus, over the course of several years, the accumulated amount amounted to more than forty rubles. So, half was in hand; but where can I get the other half? Where can I get the other forty rubles? Akakiy Akakievich thought and thought and decided that it would be necessary to reduce ordinary expenses, although at least for one year: banish drinking tea in the evenings, do not light candles in the evenings, and if you need to do anything, go to the hostess’s room and work by her candle; when walking along the streets, step as lightly and carefully as possible, on stones and slabs, almost on tiptoe, so as not to wear out your soles too soon; give the laundry to the laundress to wash as little as possible, and so as not to get worn out, every time you come home, take it off and remain in only a denim dressing gown, very old and spared even by time itself. It must be told the truth that at first it was somewhat difficult for him to get used to such restrictions, but then he somehow got used to it and things got better; even he had become completely accustomed to fasting in the evenings; but on the other hand, he fed spiritually, carrying in his thoughts the eternal idea of ​​a future overcoat. From then on, it was as if his very existence became somehow fuller, as if he had gotten married, as if some other person was present with him, as if he were not alone, but some pleasant friend of his life had agreed to go along with him life's path - and this friend was none other than the same overcoat with thick cotton wool, with a strong lining without wear and tear. He somehow became more lively, even stronger in character, like a man who had already defined and set a goal for himself. Doubt, indecision - in a word, all wavering and uncertain features - naturally disappeared from his face and from his actions. Fire sometimes appeared in his eyes, and the most daring and daring thoughts even flashed in his head: should he really put a marten on his collar? Thinking about this almost made him absent-minded. Once, while copying out a paper, he almost made a mistake, so much so that he almost screamed out loud, “Wow!” and crossed himself. During each month, he visited Petrovich at least once to talk about the overcoat, where it was better to buy cloth, and what color, and at what price, and although somewhat worried, he always returned home happy, thinking that the time would finally come. when will all this be bought and when will the overcoat be made. Things went even faster than he expected. Against all expectations, the director assigned Akaki Akakievich not forty or forty-five, but as much as sixty rubles; Whether he had a presentiment that Akaky Akakievich needed an overcoat, or whether it just happened, but through this he ended up with an extra twenty rubles. This circumstance accelerated the progress of the matter. Another two or three months of short fasting - and Akakiy Akakievich had accumulated exactly about eighty rubles. His heart, generally quite calm, began to beat. On the very first day he went with Petrovich to the shops. We bought very good cloth - and no wonder, because we had thought about it six months before and rarely did we go to the shops for a month to check the prices; but Petrovich himself said that there is no better cloth. For the lining they chose calico, but it was so good and dense that, according to Petrovich, it was even better than silk and even more beautiful and glossy in appearance. They didn’t buy martens, because there was definitely a road; and instead they chose a cat, the best one that could be found in the shop, a cat that from a distance could always be mistaken for a marten. Petrovich spent only two weeks making the overcoat, because there was a lot of quilting, otherwise it would have been ready earlier. Petrovich charged twelve rubles for the work—it couldn’t have been less: everything was sewn on silk, with a double fine seam, and Petrovich then went along each seam with his own teeth, displacing different figures with them. It was... it’s difficult to say on what day, but probably on the most solemn day in Akaky Akakievich’s life, when Petrovich finally brought his overcoat. He brought it in the morning, just before he had to go to the department. Never at any other time would the overcoat have come in so handy, because quite severe frosts had already begun and seemed to threaten to intensify even more. Petrovich appeared with an overcoat, like a good tailor should. There appeared in his face an expression so significant that Akaki Akakievich had never seen before. He seemed to feel fully that he had done a considerable job and that he had suddenly shown in himself the abyss separating the tailors who only line and forward from those who sew again. He took the overcoat out of the handkerchief in which he had brought it; the handkerchief had just come from the washerwoman; he then folded it and put it in his pocket for use. Taking out his overcoat, he looked very proudly and, holding it in both hands, very deftly threw it over Akakiy Akakievich’s shoulders; then he pulled and pushed her down from behind with his hand; then he draped it over Akakiy Akakievich somewhat wide open. Akakiy Akakievich, like an old man, wanted to try his hand; Petrovich helped me put on the sleeves, and it turned out that she looked good in the sleeves, too. In a word, it turned out that the overcoat was perfect and just fit. Petrovich did not fail to say on this occasion that he did so only because he lived without a sign on a small street and, moreover, had known Akaki Akakievich for a long time, that’s why he took it so cheaply; and on Nevsky Prospekt they would charge him seventy-five rubles for work alone. Akaki Akakievich did not want to discuss this with Petrovich, and he was afraid of all the big sums with which Petrovich liked to throw dust. He paid him, thanked him and went out immediately in a new overcoat to the department. Petrovich went out after him and, remaining on the street, looked for a long time at his overcoat from a distance and then deliberately walked to the side so that, having turned around the crooked alley, he could run back into the street and look again at his overcoat from the other side, that is, right in the face . Meanwhile, Akaki Akakievich walked in the most festive mood of all feelings. He felt every moment that he had a new greatcoat on his shoulders, and several times he even grinned with inner pleasure. In fact, there are two benefits: one is that it is warm, and the other is that it is good. He didn’t notice the road at all and suddenly found himself in the department; in the Swiss one, he took off his overcoat, looked around at it and entrusted it to the doorman for special supervision. It is not known how everyone in the department suddenly found out that Akaki Akakievich had a new overcoat and that the hood no longer existed. At that same moment everyone ran out to the Swiss to look at Akaki Akakievich’s new overcoat. They began to congratulate him and greet him, so that at first he only smiled, and then he even felt ashamed. When everyone approached him and began to say that he needed a new overcoat and that, at least, he should give them all the evening, Akaki Akakievich was completely lost, did not know what to do, what to answer and how to make an excuse. After a few minutes, all flushed, he began to assure quite innocently that this was not a new overcoat at all, that it was true, that it was an old overcoat. Finally, one of the officials, some even an assistant to the mayor, probably in order to show that he was not at all proud and knew even his inferiors, said: “So be it, instead of Akakiy Akakievich I give the evening and ask you to come to me today for tea: as if on purpose, today is my birthday.” The officials, naturally, immediately congratulated the assistant chief and eagerly accepted the offer. Akakiy Akakievich began to make excuses, but everyone began to say that it was discourteous, that it was just a shame and disgrace, and he certainly could not refuse. However, he later felt pleased when he remembered that he would have the opportunity to walk around even in the evening in his new overcoat. This whole day was definitely the biggest solemn holiday for Akaki Akakievich. He returned home in the happiest mood, took off his overcoat and hung it carefully on the wall, once again admiring the cloth and lining, and then deliberately pulled out, for comparison, his old hood, which had completely fallen apart. He looked at it and even laughed himself: such a far difference! And for a long time afterwards, at dinner, he kept grinning, as soon as the situation in which the hood was located came to his mind. He dined cheerfully and after dinner he didn’t write anything, no papers, but just sat on his bed for a little while until it got dark. Then, without delaying the matter, he got dressed, put his overcoat on his shoulders and went out into the street. Unfortunately, we cannot say where exactly the official who invited us lived: our memory is beginning to fail us greatly, and everything that is in St. Petersburg, all the streets and houses, have merged and mixed up so much in our heads that it is very difficult to get anything from there in decent form. . Be that as it may, it is at least true that the official lived in the best part of the city - therefore, not very close to Akaki Akakievich. At first Akaki Akakievich had to go through some deserted streets with poor lighting, but as he approached the official’s apartment, the streets became livelier, more populated and better lit. Pedestrians began to flash more often, ladies began to come across, beautifully dressed, men were seen wearing beaver collars, vans with wooden lattice sleds studded with gilded nails were seen less often - on the contrary, reckless drivers in crimson velvet hats, with patent leather sleds, with bear blankets were increasingly seen , and carriages with harvested goats flew past the street, their wheels squealing in the snow. Akaki Akakievich looked at all this as if it were news. He had not gone out in the evenings for several years. I stopped with curiosity in front of the illuminated window of the store to look at a picture depicting some beautiful woman who was taking off her shoe, thus exposing her entire leg, which was very pretty; and behind her, from the door of another room, a man with sideburns and a beautiful goatee under his lip stuck his head out. Akakiy Akakievich shook his head and grinned, and then went on his way. Why did he grin, was it because he encountered something that was not at all familiar, but about which, nevertheless, everyone still has some kind of instinct, or he thought, like many other officials, the following: “Well, these French! needless to say, if they want something like this, then they certainly want that...” Or maybe he didn’t even think about that - after all, you can’t get into a person’s soul and find out everything that he thinks. Finally he reached the house in which the assistant chief of staff lodged. The assistant clerk lived on a large scale: there was a lantern on the stairs, the apartment was on the second floor. Entering the hallway, Akaki Akakievich saw whole rows of galoshes on the floor. Between them, in the middle of the room, stood a samovar, making noise and emitting clouds of steam. On the walls hung all overcoats and cloaks, some of which even had beaver collars or velvet lapels. Behind the wall a noise and conversation could be heard, which suddenly became clear and ringing when the door opened and a footman came out with a tray laden with empty glasses, a creamer and a basket of crackers. It is clear that the officials had already gotten ready long ago and drank their first glass of tea. Akaki Akakievich, having hung up his overcoat, entered the room, and candles, officials, pipes, card tables flashed before him at the same time, and his ears were vaguely struck by the fluent conversation rising from all sides and the noise of moving chairs. He stood very awkwardly in the middle of the room, searching and trying to figure out what to do. But they had already noticed him, received him with a shout, and everyone immediately went to the hall and examined his overcoat again. Although Akakiy Akakievich was somewhat embarrassed, being a sincere man, he could not help but rejoice when he saw how everyone praised the overcoat. Then, of course, everyone abandoned him and his overcoat and turned, as usual, to the tables designated for whist. All this: the noise, the talk and the crowd of people - all of this was somehow wonderful to Akakiy Akakievich. He simply didn’t know what to do, where to put his arms, legs and his whole figure; Finally, he sat down with the players, looked at the cards, looked into each other’s faces, and after a while he began to yawn, feeling that he was bored, especially since the time at which he, as usual, went to bed had long arrived. He wanted to say goodbye to the owner, but they did not let him in, saying that he must definitely drink a glass of champagne in honor of the new thing. An hour later, dinner was served, consisting of vinaigrette, cold veal, pate, pastry pies and champagne. Akaki Akakievich was forced to drink two glasses, after which he felt that the room became more cheerful, but he could not forget that it was already twelve o’clock and that it was high time to go home. So that the owner would not somehow decide to restrain him, he quietly left the room, found an overcoat in the hall, which, not without regret, he saw lying on the floor, shook it off, removed all the fluff from it, put it on his shoulders and went down the stairs to the street. It was still light outside. Some small shops, these permanent clubs of courtyards and all sorts of people, were unlocked, while others that were locked, however, showed a long stream of light across the entire door crack, which meant that they were not yet deprived of society and, probably, courtyards the maids or servants are still finishing their discussions and conversations, plunging their masters into complete bewilderment about their whereabouts. Akaki Akakievich walked in a cheerful mood, he even suddenly ran up, no one knows why, after some lady who passed by like lightning and every part of her body was filled with extraordinary movement. But, however, he immediately stopped and walked again, still very quietly, marveling even at the lynx that had come from out of nowhere. Soon those deserted streets stretched out in front of him, which are not so cheerful even during the day, and even more so in the evening. Now they have become even quieter and more secluded: the lanterns began to flicker less often - apparently, less oil was being supplied; wooden houses and fences went; no noise anywhere; There was only sparkling snow in the streets, and the sleepy low shacks, with their shutters closed, gleamed sadly and black. He approached the place where the street was cut by an endless square with houses barely visible on the other side, which looked like a terrible desert. In the distance, God knows where, a light flashed in some booth, which seemed to stand at the edge of the world. Akaki Akakievich’s gaiety somehow diminished here significantly. He entered the square not without some kind of involuntary fear, as if his heart had a presentiment of something evil. He looked back and around: the exact sea was all around him. “No, it’s better not to look,” he thought and walked, closing his eyes, and when he opened them to find out whether the end of the square was near, he suddenly saw that standing in front of him were some people with mustaches, which ones, almost right under his nose. he couldn’t even discern that. His eyes grew blurry and his chest began to pound. “But the overcoat is mine!” - said one of them in a thunderous voice, grabbing him by the collar. Akaki Akakievich was about to shout “guard,” when another put a fist the size of an official’s head to his very mouth, saying: “Just shout!” Akakiy Akakievich only felt how they took off his greatcoat, gave him a kick with the knee, and he fell backwards into the snow and didn’t feel anything anymore. A few minutes later he came to his senses and got to his feet, but there was no one there. He felt that it was cold in the field and there was no overcoat, he began to shout, but the voice, it seemed, did not even think of reaching the ends of the square. Desperate, never tired of screaming, he started to run across the square straight to the booth, next to which the watchman stood and, leaning on his halberd, looked, it seems, with curiosity, wanting to know why the hell the man was running towards him from afar and shouting. Akakiy Akakievich, running to him, began shouting in a breathless voice that he was sleeping and wasn’t watching anything, didn’t see how a man was being robbed. The watchman answered that he didn’t see anything, that he saw two people stop him in the middle of Katsie Square, but he thought that they were his friend; and let him, instead of scolding in vain, go to the warden tomorrow, so the warden will find out who took the overcoat. Akaki Akakievich ran home in complete disarray: the hair that he still had in small quantities on his temples and the back of his head was completely disheveled; His side and chest and all his trousers were covered in snow. The old woman, the owner of his apartment, hearing a terrible knock on the door, hastily jumped out of bed and with only one shoe on her feet ran to open the door, holding her shirt on her chest, out of modesty, with her hand; but, having opened it, she stepped back, seeing Akaky Akakievich in this form. When he told what the matter was, she clasped her hands and said that she needed to go straight to the private, that the policeman would cheat, promise and start driving; and it’s best to go straight to the private, that he is even familiar to her, because Anna, a Chukhonka, who previously served as her cook, has now decided to take the private as a nanny, that she often sees him himself, as he drives past their house, and that He also goes to church every Sunday, prays, and at the same time looks cheerfully at everyone, and therefore, by all appearances, he must be a kind person. Having heard such a decision, Akaki Akakievich wandered sadly to his room, and how he spent the night there is left to be judged by those who can somewhat imagine the situation of another. Early in the morning he went to the private; but they said he was sleeping; he came at ten - they said again: he’s sleeping; he came at eleven o'clock - they said: yes, there is no private house; he was at lunchtime - but the clerks in the hallway did not want to let him in and definitely wanted to find out what business and what need he had brought him for and what had happened. So finally Akakiy Akakievich, once in his life, wanted to show his character and said flatly that he needed to see the most private person in person, that they didn’t dare not let him in, that he came from the department for official business, and that if he complained about them, then then they will see. They didn’t dare say anything against this clerk, and one of them went to call a private. The private one took the story of the robbery of the greatcoat in an extremely strange way. Instead of paying attention to the main point of the matter, he began to question Akakiy Akakievich: why did he return so late, and whether he had come in and whether he had been in some dishonest house, so that Akakiy Akakievich was completely embarrassed and left him, without himself knowing whether the case about the overcoat will take the proper course or not. He was not present all that day (the only time in his life). The next day he appeared all pale and in his old hood, which became even more deplorable. The story of the robbery of the overcoat, despite the fact that there were officials who did not even miss to laugh at Akaki Akakievich, nevertheless touched many. They immediately decided to make a contribution for him, but collected the most trifle, because the officials had already spent a lot, subscribing for a director’s portrait and for one book, at the suggestion of the head of the department, who was a friend of the writer - so the amount turned out to be the most idle. One someone, moved by compassion, decided to at least help Akakiy Akakievich with good advice, telling him not to go to the policeman, because even though it might happen that the policeman, wanting to earn the approval of his superiors, would somehow find the overcoat , but the overcoat will still remain with the police if he does not provide legal evidence that it belongs to him; and it is best for him to turn to one significant person What significant person By writing and getting in touch with whoever you should, you can make things go more successfully. There was nothing to do, Akakiy Akakievich decided to go to significant person. What exactly was the position and what was it? significant person this remains unknown to this day. Need to know that one significant person recently became a significant person, and before that time he was an insignificant person. However, his place even now was not considered significant in comparison with others, even more significant. But there will always be a circle of people for whom what is insignificant in the eyes of others is already significant. However, he tried to enhance his significance by many other means, namely: he arranged for lower officials to meet him on the stairs when he came to office; so that no one dares to come to him directly, but so that everything goes according to the strictest order: the collegiate registrar would report to the provincial secretary, the provincial secretary - to the titular secretary or whoever else, and so that, in this way, the matter would reach him. So in holy Rus' everything is infected with imitation, everyone teases and makes fun of his boss. They even say that some titular councilor, when they made him the ruler of some separate small office, immediately fenced off a special room for himself, calling it the “presence room,” and stationed at the door some ushers with red collars in braid, which were taken by the doorknob and opened it to anyone who came, although in the “presence room” an ordinary desk could hardly be seen. Techniques and customs significant person were solid and majestic, but not polysyllabic. The main basis of his system was rigor. “Severity, severity and — severity,” he usually said, and at the last word he usually looked very significantly into the face of the person to whom he spoke. Although, however, there was no reason for this, because the dozen officials who made up the entire government mechanism of the office were already in proper fear; seeing him from afar, he left the matter and waited, standing at attention, while the boss passed through the room. His ordinary conversation with inferiors was stern and consisted of almost three phrases: “How dare you? Do you know who you are talking to? Do you understand who is standing in front of you? However, he was a kind man at heart, good with his comrades, helpful, but the rank of general completely confused him. Having received the rank of general, he somehow became confused, lost his way and did not know at all what to do. If he happened to be with his equals, he was still a proper person, a very decent person, in many respects not even a stupid person; but as soon as he happened to be in society, where there were people at least one rank lower than him, there he was simply out of hand: he was silent, and his position aroused pity, especially since he himself even felt that he could have spent his time incomparably better . Sometimes one could see in his eyes a strong desire to join some interesting conversation and group, but he was stopped by the thought: wouldn’t this be too much on his part, wouldn’t it be familiar, and wouldn’t he thereby lose his importance? And as a result of such reasoning, he remained forever in the same silent state, uttering only occasionally some monosyllabic sounds, and thus acquired the title of the most boring person. To such and such significant person Our Akakiy Akakievich appeared, and he appeared at the most unfavorable time, very inopportune for himself, although, incidentally, opportunely for a significant person. The significant personage was in his office and had a very, very cheerful conversation with an old acquaintance and childhood friend who had recently arrived, whom he had not seen for several years. At this time they reported to him that some Bashmachkin had arrived. He asked abruptly: “Who is he?” They answered him: “Some official.” - "A! can wait, now is not the time,” said a significant person. Here it must be said that the significant person completely lied: he had time, he and his friend had long talked about everything and had long passed on the conversation in very long silences, only lightly patting each other on the thigh and saying: “That’s it, Ivan Abramovich!” - “That’s it, Stepan Varlamovich!” But with all this, however, he ordered the official to wait in order to show his friend, a man who had not served for a long time and who had lived at home in the village, how long the officials had been waiting in his front room. Having finally spoken, and even more silently enough and having smoked a cigar in the very relaxed reclining chairs, he finally seemed to suddenly remember and said to the secretary, who had stopped at the door with papers for the report: “Yes, there seems to be an official standing there; tell him he can come in.” Seeing Akaki Akakievich’s humble appearance and his old uniform, he suddenly turned to him and said: “What do you want?” - in a abrupt and firm voice, which I deliberately learned in advance in my room, in solitude and in front of a mirror, a week before receiving my current place and the rank of general. Akaki Akakievich already felt the proper timidity in advance, became somewhat embarrassed and, as best he could, as much as his freedom of language could allow him, explained, adding even more often than at other times, particles of “that”, that the overcoat was a completely new one, and was now robbed by an inhuman way, and that he turns to him so that, through his petition, he would somehow write to Mr. Chief of Police or someone else and find the overcoat. The general, unknown why, thought this treatment was familiar. “Why, dear sir,” he continued abruptly, “don’t you know the order?” where did you go? don't know how things are going? You should have first submitted a request for this to the office; it would go to the clerk, to the head of the department, then it would be handed over to the secretary, and the secretary would deliver it to me... “But, your Excellency,” said Akaki Akakievich, trying to muster up all the small handful of presence of mind that he had, and feeling at the same time that he was sweating terribly, “I dared to trouble your Excellency because the secretaries of that. ..unreliable people... - What, what, what? - said a significant person. —Where did you get such spirit? Where did you get these thoughts from? what kind of rioting has spread among young people against their bosses and superiors! The significant person, it seems, did not notice that Akaki Akakievich was already over fifty years old. Therefore, even if he could be called a young man, it would be only relatively, that is, in relation to someone who was already seventy years old. - Do you know who you are telling this to? Do you understand who is standing in front of you? do you understand this, do you understand this? I'm asking you. Here he stamped his foot, raising his voice to such a strong note that even Akaky Akakievich would have become afraid. Akaki Akakievich froze, staggered, shook all over, and could not stand: if the guards had not immediately ran up to support him, he would have flopped to the floor; they carried him out almost without moving. And the significant personage, pleased that the effect exceeded even expectations, and completely intoxicated by the thought that his word could deprive even a person of his feelings, glanced sideways at his friend to find out how he looked at it, and not without pleasure saw that his friend was in the most uncertain state and began to feel fear even on his own part. How he came down the stairs, how he went out into the street, Akaki Akakievich did not remember any of this. He didn't hear either hands or feet. In his life he had never been so much in the face of a general, and a stranger at that. He walked through the blizzard, whistling in the streets, his mouth open, knocking off the sidewalks; the wind, according to St. Petersburg custom, blew on him from all four sides, from all alleys. Instantly a toad blew into his throat, and he got home, unable to say a single word; he was all swollen and went to bed. Proper roasting can be so powerful sometimes! The next day he developed a severe fever. Thanks to the generous assistance of the St. Petersburg climate, the disease spread faster than could have been expected, and when the doctor appeared, he, having felt the pulse, could not find anything to do except prescribe a poultice, solely so that the patient would not be left without the beneficial help of medicine; However, after a day and a half he was immediately declared kaput. After which he turned to the hostess and said: “And you, mother, don’t waste time, order him a pine coffin now, because an oak one will be dear to him.” Did Akaki Akakievich hear these fatal words uttered for him, and if he did, did they have a stunning effect on him, did he regret his miserable life - none of this is known, because he was delirious and feverish all the time. Phenomena, one more strange than the other, constantly presented themselves to him: he saw Petrovich and ordered him to make an overcoat with some kind of traps for thieves, which he constantly imagined under the bed, and he constantly called on the hostess to pull out one thief from him, even from under the blanket; then he asked why his old hood was hanging in front of him, that he had a new overcoat; sometimes it seemed to him that he was standing in front of the general, listening to the proper scolding, and saying: “I’m sorry, your Excellency!” - then, finally, he even blasphemed, uttering the most terrible words, so that the old landlady even crossed herself, having never heard anything like that from him in her life, especially since these words immediately followed the word “your excellency.” Then he spoke complete nonsense, so that nothing could be understood; one could only see that random words and thoughts were tossing and turning around the same overcoat. Finally, poor Akaki Akakievich gave up the ghost. Neither his room nor his things were sealed, because, firstly, there were no heirs, and secondly, very little inheritance remained, namely: a bunch of goose feathers, ten pieces of white government paper, three pairs of socks, two or three buttons, torn from the trousers, and the hood already known to the reader. Who got all this, God knows: I confess that the person telling this story was not even interested in this. Akaki Akakievich was taken and buried. And Petersburg was left without Akaki Akakievich, as if he had never been there. The creature disappeared and hid, not protected by anyone, not dear to anyone, not interesting to anyone, not even attracting the attention of a natural observer who would not allow an ordinary fly to be placed on a pin and examined under a microscope; a creature who meekly endured clerical ridicule and went to the grave without any extraordinary cause, but for whom nevertheless, although just before the end of his life, a bright guest flashed in the form of an overcoat, reviving his poor life for a moment, and upon whom misfortune just as unbearably fell , as it fell upon the kings and rulers of the world... A few days after his death, a watchman from the department was sent to his apartment with orders to appear immediately: the boss said he demanded it; but the watchman had to return with nothing, having given a report that he could no longer come, and to the question “why?” expressed himself in the words: “Yes, he died, they buried him on the fourth day.” Thus, the department learned about the death of Akaki Akakievich, and the next day a new official was sitting in his place, much taller and writing letters no longer in such a straight handwriting, but much more slanted and askew. But who would have imagined that this was not all about Akaki Akakievich, that he was destined to live noisily for several days after his death, as if as a reward for a life not noticed by anyone. But it happened, and our poor story unexpectedly takes on a fantastic ending. Rumors suddenly spread across St. Petersburg that at the Kalinkin Bridge and far away a dead man began to appear at night in the form of an official, looking for some kind of stolen overcoat and, under the guise of a stolen overcoat, tearing off from all the shoulders, without distinguishing rank and title, all sorts of overcoats: on cats, on beavers, cotton wool, raccoon, fox, bear coats - in a word, every kind of fur and leather that people have come up with to cover their own. One of the department officials saw the dead man with his own eyes and immediately recognized him as Akaki Akakievich; but this, however, instilled in him such fear that he began to run as fast as he could and therefore could not get a good look, but only saw how he shook his finger at him from afar. From all sides there were incessant complaints that the backs and shoulders, even if only of titular councilors, or even of the privy councilors themselves, were susceptible to complete colds due to the pulling off of their greatcoats at night. The police made an order to catch the dead man at any cost, alive or dead, and punish him, as an example in another, most severe way, and in that case they almost didn’t even have time. It was the guard of some block in Kiryushkin Lane who grabbed a completely dead man by the collar at the very scene of the crime, during an attempt to rip off the frieze overcoat from some retired musician who had once played the flute. Grabbing him by the collar, he called out with his cry two other comrades, whom he instructed to hold him, and he himself only reached for one minute by his boot to pull out a bottle of tobacco from there, to temporarily refresh his frozen nose six times forever; but the tobacco was probably of a kind that even a dead man could not bear. Before the watchman had time to close his right nostril with his finger and pull half a handful with his left, the dead man sneezed so hard that it completely splattered all three of them in the eyes. While they brought their fists to wipe them, the trace of the dead man disappeared, so they did not even know whether he was definitely in their hands. From then on, the guards received such fear of the dead that they were even afraid to grab the living, and only shouted from afar: “Hey, you, go your way!” - and the dead official began to appear even beyond the Kalinkin Bridge, instilling considerable fear in all timid people. But we, however, completely left one significant person which, in fact, was almost the reason for the fantastic direction, however, of a completely true story. First of all, the duty of justice requires us to say that one significant person Soon after the departure of poor, baked Akakiy Akakievich, he felt something like regret. Compassion was not alien to him; Many good movements were accessible to his heart, despite the fact that his rank very often prevented them from being discovered. As soon as his visiting friend left his office, he even thought about poor Akaki Akakievich. And from then on, almost every day he saw the pale Akaki Akakievich, unable to withstand the official scolding. The thought of him worried him to such an extent that a week later he even decided to send an official to him to find out what he was doing and how, and whether it was really possible to help him with anything; and when they informed him that Akaki Akakievich had died suddenly in a fever, he was even amazed, heard reproaches from his conscience and was out of sorts all day. Wanting to have some fun and forget the unpleasant impression, he went for the evening to one of his friends, where he found decent company, and what was best - everyone there was almost the same rank, so he could not be bound by anything at all . This had an amazing effect on his spiritual disposition. He turned around, became pleasant in conversation, amiable - in a word, he spent the evening very pleasantly. At dinner he drank two glasses of champagne - a remedy, as you know, that works well in promoting gaiety. Champagne gave him a disposition for various emergencies, namely: he decided not to go home yet, but to call on a lady he knew, Karolina Ivanovna, a lady, it seems, of German origin, with whom he felt completely friendly. It must be said that the significant person was already a middle-aged man, a good husband, a respectable father of the family. Two sons, one of whom was already serving in the chancellery, and a pretty sixteen-year-old daughter with a somewhat curved but pretty nose came every day to kiss his hand, saying: “bonjour, papa.” His wife, still a fresh woman and not even at all bad, first let him kiss her hand and then, turning it over to the other side, kissed his hand. But a significant person, however, completely satisfied with domestic family tenderness, found it decent to have a friend in another part of the city for friendly relations. This friend was no better and no younger than his wife; but such problems exist in the world, and it is not our business to judge them. So, the significant personage came down from the stairs, sat down in the sleigh and said to the coachman: “To Karolina Ivanovna,” and he himself, wrapped very luxuriously in a warm overcoat, remained in that pleasant position, which you cannot imagine better for a Russian person, that is, when you yourself don’t think about anything, and yet thoughts themselves creep into your head, one more pleasant than the other, without even bothering to chase after them and look for them. Full of pleasure, he slightly recalled all the funny places of the evening spent, all the words that made the small circle laugh; He even repeated many of them in a low voice and found them to be just as funny as before, and therefore it was no wonder that he himself laughed heartily. From time to time, however, he was disturbed by a gusty wind, which, suddenly snatched up from God knows where and for God knows what reason, cut him in the face, throwing scraps of snow there, flapping his overcoat collar like a sail, or suddenly throwing it at him with unnatural force. on your head and thus causing eternal trouble to get out of it. Suddenly the significant person felt that someone grabbed him very tightly by the collar. Turning around, he noticed a short man in an old, worn uniform, and not without horror recognized him as Akaki Akakievich. The official's face was as pale as snow and looked completely dead. But the horror of the significant person surpassed all boundaries when he saw that the dead man’s mouth was twisted and, smelling terribly of the grave, he uttered the following speeches: “Ah! so here you are at last! Finally I caught you by the collar! It’s your overcoat that I need! you didn’t bother about mine, and even scolded me - now give me yours!” Poor significant person nearly died. No matter how characteristic he was in the office and in general before the lower ones, and although, looking at his courageous appearance and figure, everyone said: “Wow, what a character!” - but here he, like very many who have a heroic appearance, felt such fear that, not without reason, he even began to fear about some painful attack. He himself even quickly threw his overcoat off his shoulders and shouted to the coachman in a voice that was not his own: “Go home at full speed!” The coachman, hearing the voice, which is usually pronounced at decisive moments and is even accompanied by something much more real, hid his head in his shoulders just in case, swung his whip and rushed off like an arrow. At just over six minutes the significant person was already in front of the entrance to his house. Pale, frightened and without an overcoat, instead of going to Karolina Ivanovna, he came to his room, somehow trudged to his room and spent the night in great disarray, so that the next morning at tea his daughter said to him directly: “You are today very pale, dad.” But dad was silent and not a word to anyone about what happened to him, and where he was, and where he wanted to go. This incident made a strong impression on him. He even began to say to his subordinates much less often: “How dare you, do you understand who is in front of you?”; if he did say it, it was not before he had first heard what was going on. But what is even more remarkable is that from then on the appearance of the dead official completely ceased: apparently, the general’s overcoat fell completely on his shoulders; at least, such cases were no longer heard anywhere where someone’s greatcoat was pulled off. However, many active and caring people did not want to calm down and they said that the dead official was still appearing in the distant parts of the city. And indeed, one Kolomna guard saw with his own eyes how a ghost appeared from behind one house; but, being by nature somewhat powerless, so that one day an ordinary adult pig, rushing out of some private house, knocked him down, to the great laughter of the cabbies standing around, from whom he demanded a penny for tobacco for such a mockery - so, being powerless, he did not dare to stop him, and so he followed him in the darkness until finally the ghost suddenly looked around and, stopping, asked: “What do you want?” - and showed such a fist, which you will not find among the living. The watchman said: “Nothing,” and he turned back the same hour ago. The ghost, however, was already much taller, wore an enormous mustache and, directing his steps, as it seemed, towards the Obukhov Bridge, disappeared completely into the darkness of the night.

Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol

In the department... but it’s better not to say in which department. There is nothing angrier than all kinds of departments, regiments, offices and, in a word, all kinds of official classes. Now every private person considers the whole society insulted in his own person. They say that quite recently a request was received from one police captain, I don’t remember any city, in which he clearly states that state regulations are perishing and that his sacred name is being pronounced in vain. And as proof, he attached to the request a huge volume of some romantic work, where every ten pages the police captain appears, sometimes even completely drunk. So, in order to avoid any troubles, it is better to call the department in question one department. So, in one department served one official ; the official cannot be said to be very remarkable, short in stature, somewhat pockmarked, somewhat reddish, even somewhat blind in appearance, with a small bald spot on his forehead, with wrinkles on both sides of his cheeks and a complexion that is called hemorrhoidal... What to do! The St. Petersburg climate is to blame. As for the rank (for with us, first of all, it is necessary to declare the rank), he was what is called an eternal titular adviser, over whom, as you know, various writers mocked and made jokes, having the commendable habit of leaning on those who cannot bite . The official's last name was Bashmachkin. Already from the name itself it is clear that it once came from a shoe; but when, at what time and how it came from the shoe, none of this is known. And father, and grandfather, and even brother-in-law, and all the completely Bashmachkins, walked in boots, changing the soles only three times a year. His name was Akaki Akakievich. Perhaps it will seem somewhat strange and searched out to the reader, but we can assure you that they were not looking for it in any way, but that such circumstances happened of their own accord that it was impossible to give another name, and this is exactly how it happened. Akaki Akakievich was born against the night, if memory serves, on March 23rd. The deceased mother, an official and a very good woman, arranged to properly baptize the child. Mother was still lying on the bed opposite the door, and on her right hand stood her godfather, a most excellent man, Ivan Ivanovich Eroshkin, who served as the head of the Senate, and the godfather, the wife of a quarterly officer, a woman of rare virtues, Arina Semyonovna Belobryushkova. The mother in labor was given the choice of any of the three, which one she wanted to choose: Mokkia, Sossia, or name the child in the name of the martyr Khozdazat. “No,” thought the deceased: “the names are all like that.” To please her, they turned the calendar in a different place; Three names came out again: Triphilius, Dula and Varakhasiy. “This is the punishment,” said the old woman: “what are all the names; I really have never heard of anything like that. Let it be Varadat or Varukh, or else Triphilius and Varakhasiy.” They turned the page again and out came: Pavsikakhy and Vakhtisy. “Well, I already see,” said the old woman, “that, apparently, this is his fate. If so, it would be better for him to be called like his father. The father was Akaki, so let the son be Akaki.” This is how Akaki Akakievich came to be. The child was christened, and he began to cry and made such a grimace, as if he had a presentiment that there would be a titular councilor. So this is how all this happened. We brought this up so that the reader can see for himself that this happened entirely out of necessity and it was impossible to give another name. When and at what time he entered the department and who assigned him, no one could remember. No matter how many directors and various bosses changed, everyone saw him in the same place, in the same position, in the same position, as the same official for writing, so that later they were convinced that he had apparently been born into the world already completely ready, in uniform and with a bald spot on his head. The department showed him no respect. The guards not only did not get up from their seats when he passed, but did not even look at him, as if a simple fly had flown through the reception area. The bosses treated him somehow coldly and despotically. Some assistant to the clerk would directly shove papers under his nose, without even saying “copy it,” or “here’s an interesting, pretty little thing,” or anything pleasant, as is used in well-bred services. And he took it, looking only at the paper, without looking at who gave it to him and whether he had the right to do so. He took it and immediately set about writing it. The young officials laughed and made jokes at him, as much as their clerical wit was sufficient, and immediately told him various stories compiled about him; they said about his owner, a seventy-year-old old woman, that she was beating him, they asked when their wedding would take place, they threw pieces of paper on his head, calling it snow. But Akaki Akakievich did not answer a single word to this, as if no one was in front of him; it didn’t even have an impact on his studies: among all these worries, he didn’t make a single mistake in writing. Only if the joke was too unbearable, when they pushed him by the arm, preventing him from going about his business, he said: “Leave me alone, why are you offending me?” And there was something strange in the words and in the voice with which they were spoken. There was something in him so inclining to pity that one young man, recently made up his mind, who, following the example of others, had allowed himself to laugh at him, suddenly stopped, as if pierced, and from then on everything seemed to change before him and appeared in a different form. Some unnatural force pushed him away from the comrades with whom he met, mistaking them for decent, secular people. And for a long time later, in the midst of the most cheerful moments, a low official with a bald spot on his forehead appeared to him, with his penetrating words: “Leave me alone, why are you offending me? - and in these penetrating words there were other words: “I am your brother.” And the poor young man covered himself with his hand, and many times later in his life he shuddered, seeing how much inhumanity there is in man, how much ferocious rudeness is hidden in refined, educated secularism, and, God! even in that person whom the world recognizes as noble and honest...

It is unlikely that anywhere one could find a person who would live like this in his position. It is not enough to say: he served zealously - no, he served with love. There, in this copying, he saw his own diverse and pleasant world. Pleasure was expressed on his face; He had some favorite letters, which if he got to, he was not himself: he laughed, and winked, and helped with his lips, so that in his face, it seemed, one could read every letter that his pen wrote. If rewards were given to him in proportion to his zeal, he, to his amazement, might even end up as a state councilor; but he served, as his wits, his comrades, put it, a buckle in his buttonhole and acquired hemorrhoids in the lower back. However, it cannot be said that there was no attention to him. One director, being a kind man and wanting to reward him for his long service, ordered that he be given something more important than ordinary copying; It was precisely from the already completed case that he was ordered to make some kind of connection to another public place; the only thing was to change the title title and change here and there the verbs from the first person to the third. This gave him such work that he became completely sweaty, rubbed his forehead and finally said: “No, better let me rewrite something.” Since then they left it to be rewritten forever. Outside of this rewriting, it seemed that nothing existed for him. He didn’t think at all about his dress: his uniform was not green, but some kind of reddish flour color. The collar on him was narrow, low, so that his neck, despite the fact that it was not long, coming out of the collar, seemed unusually long, like those of those plaster kittens, dangling their heads, which are carried on the heads of dozens of Russian foreigners. And there was always something stuck to his uniform: either a piece of hay, or some kind of thread; In addition, he had a special art, walking along the street, of keeping up with the window at the very time when all sorts of rubbish was being thrown out of it, and therefore he was always carrying watermelon and melon rinds and similar nonsense on his hat. Not once in his life did he pay attention to what was going on and happening every day on the street, which, as you know, his brother, a young official, who extends the insight of his glib gaze to such an extent that he even notices who on the other side of the sidewalk, the stirrup of his trousers was torn off at the bottom - which always brings a sly smile to his face.

In the department... but it’s better not to say in which department. There is nothing angrier than all kinds of departments, regiments, offices and, in a word, all kinds of official classes. Now every private person considers the whole society insulted in his own person. They say that quite recently a request was received from one police captain, I don’t remember any city, in which he clearly states that state regulations are perishing and that his sacred name is being pronounced in vain. And as proof, he attached to the request a huge volume of some romantic work, where every ten pages the police captain appears, sometimes even completely drunk. So, in order to avoid any troubles, it is better to call the department in question one department. So, in one department served one official ; the official cannot be said to be very remarkable, short in stature, somewhat pockmarked, somewhat reddish, even somewhat blind in appearance, with a small bald spot on his forehead, with wrinkles on both sides of his cheeks and a complexion that is called hemorrhoidal... What to do! The St. Petersburg climate is to blame. As for the rank (for with us, first of all, it is necessary to declare the rank), he was what is called an eternal titular adviser, over whom, as you know, various writers mocked and made jokes, having the commendable habit of leaning on those who cannot bite . The official's last name was Bashmachkin. Already from the name itself it is clear that it once came from a shoe; but when, at what time and how it came from the shoe, none of this is known. And father, and grandfather, and even brother-in-law and all the completely Bashmachkins walked in boots, changing the soles only three times a year. His name was Akaki Akakievich. Perhaps it will seem somewhat strange and searched out to the reader, but we can assure you that they were not looking for it in any way, but that such circumstances happened of their own accord that it was impossible to give another name, and this is exactly how it happened. Akaki Akakievich was born against the night, if memory serves, on March 23rd. The deceased mother, an official and a very good woman, arranged to properly baptize the child. Mother was still lying on the bed opposite the door, and on her right hand stood her godfather, a most excellent man, Ivan Ivanovich Eroshkin, who served as the head of the Senate, and the godfather, the wife of a quarterly officer, a woman of rare virtues, Arina Semyonovna Belobryushkova. The mother in labor was given the choice of any of the three, which one she wanted to choose: Mokkiya, Session, or name the child in the name of the martyr Khozdazat. “No,” thought the deceased, “the names are all the same.” To please her, they turned the calendar in a different place; Three names came out again: Triphilius, Dula and Varakhasiy. “This is the punishment,” said the old woman, “what are all the names; I really have never heard of anything like that. Let it be Varadat or Varukh, or else Triphilius and Varakhasiy.” They turned the page again and out came: Pavsikakhy and Vakhtisy. “Well, I already see,” said the old woman, “that, apparently, this is his fate. If so, it would be better for him to be called like his father. The father was Akaki, so let the son be Akaki.” This is how Akaki Akakievich came to be. The child was christened, and he began to cry and made such a grimace, as if he had a presentiment that there would be a titular councilor. So this is how all this happened. We brought this up so that the reader can see for himself that this happened entirely out of necessity and it was impossible to give another name. When and at what time he entered the department and who assigned him, no one could remember. No matter how many directors and various bosses changed, he was always seen in the same place, in the same position, in the same position, the same official for writing, so that later they were convinced that he was apparently born into the world already completely ready, in uniform and with a bald spot on his head. The department showed him no respect. The guards not only did not get up from their seats when he passed, but did not even look at him, as if a simple fly had flown through the reception area. The bosses treated him somehow coldly and despotically. Some assistant to the clerk would directly shove papers under his nose, without even saying, “Copy this,” or, “Here’s an interesting, nice piece of business,” or something pleasant, as is used in well-bred services. And he took it, looking only at the paper, without looking at who gave it to him and whether he had the right to do so. He took it and immediately set about writing it. The young officials laughed and made jokes at him, as much as their clerical wit was sufficient, and immediately told him various stories compiled about him; they said about his owner, a seventy-year-old old woman, that she was beating him, they asked when their wedding would take place, they threw pieces of paper on his head, calling it snow. But Akaki Akakievich did not answer a single word to this, as if no one was in front of him; it didn’t even have an impact on his studies: among all these worries, he didn’t make a single mistake in writing. Only if the joke was too unbearable, when they pushed him by the arm, preventing him from going about his business, he said: “Leave me alone, why are you offending me?” And there was something strange in the words and in the voice with which they were spoken. There was something in him so inclining to pity that one young man, who had recently made up his mind, who, following the example of others, had allowed himself to laugh at him, suddenly stopped, as if pierced, and from then on everything seemed to change before him and appeared in a different form. Some unnatural force pushed him away from the comrades with whom he met, mistaking them for decent, secular people. And for a long time later, in the midst of the most cheerful moments, a low official with a bald spot on his forehead appeared to him, with his penetrating words: “Leave me alone, why are you offending me? - and in these penetrating words other words rang: “I am your brother.” And the poor young man covered himself with his hand, and many times later in his life he shuddered, seeing how much inhumanity there is in man, how much ferocious rudeness is hidden in refined, educated secularism, and, God! even in that person whom the world recognizes as noble and honest...

It is unlikely that anywhere one could find a person who would live like this in his position. It is not enough to say: he served zealously - no, he served with love. There, in this copying, he saw his own diverse and pleasant world. Pleasure was expressed on his face; He had some favorite letters, which if he got to, he was not himself: he laughed, and winked, and helped with his lips, so that in his face, it seemed, one could read every letter that his pen wrote. If rewards were given to him in proportion to his zeal, he, to his amazement, might even end up as a state councilor; but he served, as his wits, his comrades, put it, a buckle in his buttonhole and acquired hemorrhoids in the lower back. However, it cannot be said that there was no attention to him. One director, being a kind man and wanting to reward him for his long service, ordered that he be given something more important than ordinary copying; It was precisely from the already completed case that he was ordered to make some kind of connection to another public place; the only thing was to change the title title and change here and there the verbs from the first person to the third. This gave him such work that he became completely sweaty, rubbed his forehead and finally said: “No, better let me rewrite something.” Since then they left it to be rewritten forever. Outside of this rewriting, it seemed that nothing existed for him. He didn’t think at all about his dress: his uniform was not green, but some kind of reddish flour color. The collar on him was narrow, low, so that his neck, despite the fact that it was not long, coming out of the collar, seemed unusually long, like those of those plaster kittens, dangling their heads, which are carried on the heads of dozens of Russian foreigners. And there was always something stuck to his uniform: either a piece of hay, or some kind of thread; In addition, he had a special art, walking along the street, of keeping up with the window at the very time when all sorts of rubbish was being thrown out of it, and therefore he was always carrying watermelon and melon rinds and similar nonsense on his hat. Not once in his life did he pay attention to what was going on and happening every day on the street, which, as you know, his brother, a young official, who extends the insight of his glib gaze to such an extent that he even notices who on the other side of the sidewalk, the stirrup of his trousers was torn off at the bottom - which always brings a sly smile to his face.

The story "The Overcoat" was first published in 1843. She talks about the life of a “little man” in society. He is indifferent to everyone, but sincerely loves his small position. Only one circumstance pulls him out of his usual way of life: the purchase of a new overcoat.

According to Belinsky, the story “The Overcoat” became “one of Gogol’s deepest achievements”; the social and moral motive of the writer’s earlier works was widely deployed in it.
For a detailed understanding of the essence of the work, we suggest reading below our version of the summary of Gogol’s “The Overcoat”.

Main characters

Akaki Akakievich Bashmachkin- a modest, quiet, inconspicuous titular councilor, over 50 years old, short in stature, a little blind in appearance, with a bald spot on his forehead and wrinkles on his cheeks. Not married and has no boyfriends. Sincerely loves his job.

Other characters

Petrovich– former serf Gregory, crooked in one eye, pockmarked, loves to drink, faithful to his grandfather’s customs. Married. Nothing is known about the wife.

"Significant Person"- a recently promoted “insignificant person” who behaves pompously, “trying to give himself even greater significance.”

Akakiy Akakievich Bashmachkin was unlucky from birth: even “it was impossible to choose another name,” born on the night of March 23 (the year is not specified), the calendar suggested the strange names Sossia or Khozdata. The baby's mother turned the page of the calendar, hoping to find a good name, but here too the choice fell between Pavsikahiy and Vakhtisiy.

The child was named after his father - Akakiy Akakievich, after baptism he grimaced as if he had a presentiment that he would be a titular councilor.

The hero lived in a rented apartment in a poor area of ​​St. Petersburg. He worked in one of the departments, as part of his duty - he copied documents. The position is so petty and low-paid that even the guards in the department treat him with disdain, and officials silently hand him papers for correspondence, often without the authority to do so. At the same time, they laugh at Akaki Akakievich. But he does not pay attention to them, only when the officials push him by the elbow, then he asks: “Leave me, why are you offending me?” .

Bashmachkin sincerely loves his work. He works longer on individual letters, drawing out each squiggle, winking at them, smiling. He often takes work home, where he quickly eats cabbage soup, and sits down to copy something. If there is no such need, he still rewrites something, just for his own pleasure; even when he goes to bed, he happily thinks about tomorrow’s work. Only once did the director entrust him with something more important - to correct the document himself, change the title letters and some verbs, but Akaki Akakievich turned out to be unable to do this, sweated heavily, and asked to be given “something to rewrite.” He was no longer asked to fix anything.

In short, he leads a quiet, measured life, has no friends and family. He is indifferent to what is happening around him. It seemed that only “a horse, putting its muzzle on his shoulder, could return him to the reality of a St. Petersburg street from the middle of some line.” He wears a faded uniform and an overcoat so threadbare that the department calls it a hood. If it were not for the frost, this “little man” would not have noticed the flaws in his overcoat. But he has to take it to the crooked-eyed tailor Petrovich for repairs. In the past - to the serf, Gregory, who knew how to “drink well” and “successfully repair official trousers and tailcoats.”

The tailor assures that the overcoat cannot be repaired, and a new one will cost 150 rubles. This is a very large amount, which Bashmachkin does not have, but he knows that Petrovich becomes more accommodating when he drinks, and decides to come to the tailor again at the “right moment.” As a result, the overcoat costs him 80 rubles; he can save money by purchasing a cheap cat collar. He has already saved up about 40 rubles, thanks to his habit of saving a penny from each salary. The rest of the money needs to be saved: in the evenings, Akakiy Akakievich refuses tea and candles, washes his clothes less often, wears a dressing gown over his naked body at home, “so as not to wear out the underwear,” and on the street he tries to step so carefully so as “not to wear out the soles prematurely.” It’s difficult for Bashmachkin, but the dream of a new overcoat inspires him, he often comes to Petrovich to discuss the details.

Finally, he saved the required amount and Grigory sewed a new overcoat, happy Akaki Akakievich goes to work in it. The most grandiose event in the pitiful life of the titular councilor does not go unnoticed: he is surrounded by colleagues and superiors, demanding to organize an evening on the occasion of the new thing. Bashmachkin is very embarrassed, he gave all his savings for a new overcoat, but he is rescued by a certain official who invites everyone, including Akakiy Akakievich, to his place on the occasion of his name day. The official's house is located in another part of the city. After having dinner at home, the hero goes there on foot.
Officials who only yesterday were making fun of Akaki Akakievich are now showering him with compliments; in his new overcoat he looks much more respectable. Soon they forget about him and move on to dancing and champagne. For the first time in his life, Akakiy Akakievich allows himself to relax, but he doesn’t stay long and leaves dinner earlier than others. Heated up with champagne, he even follows some lady with a good figure. But on a deserted square he is overtaken by unknown people with mustaches, one of them declares that the overcoat on Akaki Akakievich’s shoulders belongs to him, pushes him into the snow, and takes it away.

The private bailiff, instead of helping, completely embarrassed Akakiy Akakievich with questions about why he was on the street so late, and whether he had visited any obscene house, he left, not understanding whether the case would be set in motion. He is again forced to come to the department in an old, holey overcoat, and again they make fun of him, although there are those who feel sorry for him and advise him to go to “a significant person who can contribute to a more successful search for the overcoat.” Unhappy Akaki Akakievich is forced to endure the undeserved reprimand of this “significant person”, who “became significant only recently, and therefore is preoccupied with how to give himself greater significance.” Having failed to obtain help, he, frozen in an old hood, returns to his home in a severe fever.

At the service they only realized about him on the fourth day after his funeral.

This is where the story about the life of the “little man” ends. But the story continues, describing the strange events that followed the funeral of the titular adviser. It was rumored that at night a dead man appears near the Kalinkin Bridge, who rips off everyone's greatcoats, without distinguishing their owners by rank and rank. The police were powerless. One day, late in the evening, the former titular councilor tore off the overcoat of that same “significant person.” Since then, the “significant person” has behaved much more modestly with his subordinates.

Since then, no one has seen the ghost of Akaki Akakievich, but he was replaced by another ghost - taller and with a mustache.

Conclusion

The image of the “little man” had been raised in literature long before, but N.V. Gogol, unlike other writers, saw in his character not an object of ridicule, but a person worthy of sympathy and understanding.

“The Overcoat” is a protest against social order, where a conclusion about a person is made “in advance” based on his position, salary and appearance. The story is not even named after the hero, indifferent to society and destroyed by it, because this society brings material values ​​to the fore.

The story takes only 30 pages, so after reading this short retelling of Gogol’s “The Overcoat,” we advise you to read its full version.

Work test

After studying the summary, you can test your knowledge by answering the questions in this test.

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