Dubrovsky (Pushkin A. S., 1833)

"Dubrovsky". Chapter 3 (end)

- Tell me, please, Anton, what business does my father have with Troyekurov?

- But God knows, Father Vladimir Andreevich... The master, listen, did not get along with Kirila Petrovich, and he filed a lawsuit - although he is often his own judge. It’s not our servant’s business to sort out the master’s wills, but, by God, it was in vain that your father went against Kirila Petrovich, you can’t break a butt with a whip.

- So, apparently, this Kirila Petrovich does what he wants with you?

- And of course, master: listen, he doesn’t give a damn about the assessor, the police officer is on his errands. The gentlemen come to pay homage to him, and to say that it would be a trough, but there will be pigs.

7 The police officer is the chief of the local police.

- Is it true that he is taking our property away from us?

- Eh, master, we heard so too. The other day, the Pokrovsky sexton said at the christening of our elder: you have enough time to walk; Now Kirila Petrovich will take you into his hands. Mikita the blacksmith said to him: and that’s it, Savelich, don’t sadden your godfather, don’t bother the guests. Kirila Petrovich is on his own, and Andrei Gavrilovich is on his own, and we are all God’s and sovereign’s; But you can’t sew buttons on someone else’s mouth.

- So, you want to go into Troekurov’s possession?

- In the possession of Kirila Petrovich! God forbid and deliver: he sometimes has a bad time with his own people, but if he gets strangers, he will not only tear off their skin, but also their meat. No, may God grant Andrei Gavrilovich a long life, and if God takes him away, we don’t need anyone but you, our breadwinner. Don’t give us away, and we will stand for you. - At these words, Anton swung his whip, shook the reins, and his horses began to run at a fast trot.

Touched by the devotion of the old coachman, Dubrovsky fell silent and indulged in his thoughts. More than an hour passed, suddenly Grisha woke him up with the exclamation: “Here is Pokrovskoye!” Dubrovsky raised his head. He rode along the shore of a wide lake, from which a river flowed and meandered between the hills in the distance; on one of them, above the dense greenery of the grove, towered the green roof and belvedere of a huge stone house; on the other there is a five-domed church and an ancient bell tower; Scattered around were village huts with their vegetable gardens and wells...

8 Belvedere is a turret above the roof of a house.

Having left the village, they climbed the mountain, and Vladimir saw a birch grove and to the left, in an open place, a gray house with a red roof; his heart began to beat. In front of him he saw Kistenevka and his father’s poor house.

Ten minutes later he drove into the master's courtyard. He looked around him with indescribable excitement. He had not seen his homeland for twelve years. The birches that had just been planted near the fence during his time had grown and now became tall, branchy trees. The yard, once decorated with three regular flower beds, between which there was a wide road, carefully swept, turned into an unmown meadow on which a tangled horse was grazing. The dogs started to bark, but when they recognized Anton, they fell silent and waved their shaggy tails. The servants poured out of the people's faces 9 and surrounded the young master with noisy expressions of joy. It was all he could do to force his way through their zealous crowd and ran onto the dilapidated porch. Egorovna met him in the hallway and hugged her pupil with tears.

9 Izob (obsolete) - gen. pad. pl. h. from the word izbi - izb.

“Great, great, nanny,” he repeated, pressing the kind old woman to his heart, “what’s up, father, where is he?” what is he like?

At that moment, a tall old man, pale and thin, in a robe and cap, entered the hall, moving his legs with force.

- Hello, Volodka! - he said in a weak voice, and Vladimir passionately hugged his father.

The joy produced too strong a shock in the patient, he weakened, his legs gave way under him, and he would have fallen if his son had not supported him.

“Why did you get out of bed,” Yegorovna told him, “you can’t stand on your feet, but you strive to go where people go.”

The old man was carried into the bedroom. He tried to talk to him, but his thoughts were confused in his head, and the words had no connection. He fell silent and fell into a sleepy state. Vladimir was amazed at his condition. He settled down in his bedroom and asked to be left alone with his father...

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Chapter VI

“So, it’s all over,” he said to himself, “this morning I had a corner and a piece of bread. Tomorrow I will have to leave the house where I was born and where my father died, to the culprit of his death and my poverty.” And his eyes fixed motionless on the portrait of his mother. The painter presented her leaning on the railing in a white morning dress with a scarlet rose in her hair. “And this portrait will go to the enemy of my family,” thought Vladimir, “it will be thrown into the pantry along with the broken chairs or hung in the hallway, the subject of ridicule and comments from his hounds, and in her bedroom, in the room... where her father died, his steward will live or his harem will fit. No! No! Let him not get the sad house from which he drives me out.” Vladimir clenched his teeth, terrible thoughts were born in his mind. The voices of the clerks reached him, they bossed him around, demanded this and that, and unpleasantly entertained him in the midst of his sad thoughts. Finally everything calmed down.

Vladimir opened the chests of drawers and began sorting through the deceased’s papers. They mostly consisted of business accounts and correspondence on various matters. Vladimir tore them up without reading them. Between them he came across a package with the inscription: letters from my wife

. With a strong movement of feeling, Vladimir began to work on them: they were written during the Turkish campaign and were addressed to the army from Kistenevka. She described to him her deserted life, her household chores, tenderly lamented the separation and called him home, into the arms of a good friend; in one of them she expressed to him her concern about the health of little Vladimir; in another she rejoiced at his early abilities and foresaw a happy and brilliant future for him. Vladimir read and forgot everything in the world, plunging his soul into the world of family happiness, and did not notice how time passed, the wall clock struck eleven. Vladimir put the letters in his pocket, took the candle and left the office. In the hall, the clerks slept on the floor. There were glasses on the table, emptied by them, and the strong smell of rum could be heard throughout the room. Vladimir walked past them in disgust into the hallway - the doors were locked. Not finding the key, Vladimir returned to the hall - the key lay on the table, Vladimir opened the door and came across a man pressed into the corner - his ax was shining, and, turning to him with a candle, Vladimir recognized Arkhip the blacksmith. "Why are you here?" - he asked. “Oh, Vladimir Andreevich, it’s you,” Arkhip answered in a whisper, “God have mercy and save me!” It’s good that you walked with a candle!” Vladimir looked at him in amazement. “Why are you hiding here?” - he asked the blacksmith.

“I wanted... I came... to see if everyone was at home,” Arkhip answered quietly, stuttering.

- Why do you have an ax with you?

- Why the ax? But how can you walk without an axe? These clerks are such mischief-makers, just look at it...

“You’re drunk, drop the ax and go get some sleep.”

- I'm drunk? Father Vladimir Andreevich, God is my witness, there wasn’t a single drop in my mouth... and whether the wine comes to mind, has the matter been heard - the clerks are planning to take over us, the clerks are driving our masters out of the master’s courtyard... Oh, they snore, damned ones; all at once, and it would end up in the water.

Dubrovsky frowned. “Listen, Arkhip,” he said, after a short silence, “this is not the case you started. The clerks are not to blame. Light the lantern and follow me.”

Arkhip took the candle from the master’s hands, found a lantern behind the stove, lit it, and both quietly left the porch and walked near the yard. The watchman began to beat on the cast-iron board, the dogs began to bark. "Who's the guard?" - asked Dubrovsky. “We, father,” answered a thin voice, “Vasilisa and Lukerya.” “Go around the courtyards,” Dubrovsky told them, “you are not needed.” “The Sabbath,” said Arkhip. “Thank you, breadwinner,” the women answered and immediately went home.

Dubrovsky went further. Two people approached him; they called out to him. Dubrovsky recognized the voice of Anton and Grisha. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” - he asked them. “Are we going to sleep,” Anton answered. “What have we come to, who would have thought...”

- Quiet! - Dubrovsky interrupted, - where is Egorovna?

“In the manor’s house in his little room,” answered Grisha.

“Go, bring her here and take all our people out of the house, so that not a single soul remains in it except the clerks, and you, Anton, harness the cart.”

Grisha left and a minute later appeared with his mother. The old woman did not undress that night; except for the clerks, no one in the house slept a wink.

- Is everyone here? - asked Dubrovsky, - is there anyone left in the house?

“No one except the clerks,” answered Grisha.

“Give me some hay or straw here,” said Dubrovsky.

The people ran to the stable and returned carrying armfuls of hay.

- Place it under the porch. Like this. Well, guys, fire!

Arkhip opened the lantern, Dubrovsky lit a torch.

“Wait,” he said to Arkhip, “it seems that I locked the doors to the hallway in a hurry, go and unlock them quickly.”

Arkhip ran into the hallway - the doors were unlocked. Arkhip locked them, saying in a low voice: “What’s wrong, unlock it!” - and returned to Dubrovsky.

Dubrovsky brought the torch closer, the hay caught fire, the flame soared and illuminated the entire yard.

“Ahti,” Yegorovna cried pitifully, “Vladimir Andreevich, what are you doing?”

“Be silent,” said Dubrovsky. - Well, children, goodbye, I’m going wherever God leads; be happy with your new master.

“Our father, breadwinner,” the people answered, “we will die, we will not leave you, we will go with you.”

The horses were brought in; Dubrovsky got into the cart with Grisha and appointed Kistenevskaya Grove as their meeting place. Anton hit the horses, and they rode out of the yard.

The wind got stronger. In one minute the flames engulfed the entire house. Red smoke curled over the roof. Glass cracked and fell, flaming logs began to fall, a plaintive cry and cries were heard: “We are burning, help, help.” “How wrong,” said Arkhip, looking at the fire with an evil smile. “Arkhipushka,” Yegorovna told him, “save them, the damned, God will reward you.”

“Why not,” answered the blacksmith.

At that moment the clerks appeared at the window, trying to break down the double frames. But then the roof collapsed with a crash, and the screams died down.

Soon all the servants poured out into the yard. Women screamed and hurried to save their junk; children jumped, admiring the fire. Sparks flew like a fiery blizzard, the huts caught fire.

“Everything’s okay now,” said Arkhip, “how’s it burning, huh?” tea, it’s nice to watch from Pokrovsky.

At that moment a new phenomenon attracted his attention; the cat ran along the roof of the burning barn, wondering where to jump - flames surrounded it on all sides. The poor animal called for help with a pitiful meow. The boys died laughing, looking at her despair. “Why are you laughing, you devils,” the blacksmith told them angrily. “You are not afraid of God: God’s creation is perishing, and you are foolishly rejoicing,” and, placing the ladder on the fire roof, he climbed after the cat. She understood his intention and, with an air of hasty gratitude, clung to his sleeve. The half-burnt blacksmith climbed down with his loot. “Well, guys, goodbye,” he said to the embarrassed servants, “I have nothing to do here. Have fun, don’t remember me ill.”

The blacksmith left; The fire raged for some time. Finally it calmed down, and piles of coals without flames burned brightly in the darkness of the night, and the burnt residents of Kistenevka wandered around them.

Online reading of the book by Dubrovsky CHAPTER VI.

“So it’s all over,” he said to himself; – in the morning I had a corner and a piece of bread. Tomorrow I will have to leave the house where I was born and where my father died, to the culprit of his death and my poverty.” And his eyes fixed motionless on the portrait of his mother. The painter presented her leaning on the railing, in a white morning dress with a scarlet rose in her hair. “And this portrait will go to the enemy of my family,” thought Vladimir, “it will be thrown into the pantry along with the broken chairs, or hung in the hallway, the subject of ridicule and comments from his hounds - and in her bedroom, in the room... where her father died, he will live clerk, or his harem will fit. No! No! Let him not get the sad house from which he drives me out.” Vladimir clenched his teeth - terrible thoughts were born in his mind. The voices of the clerks reached him - they bossed him around, demanded this and that, and unpleasantly entertained him in the midst of his sad thoughts. Finally everything calmed down.

Vladimir opened the chests of drawers and began sorting through the deceased’s papers. They mostly consisted of business accounts and correspondence on various matters. Vladimir tore them up without reading them. Between them he came across a package with the inscription: letters from my wife. With a strong feeling, Vladimir began to work on them: they were written during the Turkish campaign and were addressed to the army from Kistenevka. She described to him her deserted life, her household chores, tenderly lamented the separation and called him home, into the arms of a good friend, in one of them she expressed to him her concern about the health of little Vladimir; in another she rejoiced at his early abilities and foresaw a happy and brilliant future for him. Vladimir read and forgot everything in the world, immersed his soul in the world of family happiness, and did not notice how time passed, the wall clock struck 11. Vladimir put the letters in his pocket, took a candle and left the office. In the hall, the clerks slept on the floor. There were glasses on the table, emptied by them, and a strong spirit of rum could be heard throughout the room. Vladimir walked past them in disgust into the hallway - the doors were locked - he did not find the key, Vladimir returned to the hall - the key lay on the table, Vladimir opened the door and came across a man pressed into the corner - an ax glittered from him, and turning to him with with a candle, Vladimir recognized Arkhip the blacksmith. - Why are you here? - he asked.

“Oh, Vladimir Andreevich, it’s you,” Arkhip answered in a whisper, “God have mercy and save me!” It’s good that you came with a candle! – Vladimir looked at him in amazement.

- Why are you hiding here? - he asked the blacksmith.

“I wanted... I came... to see if everyone was at home,” Arkhip answered quietly, stuttering.

- Why do you have an ax with you?

- Why the ax? - But how can you walk without an axe? These clerks are such mischievous people, just look at it...

“You’re drunk, drop the ax and go get some sleep.”

- I'm drunk? Father Vladimir Andreevich, God is my witness, there wasn’t a single drop in my mouth... and will the wine go to my mind, have you heard of the matter - the clerks are planning to take over us, the clerks are driving our masters out of the master’s courtyard... Oh, they snore, damned ones - all at once; so ends up in the water.

Dubrovsky frowned. “Listen, Arkhip,” he said, after a short silence, “it’s not what you started.” The clerks are not to blame. Light the lantern, follow me.

Arkhip took the candle from the master’s hands, found a lantern behind the stove, lit it, and both quietly left the porch and walked near the yard. The watchman began to beat on the cast-iron board, the dogs began to bark.

- Who, the watchman? – Dubrovsky asked.

“We, father,” answered a thin voice, “Vasilisa and Lukerya.”

“Go around the courtyards,” Dubrovsky told them, “you are not needed.”

“The Sabbath,” said Arkhip.

“Thank you, breadwinner,” the women answered, and immediately went home.

Dubrovsky went further. Two people approached him; they called out to him. Dubrovsky recognized the voice of Anton and Grisha. - Why aren’t you sleeping? - he asked them.

“Do we have time to sleep,” Anton answered. - How far we have come, who would have thought...

- Quiet! - Dubrovsky interrupted, - where is Egorovna?

“In the manor’s house in his little room,” answered Grisha.

- Go, bring her here, and take all our people out of the house, so that not a single soul remains in it - except for the clerks - and you, Anton, harness the cart.

Grisha left and a minute later appeared with his mother. The old woman did not undress that night; except for the clerks, no one in the house slept a wink.

– Is everyone here? - asked Dubrovsky, - is there anyone left in the house?

“No one except the clerks,” answered Grisha.

“Give me some hay or straw here,” said Dubrovsky.

The people ran to the stable and returned carrying armfuls of hay.

– Place it under the porch. - Like this. Come on guys, let's fire!

Arkhip opened the lantern, Dubrovsky lit a torch.

“Wait,” he said to Arkhip, “it seems that in a hurry I locked the doors to the hallway, go and quickly unlock them.”

Arkhip ran into the hallway - the doors were unlocked. Arkhip locked them with a key, saying in a low voice: Why not, unlock it! and returned to Dubrovsky.

Dubrovsky brought the torch closer, the hay caught fire, the flame soared - and illuminated the entire yard.

“Ahti,” Yegorovna cried pitifully, “Vladimir Andreevich, what are you doing!”

“Be silent,” said Dubrovsky. - Well, children, goodbye, I’m going where God leads; be happy with your new master.

“Our father, breadwinner,” the people answered, “we will die, we will not leave you, we will go with you.”

The horses were brought in; Dubrovsky got into the cart with Grisha and appointed Kistenevskaya Grove as their meeting place. Anton hit the horses, and they rode out of the yard.

The wind got stronger. In one minute the flames engulfed the entire house. Red smoke curled over the roof. Glass cracked and fell, flaming logs began to fall, a plaintive cry and cries were heard: “we are burning, help, help.”

“How wrong,” said Arkhip, looking at the fire with an evil smile.

“Arkhipushka,” Yegorovna told him, “save them, the damned, God will reward you.”

“Why not,” answered the blacksmith.

At that moment the clerks appeared at the window, trying to break down the double frames. But then the roof collapsed with a crash, and the screams died down.

Soon all the servants poured out into the yard. Women screamed and hurried to save their junk; children jumped, admiring the fire. Sparks flew like a fiery storm, the huts caught fire.

“Everything’s okay now,” said Arkhip, “how’s it burning, huh?” tea, it’s nice to watch from Pokrovsky. “At that moment a new phenomenon attracted his attention; the cat ran along the roof of the burning barn, wondering where to jump - flames surrounded it on all sides. The poor animal called for help with a pitiful meow. The boys died laughing, looking at her despair.

“Why are you laughing, you devils,” the blacksmith told them angrily. “You are not afraid of God—God’s creature is dying, and you are foolishly rejoicing,” and placing the ladder on the fire roof, he climbed after the cat. She understood his intention and, with an air of hasty gratitude, clung to his sleeve. The half-burnt blacksmith climbed down with his loot.

“Well, guys, goodbye,” he said to the embarrassed servants, “I have nothing to do here.” Have fun, don't remember me harshly.

The blacksmith left, the fire raged for some time. Finally it calmed down, and piles of coals without flames burned brightly in the darkness of the night and the burnt residents of Kistenevka wandered around them.