I. A. Goncharov “Ordinary History”: analysis

about the author

The creator of Ordinary History, Ivan Aleksandrovich Goncharov, was born in 1812, into a family of eminent and wealthy merchants. From early childhood, the boy led a carefree, satiated life - the cellars and barns were overflowing with all kinds of provisions and sweets, gold coins were stored in chests, and the owners were served by servants.

At the age of seven, Vanya lost his father. His godfather Tregubov, a kind and enlightened man, a sailor by profession, became his guardian and educator. At first he taught the child himself, then sent him to a school in Moscow.

Eight years of study helped Ivan become more mature and knowledgeable; he became addicted to reading and wanted to write himself. Pushkin and Karamzin become his ideals; it is them that the future writer wants to be equal to, it is they who strives to imitate.

He thinks a lot about the meaning of life and eternal values, literature and art, the life of the people and the morals of the nobility.

After graduating from university, young Ivan Goncharov receives a good government position, but continues to move in the literary circles of St. Petersburg. Here he becomes close friends with the painter Nikolai Maykov and his writer-wife. They meet representatives of the cultural life of the capital - poets, artists, musicians...

Continuing to work in the government field, occupying responsible positions and important positions, Ivan Aleksandrovich begins to write. His first work was “An Ordinary Story,” followed by the still famous “Oblomov” and “Cliff.”

Text of the book “Ordinary History”

Ivan Aleksandrovich Goncharov Ordinary story

Comments by E. A. Krasnoshchekova

1812–1891

Ivan Aleksandrovich Goncharov [1]1 The text of the article is published according to the publication: Goncharov I. A. Collection. cit.: In 6 volumes. M.: Pravda, 1972. T. 6. (The article is printed in abbreviation.)

[Close]

Better late than never
(Critical notes)

(“Russian Speech”, 1879, No. 6)

I put down my pen a long time ago and haven’t printed anything new. This is how I thought about ending my literary career, believing that my time had passed, and with it my writings had “passed”, that is, their time had passed.

I decided to resume only the publication of the essays on the round-the-world voyage “Frigate “Pallada”” for the reasons stated in the preface to this publication. Traveling to the far ends of the world generally has the privilege of lasting longer than other books. Each of them leaves an indelible mark or rut for a long time, like a wheel, until the road is worn out to the point that all the ruts merge into one common wide path. Traveling around the world still has a long way to go.

Another thing is novels and literary works of fiction in general. They live for their age and die with it; Only the works of great masters survive their time and become historical monuments.

Others, having served their service at the moment, go into the archives and are forgotten.

I expected this fate for my works as well, after they had gone through some two, others three editions, and I did not have the intention, and now I do not mean, to print them again.

But in the public, where there are still many living contemporaries of my literary activity, they often remember my novels, sometimes in print, and very often in personal addresses to me.

Some people ask why booksellers don’t have my works? Others flatteringly reproach me for why I don’t write anything new, sometimes they even offer to write about this or that subject, on this or that topic, saying that the public is supposedly expecting some other work from me. Still others - and these are the most - turn to my own view of one or another of my works, demanding explanations of what I meant by what I wanted to say with this; who or what did he mean when portraying such and such a hero or heroine, were these persons and events fictitious, or did they really happen, etc. There is no end to these questions!

At the same time, as happened with almost all writers, they try to mislead me into this or that hero, looking for me here and there or guessing certain personalities in heroes and heroines. Most often they see me in Oblomov, kindly reproaching me for my laziness as an author and saying that I painted this face from myself. Sometimes, on the contrary, they were at a loss as to where to place me in some novel, for example, as an uncle or nephew in Ordinary History.

Others openly reproach me for this, for that, for the third, point out weak points, find inaccuracies or exaggerations, and call me to account for everything. Just recently, somewhere in print I saw a cursory critical essay of my writings.

And I kept thinking that if I had already fallen silent in the press myself, then others would talk and talk, and they would forget me and my writings, and therefore, to the questions addressed to me, I answered what came to mind under the influence of the moment, the personality of the questioner and others accidents.

But questions, information, demands for clarification, etc. not only did not stop, but, on the contrary, with the advent of the new edition of “Frigate “Pallada”” intensified. I hasten to add that I do not get tired or bored by this; on the contrary, I accept it as an expression of flattering attention. I am only sometimes hindered by the answers that I must always keep, so to speak, ready, to the questions addressed to me, and, of course, I inevitably have to fall into constant repetition.

In order to get out of this position of being responsible to one or another reader for my writings and a walking critic of the latter and once and for all to clarify my own view of my author’s tasks, I decided to print the following manuscript, which had long been idle in my briefcase.

This critical analysis of my books arose from the preface, which I was preparing for a separate edition of “The Precipice” in 1870, but then, for the reasons stated in this essay, I did not publish. Then in 1875 I returned to it again, added something and again put it aside.

Now, going through it again, I find that it can serve as a sufficient, on my part, explanation and answer to almost all questions addressed to me from different sides, both personally and in print, sometimes flattering, exaggerated praise, more often - censure, misunderstandings , reproaches, both regarding the general significance of my author’s tasks, and regarding the characters, details, etc.

I by no means present this analysis of my writings as a critical immutable criterion, I do not impose it on anyone, and I even foresee that in many respects many readers will not share it for various reasons. In communicating it, I only wish that they knew how I look at my novels myself, and would accept it as my personal answer to the questions asked of me, so that then there would be nothing left to ask me about.

If readers find this key to my works incorrect, then they are free to choose their own. If, contrary to my expectations, I needed to publish all my works again, then this same analysis could serve as the author’s preface to them.

I am late with this preface, they will tell me: but if it does not seem superfluous and now - then “better late than never” - I can answer this.

<�…>

When I wrote “Ordinary History,” I, of course, had in mind myself and many like me who studied at home or at the university, who lived in quiet times, under the wing of kind mothers, and then tore themselves away from the bliss, from the hearth, with tears, with a send-off (as in the first chapters of Ordinary History) and appearing at the main arena of activity, in St. Petersburg.

And here - in the meeting of a gentle dreamer-nephew, spoiled by laziness and lordship, with a practical uncle - there was a hint of a motive that had just begun to play out in the most lively center - in St. Petersburg. This motive is a faint flicker of consciousness, the need for labor,

real, not routine, but
living work
in the fight against all-Russian stagnation.

This was reflected in my small mirror in the average bureaucratic circle. Without a doubt, the same thing - in the same spirit, tone and character, only in different dimensions, played out in other, both higher and lower, spheres of Russian life.

The representative of this motive in society was the uncle: he achieved a significant position in the service, he was a director, a privy councilor, and, in addition, he became a factory owner. Then, from the 20s to the 40s, it was a bold novelty, almost humiliation

(I’m not talking about factory owners-bars, whose plants and factories were part of the family estates, had quitrent articles and which they themselves were not involved in). The Privy Councilors had little courage to do this. His rank did not allow it, and the title of merchant was not flattering.

The struggle between uncle and nephew also reflected the then, just beginning, breakdown of old concepts and mores - sentimentality, caricatured exaggeration of feelings of friendship and love, poetry of idleness, family and home lies of feigned, essentially unprecedented feelings (for example, love with yellow flowers

spinster aunt, etc.), a waste of time on visits, unnecessary hospitality, etc.

In a word, all the idle, dreamy and affective side of old morals with the usual impulses of youth - towards the high, great, graceful, towards effects, with a thirst to express this in crackling prose, most of all in verse.

All this was becoming obsolete, going away; there were faint glimpses of a new dawn, something sober, businesslike, necessary.

The first, that is, the old, was exhausted in the figure of the nephew - and therefore he came out more prominently, more clearly.

The second - that is, a sober consciousness of the need for work, work, knowledge - was expressed in the uncle, but this consciousness was just emerging, the first symptoms appeared, it was far from full development - and it is clear that the beginning could be expressed weakly, incompletely, only here and there, in individuals and small groups, and the figure of the uncle came out paler than the figure of the nephew.

Nadenka,

the girl, the object of Aduev’s love, also came out as a reflection of her time.
She is no longer an unconditionally submissive daughter to the will of any parents. Her mother is weak in front of her and is barely able to maintain only decorum [2] 2
Appearance
(lat.).
[Close] the authority of the mother, although she assures that she is strict, even though she is silent

and that it’s as if Nadenka
won’t take a single step without her.
It’s not true, she herself feels that she is weak and blind to the point that she allows her daughter’s relationship with both Aduev and the count, without understanding what the matter is.

The daughter is a few steps ahead of her mother. She without asking

fell in love with Aduev and almost does not hide this from her mother or is silent only for the sake of decency, considering for herself the right to dispose in her own way
of her inner world
and Aduev himself, which, having studied him well, she has mastered and commands. This is her obedient slave, gentle, spinelessly kind, promising something, but pettyly proud, a simple, ordinary young man, of whom there is a legion everywhere. And she would have accepted him, gotten married - and everything would have gone as usual.

But the figure of the count appeared, consciously intelligent, dexterous, and brilliant. Nadenka saw that Aduev could not stand comparison with him either in mind, or in character, or in upbringing. In her everyday life, Nadenka did not acquire consciousness of any ideals of male dignity, strength, and what kind of strength?

Then they did not exist, these ideals, just as there was no Russian, independent life. Onegins and others like him - these were the ideals, that is, dandies, lions who despised petty labor and did not know what to do with themselves!

All she had to see was that young Aduev was not a force, that everything that she had seen a thousand times in all the other young men with whom she had danced and flirted a little was repeated in him. She listened to his poetry for a minute. Writing poetry was then a diploma for the intelligentsia. She expected that strength and talent lay there. But it turned out that he only writes passable poetry, but no one knows about them, and he is also sulking to himself at the count because he is simple, smart and behaves with dignity. She went over to the side of the latter: this was the conscious step of the Russian girl

- silent emancipation, protest against her mother’s helpless authority.

But this is where this emancipation ended. She realized

but
she did not turn her consciousness into action,
she stopped
in ignorance,
since the very moment of the era was a moment of ignorance. No one yet knew what to do with themselves, where to go, what to start? Onegin and similar “ideals” only languished in inaction, without definite goals and activities, and they did not know Tatyana.

“What will come of this? - Aduev asks Nadenka in fear, “is the count not getting married?”

"Don't know!" - she answers in anguish. And indeed, the Russian girl did not know how to act consciously and rationally in this or that case. She only vaguely felt that it was possible and time for her to protest against her parents giving her away in marriage,

and she could only, unconsciously of course, like Nadenka, declare this protest, rejecting one and moving her feelings to another.

This is where I left Nadenka. I no longer needed her as a type, and I didn’t care about her as a person.

And Belinsky once noticed this. “As long as he needs her, as long as he bothers with her! “he said to someone in front of me, “and then he’ll quit!”

And many people asked me, what happened to her next? How do I know? I didn’t draw Nadenka, but a Russian girl from a well-known circle of that era,

at a certain moment. I myself didn’t know any one Nadenka personally, or knew many.

They will tell me that both her and other figures are pale - and do not form types: it may very well be - I cannot argue about that. I'm just saying what I meant by them.

At the beginning of the 40s, when this novel was being conceived and written, I could not yet look quite clearly into the next period, which had not arrived, but premonitions of which already lived in me, because soon after publication, in 1847 in Sovremennik , “Ordinary History” - I already had Oblomov’s plan ready in my mind,

and in 1848 (or 1849 - I don’t remember) I placed in the “Illustrated Collection” of “Sovremennik” and “Oblomov’s Dream” - this overture of the entire novel, therefore, I experienced this period in my imagination and, thanks to my sensitivity, foresaw what follows. Now I can answer, “what happened to Nadenka.”

Watch in “Oblomov” - Olga

there is a transformed
Nadenka
of the next era. But we'll get to that below.

Aduev ended up like most of them then: he obeyed the practical wisdom of his uncle, began working in the service, wrote in magazines (but no longer in poetry) and, having survived the era of youthful unrest, achieved positive benefits, like the majority, took a strong position in the service and got married advantageously , in a word, managed his affairs. This is what “Ordinary History” is all about.

She is - in my books - the first gallery,

serving as a prelude to the next two
galleries
or
periods
of Russian life, already closely connected with each other, that is, to “Oblomov” and “Cliff”, or to “Dream” and to “Awakening”.

They may notice to me that long before this, our great poet Pushkin has hints of similar relationships between persons, as I have in “Oblomov” and “Obyv”, partly in “Ordinary History”, for example in Tatyana and Onegin, Olga and Lensky, etc.

To this I will answer first of all that in Russian literature there is still no escape from Pushkin and Gogol. The Pushkin-Gogol school continues to this day, and all of us, fiction writers, are just developing the material they bequeathed. Even Lermontov, a colossal figure, all like the eldest son in his father, poured out into Pushkin. He followed in his footsteps, so to speak. His "Prophet" and "Demon"

, the poetry
of the Caucasus
and
the East
and his novels - all this is the development of those examples of poetry and ideals that Pushkin gave. I said in a critical study about Griboedov, “A Million Torments,” that Pushkin is the father, the founder of Russian art, just as Lomonosov is the father of science in Russia. In Pushkin lie all the seeds and rudiments from which all kinds and types of art later developed in all our artists, just as in Aristotle the seeds, germs and hints for almost all subsequent branches of knowledge and science were hidden. Both Pushkin and Lermontov have the same kindred spirit, one can hear the same general structure of the lyre, sometimes it is as if the same images appear - in Lermontov, perhaps more powerful and deep, but less perfect and brilliant in form than in Pushkin. The whole difference is in the moment of time. Lermontov moved further in time, entered a new period in the development of thought, a new movement in European and Russian life, and was ahead of Pushkin in the depth of thought, courage and novelty of ideas and flight.

Pushkin, I say, was our teacher - and I was brought up, so to speak, by his poetry. Gogol influenced me much later and less; I already wrote myself when Gogol had not yet finished his career.

Gogol himself, of course, owes the objectivity of his images to Pushkin. Without this example and forerunner of art, Gogol would not have been the Gogol that he is. The charm, severity and purity of form are the same. All the difference is in everyday life, in the setting and in the sphere of action, but the creative spirit is the same, in Gogol it has completely turned into denial.

Therefore, it is not surprising that the traits of Pushkin, Lermontov and Gogol’s creative power still enter our flesh and blood, just as the flesh and blood of our ancestors passes on to our descendants.

It must be said that in our literature (and, I think, everywhere), especially the two main images of women constantly appear in the works of the word in parallel, like two opposites: a positive character - Pushkin’s Olga

and the ideal one is his
Tatyana.
One is an unconditional, passive expression of the era, a type that is cast, like wax, into a ready-made, dominant form.
The other is with the instincts of self-awareness, originality, and initiative. That is why the first one is clear, open, and immediately understandable ( Olga
in Onegin,
Varvara
in The Thunderstorm). The other, on the contrary, is original, seeks its own expression and form and therefore seems capricious, mysterious, elusive. Our teachers and models have them, and Ostrovsky also has them in “The Thunderstorm” - in a different area; they, I dare add, appeared in my “Cliff.” These are the two dominant characters into which, in basic terms, with different shades, almost all women are more or less divided.

The point is not in the invention of new types - and there are only a few indigenous human types - but in how in whom they were expressed, how they connected with the life around them, and how the latter reflected on them.

Pushkinsky Tatiana

and
Olga
could not have responded better to their moment. Tatyana, depressed by her rude and pitiful environment, also rushed to Onegin, but did not find an answer and resigned herself to her fate by marrying the general. Olga instantly forgot her poet and married a lancer. The authority of their parents decided their fate. Pushkin, as a great master, with these two strokes of his brush, and even a few strokes, gave us eternal models, according to which we unconsciously learn to paint, like painters from ancient statues. <…>

An ordinary story A novel in two parts

Part one

I
One summer, in the village of Grachakh, with the poor landowner Anna Pavlovna Adueva, everyone in the house rose at dawn, from the mistress to the chain dog Barbos.

Only Anna Pavlovna’s only son, Alexander Fedorych, slept as a twenty-year-old youth should sleep, in a heroic sleep; and in the house everyone was fussing and fussing. People, however, walked on tiptoe and spoke in whispers, so as not to wake the young master. As soon as someone knocked or spoke loudly, now, like an irritated lioness, Anna Pavlovna appeared and punished the unwary with a stern reprimand, an offensive nickname, and sometimes, according to her anger and strength, and a push.

In the kitchen they cooked with three hands, as if for ten, although the entire master's family consisted only of Anna Pavlovna and Alexander Fedorych. In the barn they wiped and greased the cart. Everyone was busy and worked their butts off. Barbos only did nothing, but he also took part in the general movement in his own way. When a footman, a coachman, or a girl sniffed past him, he would wave his tail and carefully sniff the passerby, and with his eyes he seemed to ask: “Will they finally tell me what kind of commotion we have today?”

And the turmoil was because Anna Pavlovna was sending her son to St. Petersburg for service, or, as she said, to see people and show herself off. A killer day for her! This makes her so sad and upset. Often, in trouble, she will open her mouth to order something, and suddenly stop mid-sentence, her voice will change, she will turn to the side and, if she has time, wipe away a tear, but if she doesn’t have time, she will drop it into the suitcase in which she herself I was laying out Sashenka’s underwear. Tears have been boiling in her heart for a long time; they have risen to the throat, are pressing on the chest and are ready to splash into three streams; but she seemed to be saving them for goodbyes and occasionally spent them a little at a time.

She was not the only one mourning the separation: Sashenka’s valet, Yevsey, also grieved greatly. He went with the master to St. Petersburg, leaving the warmest corner in the house, behind the couch, in the room of Agrafena, the first minister in Anna Pavlovna’s household and - most importantly for Yevsey - her first housekeeper.

Behind the couch there was only room to put two chairs and a table on which tea, coffee, and snacks were prepared. Yevsey firmly occupied a place both behind the stove and in the heart of Agrafena. She sat on the other chair herself.

The story of Agrafen and Yevsey was already an old story in the house. They talked about her, like everything else in the world, slandered both of them, and then, just like everything else, they kept silent. The lady herself got used to seeing them together, and they were blissful for ten whole years. How many people will end up with ten happy years in their lives? But now the moment of loss has come! Goodbye, warm corner, goodbye, Agrafena Ivanovna, goodbye, playing fools, and coffee, and vodka, and liqueur - goodbye everything! Yevsey sat silently and sighed heavily. Agrafena, frowning, fussed about the housework. She expressed grief in her own way. That day she fiercely spilled the tea and instead of serving the first cup of strong tea, as usual, to the lady, she threw it out: “Don’t let anyone get it,” and firmly endured the reprimand. Her coffee boiled over, the cream burned, the cups fell out of her hands. She will not put the tray on the table, but will blurt out; He won’t open the closet or the door, but slam it. But she did not cry, but was angry at everything and everyone. However, this was generally the main feature in her character. She was never satisfied; everything is not according to her; always grumbled and complained. But at this fatal moment for her, her character was revealed in all its pathos. Most of all, it seems, she was angry with Yevsey.

“Agrafena Ivanovna!..” he said plaintively and tenderly, which did not quite suit his long and dense figure.

- Well, why are you sitting here, you dumbass? - she answered, as if it was the first time he had sat here. - Let me go: I need to get a towel.

“Eh, Agrafena Ivanovna!..” he repeated lazily, sighing and rising from the chair and immediately falling down again when she took the towel.

- He just whines! Here the arrow has imposed itself! What kind of punishment is this, Lord! and he won’t let go!

And she dropped the spoon into the rinsing cup with a clang.

- Agrafena! - suddenly came from the other room, - you've gone crazy! Don’t you know that Sashenka is resting? Did you have a fight with your lover before leaving?

- Don’t move for you, sit there like you’re dead! - Agrafena hissed like a snake, wiping the cup with both hands, as if she wanted to break it into pieces.

- Goodbye, goodbye! - Yevsey said with a huge sigh, - last day, Agrafena Ivanovna!

- And thank God! Let the devils take you away from here: it will be more spacious. Let him go, there’s nowhere to step: he’s stretched out his legs!

He touched her shoulder - how she answered him! He sighed again, but did not move; Yes, it would have been in vain to move: Agrafena didn’t want that. Yevsey knew this and was not embarrassed.

– Will someone sit in my place? - he said, still with a sigh.

- Leshy! – she answered abruptly.

- God forbid! as long as it’s not Proshka. Will someone play the fool with you?

- Well, at least it’s Proshka, so what’s the problem? – she remarked angrily.

Yevsey stood up.

– Don’t play with Proshka, by God, don’t play! – he said with concern and almost with a threat.

- Who will stop me? Are you some kind of idiot?

- Mother, Agrafena Ivanovna! - he began in a pleading voice, hugging her - around the waist, I would say, if she had even the slightest hint of a waist.

She returned the hug with an elbow to the chest.

- Mother, Agrafena Ivanovna! - he repeated, - will Proshka love you as much as I do? Look how mischievous he is: he won’t let a single woman pass. And me! eh! You are like blue gunpowder in my eye! If it weren’t for the master’s will, then... eh!..

At this he grunted and waved his hand. Agrafena could not stand it: her grief finally revealed itself in tears.

“Will you leave me alone, damned one?” - she said crying, - what are you talking about, you fools! I'll contact Proshka! Don’t you see for yourself that you won’t get a good word from him? All he knows is that he is climbing with his hands...

- And he came to you? Oh, you bastard! But you probably won’t tell! I would...

- Get in there, he’ll find out! Are there no females in the household besides me? I’ll contact Proshka! look what you made up! It’s sickening to sit next to him - a pig is a pig! Just look, he strives to hit a person or devour something from the master’s hands - and you won’t see it.

- If, Agrafena Ivanovna, such a case comes - the evil one is strong - then it’s better to put Grishka here: at least he’s a quiet little guy, hard-working, and doesn’t sneer...

- I just made it up! - Agrafena attacked him, - why are you imposing me on everyone, am I really anything... Get out of here! There are many of your brothers, I will hang myself on everyone’s neck: not like that! Apparently, the evil one has only confused you with you, such a devil, for my sins, and even then I repent... otherwise I made it up!

– God reward you for your virtue! like a stone off your shoulders! - Yevsey exclaimed.

- I was happy! - she screamed brutally again, - there is something to rejoice at - rejoice!

And her lips turned white with anger. Both fell silent.

- Agrafena Ivanovna! – Yevsey said timidly a little later.

- What else?

“I forgot: I didn’t have a drop of poppy dew in my mouth this morning.”

- That's all!

- Out of grief, mother.

She took out from the bottom shelf of the cupboard, from behind her head the sugar, a glass of vodka and two huge slices of bread with ham. All this had long been prepared for him by her caring hand. She slipped them to him, just as they don’t stick to dogs. One piece fell to the floor.

- Here, choke! Oh, I wish you... but be quiet, don’t champ at the whole house.

She turned away from him with an expression of hatred, and he slowly began to eat, looking from under his brows at Agrafena and covering his mouth with one hand.

Meanwhile, a coachman with three horses appeared at the gate. An arch was thrown across the molar's neck. The bell, tied to the saddle, muffled its tongue dully and unfreely, like a drunk man tied up and thrown into a guardhouse. The coachman tied the horses under the barn canopy, took off his hat, took out a dirty towel and wiped the sweat from his face. Anna Pavlovna, seeing him from the window, turned pale. Her legs gave way and her arms dropped, although she expected this. Having recovered, she called Agrafena.

“Come on tiptoe, quietly, and see if Sashenka is sleeping?” - she said. “He, my darling, will probably sleep for the last day: I won’t get enough of him.” No, where are you going? Look, you'll fit in like a cow! I'm better on my own...

And she went.

- Come on, you’re not a cow! - Agrafena grumbled, returning to her room. - Look, I found a cow! Do you have a lot of these cows?

Alexander Fedorych himself, a blond young man in the prime of his years, health and strength, walked towards Anna Pavlovna. He cheerfully greeted his mother, but when he suddenly saw the suitcase and bundles, he became embarrassed, silently walked away to the window and began drawing with his finger on the glass. A minute later he was talking to his mother again and looked at the tolls carelessly, even with joy.

“What are you doing, my friend, how did you sleep,” said Anna Pavlovna, “even your face is swollen?” Let me wipe your eyes and cheeks with rose water.

- No, mummy, no need.

– What do you want for breakfast: tea first or coffee? I ordered to make beaten meat with sour cream in a frying pan - what do you want?

- It’s all the same, mummy.

Anna Pavlovna continued to fold the laundry, then stopped and looked at her son with longing.

“Sasha!..” she said after a while.

- What do you want, mummy?

She hesitated to speak, as if she was afraid of something.

-Where are you going, my friend, why? – she finally asked in a quiet voice.

- Where are you going, mama? to St. Petersburg, then... then... so...

“Listen, Sasha,” she said in excitement, placing her hand on his shoulder, apparently with the intention of making a last attempt, “the time has not yet passed: think, stay!”

- Stay! as possible! “But… the laundry is packed,” he said, not knowing what to come up with.

- The laundry is done! yes... here... here... look - and it’s not packed.

She took everything out of the suitcase in three steps.

- How is this so, mamma? got ready - and suddenly again! What will they say...

He became sad.

– I’m dissuading it not so much for myself as for you. Why are you going? Looking for happiness? Don't you feel good here? Doesn’t your mother think every day about how to please all your whims? Of course, you are at such an age that pleasing your mother alone does not constitute happiness; Yes, I don’t require this. Well, look around you: everyone is looking into your eyes. And Marya Karpovna’s daughter, Sonyushka? What... blushed? How she, my darling—God bless her—loves you: listen, she hasn’t slept for three nights!

- Here you are, mummy! she's so...

- Yes, yes, as if I don’t see... Ah! so as not to forget: she took to cutting off your scarves - “I, she says, myself, I won’t give it to anyone, and I’ll make a mark,” you see, what else do you need? Stay!

He listened in silence, with his head bowed, and played with the tassel of his dressing gown.

– What will you find in St. Petersburg? – she continued. “Do you think your life there will be the same as here?” Eh, my friend! God knows what you will see and endure: cold, hunger, and need - you will endure everything. There are a lot of evil people everywhere, but you won’t find good ones soon. And honor - whether in the village or in the capital - is still the same honor. Just as you don’t see life in St. Petersburg, it will seem to you, living here, that you are the first in the world; and so it is in everything, my dear! You are well-mannered, and dexterous, and good. I, an old woman, could only rejoice looking at you. If you got married, God would send you children, and I would nurse them - and I would live without grief, without worries, and I would live my life peacefully, quietly, I would not envy anyone; and there, maybe it won’t be good, maybe you’ll remember my words... Stay, Sashenka, huh?

He coughed and sighed, but didn't say a word.

“And look here,” she continued, opening the door to the balcony, “and aren’t you sorry to leave such a corner?”

The room smelled fresh from the balcony. From the house, a garden of old lindens, thick rose hips, bird cherry and lilac bushes stretched out into a distant space. Between the trees there were flowers, paths ran in different directions, then a lake quietly splashed into the shores, bathed on one side by the golden rays of the morning sun and smooth as a mirror; on the other, dark blue, like the sky that was reflected in it, and barely covered with swell. And there the fields with waving, multi-colored grains ran like an amphitheater and adjoined the dark forest.

Anna Pavlovna, covering her eyes from the sun with one hand, pointed to each object alternately to her son with the other.

“Look,” she said, “with what beauty God has clothed our fields!” From those fields of rye alone we will collect up to five hundred quarters; and there is wheat and buckwheat; only buckwheat today is not like last year: it seems it will be bad. And the forest, the forest has grown so much! Just think how great is the wisdom of God! We'll sell the firewood from our plot for about a thousand. And game, what game! and after all, all this is yours, dear son: I am only your clerk. Look at the lake: what splendor! truly heavenly! the fish just walks like that; We buy one sturgeon, otherwise they are swarming with ruffs, perches, and crucian carp: it’s a waste of both ourselves and people. There are your cows and horses grazing. Here you are the only master of everything, but there, perhaps, everyone will push you around. And you want to run away from such grace, you don’t yet know where, into the pool, maybe, God forgive me... Stay!

He was silent.

“You’re not listening,” she said. -Where are you looking so intently?

He silently and thoughtfully pointed his hand into the distance. Anna Pavlovna looked and her face changed. There, between the fields, a road wound like a snake and ran away beyond the forest, the road to the promised land, to St. Petersburg. Anna Pavlovna was silent for several minutes to gather her strength.

- So that's it! – she finally said sadly. - Well, my friend, God be with you! go, if you are so drawn from here: I won’t stop you! At least you can’t say that your mother is eating away at your youth and life.

Poor mother! here is your reward for your love! Is this what you expected? The fact of the matter is that mothers don't expect rewards. The mother loves senselessly and indiscriminately. You are great, glorious, beautiful, proud, your name passes from mouth to mouth, your deeds thunder throughout the world - the old woman’s head shakes with joy, she cries, laughs and prays long and fervently. And the son, for the most part, does not even think of sharing the glory with his parent. Whether you are poor in spirit and mind, whether nature has marked you with the mark of ugliness, whether the sting of illness sharpens your heart or body, finally, people push you away from themselves and there is no place for you between them - especially not a place in the heart of a mother. She presses the ugly, failed child closer to her chest and prays even longer and more fervently.

History of the creation of the work

The history of the creation of Goncharov’s “Ordinary History” covers a fairly long period of time. In general, he worked very slowly and unhurriedly, thinking through every stroke and every thought in detail, trying to comprehend not only the depth of the characters of his heroes, but also the historical time in which he lived and which he described.

Goncharov’s “Ordinary History” (a brief summary of it will be given below) was conceived by the author back in 1944. For the next two years, he worked on his creation, as always, intently working on every sentence, analyzing every situation and every line of the hero.

The writer revised his work several times. In 1945, after reading the sketches in the Maykov family, he made some changes to the manuscript, listening to the practical advice of the owner of the house. He then corrected the essay immediately before its publication.

At first, the author entrusted the manuscript to the literary patron Yazykov, but he considered the work insignificant and trivial and did not want to show it to the famous critic Vissarion Belinsky.

If it were not for Nikolai Nekrasov, who took the manuscript from Yazykov and showed it to Vissarion Grigorievich, the world might not have seen the work published.

Summary

The beginning of the story

A brief summary of Goncharov’s “Ordinary History” should begin with a description of the departure of the young, poor landowner Alexander Fedorovich, the only son of the kind-hearted lady Anna Pavlovna.

Sasha is a handsome twenty-year-old romantic who has just graduated from university. He is eager to serve the Fatherland, find his own path in life and walk along it hand in hand with a gentle and kind girl.

Alexander Fedorovich has many talents, writes poetry, he expects happiness and love to await him in St. Petersburg.

To say goodbye to Sasha, his friend Alexander Pospelov comes, having specially ridden more than one hundred and fifty kilometers for this purpose. Young people fondly remember their intimate conversations about love, loyalty and service to the fatherland.

Meeting with uncle

In the capital, Aduev comes to visit his paternal uncle, Pyotr Ivanovich, an influential official and wealthy manufacturer. However, at first he does not even want to accept his nephew. However, remembering how kind Anna Pavlovna was to him, Aduev Sr. meets with a young man, but behaves with restraint and coldness.

Sasha doesn’t understand his uncle’s insensitivity; he feels uneasy about the city’s ceremony and indifference. Walking around St. Petersburg, the young man becomes disillusioned with the capital. He misses virgin nature, endless open spaces, the good nature and friendliness of his acquaintances.

Meanwhile, Pyotr Ivanovich is going to teach his nephew wisdom. He forbids him to show his sincere feelings and emotions, orders him to forget Sonyushka and even throws out her gifts. Uncle finds Alexandra a well-paid but tedious job, and encourages the young man to abandon poetry and literature as an unprofitable and stupid occupation.

Two years later

Alexander became more urban and important. He continues to work in one of the government departments, additionally translates articles and writes poetry or stories from time to time.

It turns out that the young man is in love with a young girl, Nadya, who responds to him with tenderness and reciprocity. However, the uncle condemns their romantic relationship, claiming that love is not needed for marriage.

Love and betrayal

The lover spends entire evenings at his beloved's dacha. Nadenka is raised by one mother and grows up to be a pampered and flighty young lady. She asks Alexander for a year to test her feelings and reunite together in a happy marriage.

And then, when the appointed time approaches, another person appears on the horizon of the young lady - the sophisticated, rich, eminent Count Novinsky. Nadya is carried away by him and pays little attention to Aduev.

He, tormented by jealousy, behaves defiantly both towards his beloved and towards his happy rival. Over time, the girl refuses Alexander.

This was a heavy blow for him. He silently sobs and yearns for his lost happiness. The uncle does not understand the young man’s feelings and, seeing that he wants to challenge the count to a duel, advises him to take revenge in a different, more sophisticated way. Only the aunt, the young wife of Aduev Sr., takes pity on Sasha in his unrequited love.

Twelve months have passed

Alexander still suffers from Nadya's refusal. He loses the meaning in life, loses faith in people, it seems to him that he is surrounded by unprincipled, evil ignoramuses.

Finding joy in writing, the young man writes a story all day long, but Pyotr Ivanovich criticizes it and proves to his nephew that no one will publish it. This is true.

Lizaveta Aleksandrovna, the wife of Aduev Sr., suffers from his coldness and aloofness. It is painful for her that her husband cares about her comfort, while forgetting about her heart and feelings.

Beautiful widow

Yulia Tafaeva, a young woman who was widowed early, becomes the cause of concern for Pyotr Ivanovich about his companion. He fell in love with a girl and spends all his money on her. Therefore, the uncle asks Alexander to play love with the widow in order to distract her from her partner.

Aduev Jr. doubts his success, but hits on a beautiful widow. Without noticing it, he falls in love with an experienced woman and, as it turns out, mutually.

Young people are very similar. They both want tenderness, violent manifestations of love, all-consuming passion. In their feelings, they seek solitude and want to belong to each other completely.

The uncle helps the young people explain themselves and frees his nephew from the relationship that bothers him.

Main character's depression

A break with Tafaeva does not make the young man happy. He experiences enormous doubts - something has gone wrong in his life. He regrets that he came to St. Petersburg, that he abandoned the picturesque countryside and sweet Sonyushka.

However, such a rethinking of life does not prompt the main character to take action. He sinks lower and lower, works sluggishly, communicates with unsightly company, and does not visit his uncle.

Soon the young man leaves the service and leaves St. Petersburg for his home, completely devastated and tired in soul and body.

The mother is very happy to see her son, but she is concerned about his appearance and physical condition.

Over time, Alexander becomes fresher and prettier. Nature and tender memories restore his strength. He lives a quiet life, but continues to dream of St. Petersburg. A year and a half later, the man writes to his aunt that he wants to return to the capital and start a new life. He realizes that he behaved stupidly and wants to improve.

End of the work

Four years have passed since Aduev returned to St. Petersburg for the second time. Much has changed in his uncle's family.

Having reached unprecedented heights and wealth, Pyotr Ivanovich finally understands that all this was tinsel, now the main thing for him is the health of his beloved wife, who is slowly fading away from his coldness and isolation.

However, Lizaveta Aleksandrovna has already lost joy in life and she is indifferent to her husband’s belated feelings.

Alexander's life turned out completely differently. His mother died, and he finally found himself - he became confident and contented, received a good position and an enviable rank. He is going to marry an unfamiliar girl with a good dowry, whom he does not love and does not even respect. Aduev Sr. is happy for his nephew and hugs him for the first time in his life.

I

One summer, in the village of Grachakh, with the poor landowner Anna Pavlovna Adueva, everyone in the house rose at dawn, from the mistress to the chain dog Barbosa.

Only Anna Pavlovna's only son, Alexander Fedorych, slept as a twenty-year-old youth should sleep, in a heroic sleep; and in the house everyone was fussing and fussing. People walked on tiptoe and spoke in whispers so as not to wake the young master. As soon as someone knocked or spoke loudly, now, like an irritated lioness, Anna Pavlovna appeared and punished the unwary with a stern reprimand, an offensive nickname, and sometimes, according to her anger and strength, and a push.

In the kitchen they cooked with three hands, as if for ten, although the entire master's family consisted only of Anna Pavlovna and Alexander Fedorych. In the barn they wiped and greased the cart. Everyone was busy and worked their butts off. Barbos only did nothing, but he also took part in the general movement in his own way. When a footman, a coachman, or a girl snuck past him, he would wave his tail and carefully sniff the passerby, and with his eyes he seemed to ask: “Will they finally tell me what kind of commotion we have today?”

Yevsey sat silently and sighed heavily. Agrafena, frowning, fussed about the housework. She expressed grief in her own way. That day she spilled the tea with bitterness and instead of serving the first cup of strong tea, as usual, to the lady, she threw it out: “Don’t let anyone get it,” and firmly endured the reprimand. Her coffee boiled over, the cream burned, the cups fell out of her hands. She will not put the tray on the table, but will blurt out; He won’t open the closet or the door, but slam it. But she did not cry, but was angry at everything and everyone. However, this was generally the main feature in her character. She was never satisfied; everything is not according to her; always grumbled and complained. But at this fatal moment for her, her character was revealed in all its pathos. Most of all, it seems, she was angry with Yevsey.

“Agrafena Ivanovna!..” he said plaintively and tenderly, which did not quite suit his long and dense figure.

- Well, why are you sitting here, you dumbass? - she answered, as if it was the first time he had sat here. - Let me go: I need to get a towel.

“Eh, Agrafena Ivanovna!..” he repeated lazily, sighing and rising from the chair and immediately falling down again when she took the towel.

- He just whines! Here the arrow has imposed itself! What kind of punishment is this, Lord! and he won’t let go!

And she dropped the spoon into the rinsing cup with a clang.

- Agrafena! - suddenly came from the other room, - you've lost your mind! Don’t you know that Sashenka is resting? Did you have a fight with your lover before leaving?

“Don’t move for you, sit there like you’re dead!” - Agrafena hissed like a snake, wiping the cup with both hands, as if she wanted to break it into pieces.

- Goodbye, goodbye! - Yevsey said with a huge sigh, - last day, Agrafena Ivanovna!

- And thank God! Let the devils take you away from here: it will be more spacious. Let him go, there’s nowhere to step: he’s stretched out his legs!

He touched her on the shoulder - how she answered him! He sighed again, but did not move; Yes, it would have been in vain to move: Agrafena didn’t want that. Yevsey knew this and was not embarrassed.

- Will someone sit in my place? - he said, still with a sigh.

- Leshy! - she answered abruptly.

- God forbid! as long as it’s not Proshka. Will someone play the fool with you?

- Well, at least it’s Proshka, so what’s the problem? - she remarked angrily. Yevsey stood up.

- Don’t play with Proshka, by God, don’t play! - he said with concern and almost with a threat.

- Who will stop me? Are you some kind of idiot?

- Mother, Agrafena Ivanovna! - he began in a pleading voice, hugging her waist, I would have said if she had even the slightest hint of a waist.

She returned the hug with an elbow to the chest.

At this he grunted and waved his hand. Agrafena could not stand it: and her grief finally showed itself in tears.

“Will you leave me alone, damned one?” - she said, crying, - what are you talking about, you fool! I'll contact Proshka! Don’t you see for yourself that you won’t get a good word from him? All he knows is that he is climbing with his hands...

- And he came to you? Oh, you bastard! But you probably won’t tell! I would...

- Come on, he’ll find out! Are there no females in the household besides me? I’ll contact Proshka! look what you made up! It’s sickening to sit next to him - he’s a pig! Just look, he strives to hit a person or devour something from the master’s hands - and you won’t see it.

- If, Agrafena Ivanovna, such a case comes - the evil one is strong - then it’s better to put Grishka here: at least he’s a quiet little guy, hard-working, and doesn’t sneer...

- I just made it up! - Agrafena attacked him, - why are you forcing me on everyone, am I really anything... Get out of here! There are many of your brothers, I will hang myself on everyone’s neck: not like that! Apparently, the evil one has only confused you with you, such a devil, for my sins, and even then I repent... otherwise I made it up!

- God reward you for your virtue! like a stone off your shoulders! - Yevsey exclaimed.

- I was happy! - she screamed brutally again, - there is something to rejoice at - rejoice!

And her lips turned white with anger. Both fell silent.

- Agrafena Ivanovna! - Yevsey said timidly a little later.

- What else?

“I forgot: I didn’t have a drop of poppy dew in my mouth this morning.”

- That's all!

- Out of grief, mother.

- Here, choke! Oh, I wish you... but be quiet, don’t champ at the whole house.

She turned away from him with an expression of hatred, and he slowly began to eat, looking from under his brows at Agrafena and covering his mouth with one hand.

And she went.

- Come on, you’re not a cow! - Agrafena grumbled, returning to her room. - Look, I found a cow! Do you have a lot of these cows?

“What are you doing, my friend, how did you sleep,” said Anna Pavlovna, “even your face is swollen?” Let me wipe your eyes and cheeks with rose water.

- No, mummy, no need.

- What do you want for breakfast: tea first or coffee? I ordered to make beaten meat with sour cream in a frying pan - what do you want?

- It’s all the same, mummy.

Anna Pavlovna continued to fold the laundry, then stopped and looked at her son with longing.

“Sasha!..” she said after a while.

- What do you want, mummy?

She hesitated to speak, as if she was afraid of something.

-Where are you going, my friend, why? - she finally asked in a quiet voice.

- Where are you going, mummy? to St. Petersburg, then... then... so...

“Listen, Sasha,” she said in excitement, placing her hand on his shoulder, apparently with the intention of making a last attempt, “the time has not yet passed: think, stay!”

- Stay! as possible! “But… the laundry is packed,” he said, not knowing what to come up with.

- The laundry is done! yes... here... here... look - and it’s not packed.

She took everything out of the suitcase in three steps.

- How is this so, mamma? got ready - and suddenly again! What will they say...

He became sad.

“I’m dissuading it not so much for myself as for you.” Why are you going? Looking for happiness? Don't you feel good here? Doesn’t your mother think every day about how to please all your whims? Of course, you are at such an age that pleasing your mother alone does not constitute happiness; Yes, I don’t require this. Well, look around you: everyone is looking into your eyes. And Marya Karpovna’s daughter, Sonyushka? What... blushed? How she, my darling—God bless her—loves you: listen, she hasn’t slept for three nights!

- Here you are, mummy! she's so...

He listened in silence, with his head bowed, and played with the tassel of his dressing gown.

— What will you find in St. Petersburg? - she continued. “Do you think your life there will be the same as here?” Eh, my friend! God knows what you will see and endure: cold, hunger, and need - you will endure everything. There are a lot of evil people everywhere, but you won’t find good ones soon. And honor - whether in the village or in the capital - is still the same honor. Just as you don’t see life in St. Petersburg, it will seem to you, living here, that you are the first in the world; and so it is in everything, my dear! You are well-mannered, and dexterous, and good. I, an old woman, could only rejoice looking at you. If you got married, God would send you children, and I would nurse them - and I would live without grief, without worries, and I would live my life peacefully, quietly, I would not envy anyone; and there, maybe it won’t be good, maybe you’ll remember my words... Stay, Sashenka, huh?

He coughed and sighed, but didn't say a word.

“And look here,” she continued, opening the door to the balcony, “and aren’t you sorry to leave such a corner?”

Anna Pavlovna, covering her eyes from the sun with one hand, pointed to each object alternately to her son with the other.

“Look,” she said, “with what beauty God has clothed our fields!” From those fields of rye alone we will collect up to five hundred quarters; and there is wheat and buckwheat; only buckwheat today is not like last year: it seems it will be bad. And the forest, the forest has grown so much! Just think how great is the wisdom of God! We'll sell the firewood from our plot for about a thousand. And game, what game! and after all, all this is yours, dear son: I am only your clerk. Look at the lake: what splendor! truly heavenly! the fish just walks like that; We buy one sturgeon, otherwise there are ruffs, perches, and crucian carp swarming with them: it’s a detriment to both ourselves and people. There are your cows and horses grazing. Here you are the only master of everything, but there, perhaps, everyone will push you around. And you want to run away from such grace, you don’t yet know where, into the pool, maybe, God forgive me... Stay!

He was silent.

“You’re not listening,” she said. -Where are you looking so intently?

- So that's it! - she finally said sadly. - Well, my friend, God bless you! go, if you are so drawn from here: I won’t stop you! At least you can’t say that your mother is eating away at your youth and life.

Poor mother! here is your reward for your love! Is this what you expected? The fact of the matter is that mothers don't expect rewards. The mother loves senselessly and indiscriminately. You are great, glorious, beautiful, proud, your name passes from mouth to mouth, your deeds thunder throughout the world - the old woman’s head shakes with joy, she cries, laughs and prays long and fervently. And the son, for the most part, does not even think of sharing the glory with his parent. Whether you are poor in spirit and mind, whether nature has marked you with the mark of ugliness, whether the sting of illness is sharpening your heart or body, people finally push you away from themselves and there is no place for you between them, much less a place in your mother’s heart. She presses the ugly, failed child closer to her chest and prays even longer and more fervently.

How can we call Alexander insensitive for deciding to separate? He was twenty years old. Life smiled at him from the shrouds; his mother cherished and pampered him, as one pampers an only child; the nanny kept singing to him over the cradle that he would walk in gold and not know grief; the professors insisted that he would go far, and upon his return home, his neighbor’s daughter smiled at him. And the old cat, Vaska, seemed to be more affectionate towards him than towards anyone else in the house.

He knew about grief, tears, and disasters only by hearsay, as one knows about some infection that has not been discovered, but lurks silently somewhere among the people. This made the future seem brighter to him. Something beckoned him into the distance, but he didn’t know what exactly. Seductive ghosts flashed there, but he could not see them; mixed sounds were heard - now the voice of glory, now of love: all this brought him into a sweet thrill.

The home world soon became too small for him. Nature, the caresses of his mother, the reverence of the nanny and all the servants, a soft bed, delicious dishes and Vaska’s purring - all these blessings, which are so dearly valued in the decline of life, he cheerfully exchanged for the unknown, full of fascinating and mysterious charm. Even Sophia's love, the first, tender and pink love, did not hold him back. What does this love mean to him? He dreamed of a colossal passion that knows no barriers and accomplishes great feats. He loved Sophia with a small love for now, in anticipation of a big one. He also dreamed of the benefits he would bring to the fatherland. He studied diligently and learned a lot. His certificate said that he knew a dozen sciences and half a dozen ancient and modern languages. Most of all, he dreamed of becoming a writer. His poems surprised his comrades. Many paths lay before him, and one seemed better than the other. He didn't know which one to attack. Only the straight path was hidden from view; If he had noticed him, then perhaps he would not have gone.

How could he stay? The mother wished - this is again a different and very natural thing. All feelings had become obsolete in her heart, except one - love for her son, and it ardently grabbed hold of this last object. Without him, what would she do? At least die. It has long been proven that a woman’s heart cannot live without love.

Alexander was spoiled, but not spoiled by his home life. Nature created him so well that the love of his mother and the worship of those around him affected only his good sides, developed, for example, premature heartfelt inclinations in him, instilled in him a gullibility towards everything to the point of excess. This same thing, perhaps, stirred up his pride; but self-love in itself is only a form; everything will depend on the material you pour into it.

Much more trouble for him was that his mother, with all her tenderness, could not give him a real outlook on life and did not prepare him to fight what awaited him and awaits everyone ahead. But this required a skillful hand, a subtle mind and a reserve of great experience, not limited by the narrow village horizon. It was necessary to love him even less, not think for him every minute, not take every care and trouble away from him, not cry and not suffer in his place even in childhood, in order to let him himself feel the approaching storm, cope with his own strength and think about his fate - in a word, to find out that he is a man. Where could Anna Pavlovna understand all this and especially carry it out? The reader saw what she was like. Would you like to see more? She has already forgotten her filial selfishness. Alexander Fedorych found her re-packing her linen and dress. In the troubles and tolls of the road, she seemed not to remember the grief at all.

“Here, Sashenka, take careful note of where I put what,” she said. — At the very bottom, at the bottom of the suitcase, sheets: a dozen. Look, is it written like that?

- Yes, mummy.

- Everything with your marks, you see - A.A. And that’s all, my dear Sonyushka! Without her, our fools would not have turned around soon. Now what? yes, pillowcases. One, two, three, four - that's it, the whole dozen are here. Here are the shirts - three dozen. What a canvas - a sight for sore eyes! It's Dutch; she went to the factory to see Nasil Vasilich; he chose whatever the best three pieces were. Believe me, dear, according to the register every time you receive from the laundress; everything is brand new. You won't see many shirts like this there; perhaps they will replace it; There are such scoundrels that don’t fear God. Twenty-two pairs of socks... Do you know what I came up with? put your wallet with money in one sock. You won’t need them until St. Petersburg, so God forbid! It was a case of digging and not finding it. And I’ll put the letters to my uncle there too: he’ll be happy, tea! after all, seventeen years have not exchanged a word, is it a joke! Here are the scarves, here are the scarves; Sonyushka still has half a dozen left. Don’t lose your scarves, darling: nice semi-cambric! I took two and a quarter from Mikheev. Well, that's all the laundry. Now the dress... Where is Yevsey? Why isn't he looking? Evsey!

Yevsey lazily entered the room.

- What do you want? - he asked even more lazily.

- What do you want? - Adueva spoke angrily. - Why don’t you watch how I lay it down? And then, how you need to get something on the road, and you go to rummage everything upside down! He can’t get rid of his beloved - what a treasure! It's a long day: you'll have time! Are you going to follow the master there and then? Look at me! Look: this is a good tailcoat - see where I’m putting it? And you, Sasha, take care of it, don’t carry it every day; they took cloth for sixteen rubles. Wherever you go to good people, and put them on, but don’t sit in vain, no matter how it happens, just like your aunt, as if on purpose, does not sit on an empty chair or sofa, but strives to plop down where her hat or something like that is; The other day I sat down on a plate of jam - such a disgrace! It’s much easier to get along with people, wear this masaka tailcoat. Now the vests are one, two, three, four. Two trousers. Eh! Yes, the dress will last for three years. Wow! tired! It's no joke: I've been fiddling around all morning! Come on, Evsei. Let's talk, Sasha, about something else. The guests will already arrive, there will be no time for that.

She sat down on the sofa and made him sit next to her.

“Well, Sasha,” she said, after a short silence, you are now going to the wrong side...

- What a “foreign” side, Petersburg: what are you talking about, mama!

- Wait, wait - listen to what I have to say! God alone knows what will meet you there, what you will see, both good and bad. I hope that he, my heavenly father, will strengthen you; and you, my friend, most of all, don’t forget it, remember that without faith there is no salvation anywhere or in anything. You will reach high ranks there, you will enter the nobility - after all, we are no worse than others: my father was a nobleman, a major - still humble yourself before the Lord God: pray in both happiness and misfortune, and not according to the proverb: “Thunder will not strike, a man will not cross himself." Some people, while they are lucky, will not even look into the church, but when they are unable to bear it, they will go and light ruble candles and give gifts to the poor: this is a great sin. By the way, I had to talk about beggars. Don’t waste money on them, don’t give them too much. What to spoil? you won't surprise them. They will drink and laugh at you. I know you have a soft soul: you’ll probably start shelling out even a dime. No, this is not necessary; God will provide! Will you visit the temple of God? will you go to mass on Sundays?

She sighed.

Alexander was silent. He remembered that, while studying at the university and living in the provincial town, he did not attend church very diligently; and in the village, only to please his mother, he accompanied her to mass. He was ashamed to lie. He was silent. The mother understood his silence and sighed again.

“Well, I’m not captivating you,” she continued, “you’re a young man: where can you be as zealous for the Church of God as we old men are?” Also, perhaps, the service will interfere or you will stay late with good people and oversleep. God will have mercy on your youth. Don't worry: you have a mother. She won't oversleep. As long as there is even a drop of blood left in me, until the tears in my eyes have dried and God tolerates my sins, I will crawl, if I don’t have the strength to walk, to the church threshold; I will give my last breath, I will pay my last tear for you, my friend. I will beg you for health, and ranks, and crosses, and heavenly and earthly blessings. Will he, the merciful father, despise the poor old woman with his prayer? I don't need anything myself. Take away everything from me: health, life, send me blindness - just give you all the joy, all the happiness and goodness...

She didn’t finish, tears fell from her eyes.

Alexander jumped up from his seat.

“Mama...” he said.

- Well, sit down, sit down! “she answered, hastily wiping away her tears, “I still have a lot left to talk about... What did I want to say?” out of my mind... Look, what a memory I have these days... yes! keep your fasts, my friend: this is a great thing! On Wednesday and Friday - God will forgive; and in Lent - God forbid! Mikhailo Mikhailych is considered an intelligent person, but what’s wrong with him? Whether it's a meat eater or Holy Week, it's all the same. It even makes your hair stand on end! He even helps the poor, but as if his alms were accepted by God? Listen, I once handed the old man a red one, he took it, but he turned away and spat. Everyone bows to him and says God knows what to his eyes, and crosses himself behind his eyes as they remember him as if he were some kind of shaitan.

Alexander listened with some impatience and glanced from time to time out the window at the distant road.

She fell silent for a minute.

“Take care of your health most of all,” she continued. - When you get sick, God forbid! - it’s dangerous, write... I’ll gather all my strength and come. Who is there to follow you? They also try to rob the patient. Don't walk on the streets at night; Move away from people who look like beasts. Save your money... oh, save it for a rainy day! Spend wisely. From them, the damned, comes all good and all evil. Don’t waste time, don’t have unnecessary whims. You will carefully receive two thousand five hundred rubles a year from me. Two thousand five hundred rubles is no joke. Don’t have any luxury or anything like that, but don’t deny yourself anything you can; If you want to enjoy it, don’t be stingy. - Do not indulge in wine - oh, it is the first enemy of man! And (here she lowered her voice) beware of women! I know them! There are such shameless women that they will hang themselves on their necks as soon as they see someone like that...

She looked at her son lovingly.

- That's enough, mummy; would I have breakfast? - he said almost with annoyance.

- Now, now... one more word...

“Don’t covet your husband’s wives,” she hastened to finish, “it’s a great sin!” “You shall not covet your neighbor’s wife,” the scripture says. If someone there starts to get to the wedding - God forbid! couldn't even think of it! They are ready to hook up as soon as they see that he has money and is handsome. Unless your boss or some noble or rich nobleman has a grudge against you and wants to marry you off to your daughter - well, then you can, just write it down: I’ll somehow drag myself, I’ll see that they don’t slip someone in like that, just to get away with it: an old girl or trash. It’s flattering for anyone to get a groom like that. Well, if you fall in love yourself and she turns out to be a good girl, then... - here she spoke even more quietly... - Sonyushka can be left aside. (The old woman, out of love for her son, was ready to betray her soul.) What did Marya Karpovna really dream of? You are not a match for her daughter. Country girl! Even those who are not so flattered will be flattered by you.

- Sophia! no, mummy, I will never forget her! - said Alexander.

- Well, well, my friend, calm down! because that's just me. Serve, come back here, and then whatever God wills; the brides will not leave! If you don’t forget, then so will... Well, ah...

She wanted to say something, but didn’t dare, then she leaned towards his ear and quietly asked:

- Will you remember... mother?

“That’s what we agreed on,” he interrupted, “tell them to quickly serve what you have there: scrambled eggs, or what?” Forget you! What could you think? God will punish me...

“Stop it, stop it, Sasha,” she spoke hastily, “what are you bringing this to your head!” No no! no matter what, if such a sin happens, let me suffer alone. You are young, you are just starting to live, you will have friends, you get married - a young wife will replace your mother, and that’s all... No! May God bless you as I bless you.

She kissed his forehead and thus concluded her instructions.

« About the book

Chapter 1 (continued) »

Images of the work

If earlier young Sasha appears to readers as attractive externally and internally, with whom you involuntarily sympathize and sympathize, then over time, experiencing disappointments and being under the influence of a rich uncle, he turns into an ordinary self-lover, a careerist and a pretender.

A serious analysis of Goncharov’s “Ordinary History” leads the reader to the idea that it is not others who are to blame for the young man’s troubles, his tragedy and despondency, but himself. He, who abandoned the innocent Sonya, who was in love with him, and her free life in the village, and set off to conquer the capital. He, who was led by his weakness, fixated on unrequited love and his own feelings.

Is it bad to be rich? Is it bad to have a high paying position? Of course not! This is all very good if a person remains himself, if his heart is pure and his conscience is calm. If he does good and thinks about the feelings of others.

Style, plot and composition

Goncharov’s novel is an exceptional case of stylistic maturity and true mastery of a debut work.

The irony that permeates the author's presentation is subtle, sometimes elusive, and appears in retrospect, when the simple but elegant composition of the novel forces the reader to return to some plot collisions.

Like a conductor, the author controls the tempo and rhythm of reading, forcing you to read into this or that phrase, or even go back.

At the beginning of the novel, Sasha, having completed a course in science, lives in his village. His mother and servants pray for him, his neighbor Sophia is in love with him, his best friend Pospelov writes long letters and receives the same answers. Sasha is firmly convinced that the capital is looking forward to him, and there is a brilliant career in it.

In St. Petersburg, Sasha lives in the apartment next to his uncle, forgets Sonechka and falls in love with Nadenka, to whom he dedicates romantic poems. Nadya, soon forgetting her vows, becomes interested in an older and more interesting person.

This is how life teaches Sasha the first lesson, which is not as easy to dismiss as failures in poetry or in the service. However, Alexander’s “negative” love experience was waiting in the wings and was in demand when he himself had the opportunity to recapture the young widow Yulia Tafaeva from her uncle’s companion who was in love with her.

And now, when Sasha is gradually beginning to understand life, he is disgusted with her. Work - whether in the service or in literature - requires work, and not just “inspiration.” And love is work, and it has its own laws, everyday life, and tests. Sasha confesses to Lisa: “I have known all the emptiness and all the insignificance of life - and I deeply despise it.”

And here, in the midst of Sasha’s “suffering,” a true sufferer appears: an uncle enters, unbearably suffering from pain in the lower back. And the ruthless nephew also accuses him of the fact that his life did not work out. The reader now has a second reason to feel sorry for Aduev Sr. - in the form of a suspicion that things didn’t work out not only with his lower back, but also with his wife.

But it would seem that he has achieved success: he will soon receive the position of director of the chancellery, the title of actual state councilor; he is a rich capitalist, a “breeder,” while Aduev Jr. is at the very bottom of the everyday abyss. 8 years have passed since his arrival in the capital. 28-year-old Alexander returns to the village in disgrace.

4 years after Alexander’s second visit to St. Petersburg, he appears again, 34 years old, plump, bald, but with dignity wearing “his cross” - an order around his neck.

In the posture of his uncle, who has already “celebrated his 50th anniversary,” dignity and self-confidence have diminished: his wife Lisa is ill, and perhaps dangerously.

The husband tells her that he has decided to quit his service, sells the plant and takes her to Italy to devote “the rest of his life” to her.

The nephew comes to his uncle with good news: he has his eye on a young and rich bride, and her father has already given him his consent: “Go, he says, only in the footsteps of your uncle!”

“Do you remember what letter you wrote to me from the village? – Lisa tells him. “There you understood, explained life to yourself...” And the reader involuntarily has to go back: “Not to be involved in suffering means not to be involved in the fullness of life.”

How to live? (introductory article)

Writers explore life in two ways - mental, which begins with reflection on the phenomena of life, and artistic, the essence of which is the comprehension of the same phenomena not with the mind (or, rather, not only with the mind), but with all one’s human essence, or, as they say, intuitively.
Intellectual knowledge of life leads the author to a logical presentation of the material he has studied, artistic knowledge leads to the expression of the essence of the same phenomena through a system of artistic images. A fiction writer, as it were, gives a picture of life, but not just a copy of it, but transformed into a new artistic reality, which is why the phenomena that interested the author and illuminated by the bright light of his genius or talent appear before us especially visible, and sometimes visible through and through.

It is assumed that a true writer gives us life only in the form of an artistic depiction of it. But in reality there are not many such “pure” authors, and perhaps there are none at all. More often than not, a writer is both an artist and a thinker.

Ivan Aleksandrovich Goncharov has long been considered one of the most objective Russian writers, that is, a writer in whose works personal likes or dislikes are not presented as a measure of certain life values. He gives artistic pictures of life objectively, as if “listening to good and evil indifferently,” leaving the reader to judge and pass judgment with his own mind.

It is in the novel “An Ordinary Story” that Goncharov, through the mouth of a magazine employee, expresses this idea in its purest form: “... a writer will only, firstly, write effectively when he is not under the influence of personal passion and passion. He must survey life and people in general with a calm and bright gaze, otherwise he will only express his own self.

, about which no one cares." And in the article “Better late than never,” Goncharov notes: “...I will first say about myself that I belong to the last category, that is, I am most interested in (as Belinsky noted about me) “my ability to draw.”

And in his first novel, Goncharov painted a picture of Russian life in a small country estate and in St. Petersburg in the 40s of the 19th century. Of course, Goncharov could not give a complete picture of life in both the village and St. Petersburg, just as no author can do this, because life is always more diverse than any image of it. Let's see whether the picture depicted turned out to be objective, as the author wanted, or whether some side considerations made this picture subjective.

The dramatic content of the novel is the peculiar duel waged by its two main characters: the young man Alexander Aduev and his uncle Pyotr Ivanovich. The duel is exciting, dynamic, in which success falls to the lot of one side or the other. A fight for the right to live life according to your ideals. But the uncle and nephew have exactly the opposite ideals.

Young Alexander comes to St. Petersburg straight from the warm embrace of his mother, dressed from head to toe in the armor of high and noble spiritual impulses, comes to the capital not out of idle curiosity, but in order to enter into a decisive battle with everything soulless, calculating, vile. “I was attracted by some irresistible desire, a thirst for noble activity,” exclaims this naive idealist. And he challenged not just anyone, but the entire world of evil. Such a little home-grown quixotic! And after all, he has also read and listened to all sorts of noble nonsense.

The subtle irony of Goncharov, with which he describes his young hero at the beginning of the novel - his departure from home, vows of eternal love to Sonechka and his friend Pospelov, his first timid steps in St. Petersburg - it is this very mocking look of Goncharov at his young hero that makes the image Aduev Jr. is dear to our hearts, but already predetermines the outcome of the struggle between his nephew and uncle. The authors do not treat true heroes capable of great feats with irony.

And here is the opposite side: a metropolitan resident, the owner of a glass and porcelain factory, an official on special assignments, a man of sober mind and practical sense, thirty-nine-year-old Pyotr Ivanovich Aduev - the second hero of the novel. Goncharov endows him with humor and even sarcasm, but he himself does not treat this brainchild of his with irony, which makes us assume: here he is, the true hero of the novel, here is the one whom the author invites us to look up to.

These two characters, who interested the Gonchars, were the brightest types of their time. The founder of the first was Vladimir Lensky, the second was Eugene Onegin himself, although in a greatly transformed form. I will note here in parentheses that Onegin’s coldness and experience suffer exactly the same failure as the experience and significance of the life of Pyotr Ivanovich Aduev.

Still vaguely feeling the integrity of his novel, Goncharov writes: “... in the meeting of a soft, dreamer-nephew, spoiled by laziness and lordship, with a practical uncle - there was a hint of a motive that had just begun to play out in the most lively center - in St. Petersburg. This motive is a faint flicker of consciousness of the need for work, real, not routine, but living work in the fight against all-Russian stagnation.”

Goncharov really wants to take this man of “living action” as a model, and not only for himself, but also to offer him to the reader’s attention as a model.

With what brilliance the dialogues between uncle and nephew are written! How calmly, confidently, categorically, the uncle crushes his hot-tempered nephew, but not armed with the terrible weapon of logic and experience! And every critical phrase is deadly, irresistible. Irresistible because he tells the truth. Hard, sometimes even offensive and merciless, but exactly the truth.

Here he makes fun of “material signs... of immaterial relationships” - a ring and a lock of hair, given by Sonechka as a farewell to her beloved Sashenka, who is leaving for the capital. “And you brought this one thousand five hundred miles?.. It would be better if you brought another bag of dried raspberries,” the uncle advises and throws symbols of eternal love, priceless for Alexander, out the window. Alexander’s words and actions seem wild and cold. Can he forget his Sonechka? Never!..

Alas, my uncle turned out to be right. Very little time has passed, and Alexander falls in love with Nadenka Lyubetskaya, falls in love with all the ardor of youth, with the passion characteristic of his nature, unconsciously, thoughtlessly!.. Sonechka is completely forgotten. Not only will he never remember her, but he will also forget her name. Love for Nadya will fill Alexander entirely!.. There will be no end to his radiant happiness. What kind of business can there be that my uncle keeps talking about, what kind of work, when he, one might say, disappears day and night outside the city with the Lyubetskys! Oh, this uncle, he only has business on his mind. Insensitive!.. How he dares to say that Nadenka, his Nadenka, this deity, this perfection, can deceive him. “She will deceive! This angel, this sincerity personified…” exclaims young Alexander. “But she’s still a woman, and she’ll probably deceive,” the uncle replies. Oh, these sober, merciless minds and experience. It’s hard!.. But the truth: Nadenka deceived. She fell in love with the count, and Alexander receives his resignation. My whole life immediately turned black. And my uncle insists: I warned you!..

Alexander fails on all counts - in love, in friendship, in impulses to creativity, in work. Everything, absolutely everything that his teachers and books taught him, everything turned out to be nonsense and scattered with a slight crunch under the iron tread of sober reason and practical action. In the most intense scene of the novel, when Alexander is driven to despair, starts drinking, has become depressed, his will has atrophied, his interest in life has disappeared completely, the uncle retorts his nephew’s last babble of justification: “What I demanded of you - I didn’t invent all this.” “Who? – asked Lizaveta Aleksandrovna (wife of Pyotr Ivanovich - V.R.). - Century.

This is where the main motivation for the behavior of Pyotr Ivanovich Aduev was revealed. Command of the century! The century demanded! “Look,” he calls out, “at today’s youth: what great fellows! How everything is in full swing with mental activity, energy, how deftly and easily they deal with all this nonsense, which in your old language is called anxiety, suffering... and God knows what else!”

Here it is, the climax of the novel! Here it is, the enemy’s decisive blow! Such is the age! “So you must certainly follow everything that your age comes up with?.. So everything is sacred, everything is true?” - “Everything is holy!” - Pyotr Ivanovich categorically cuts off.

The problem of how to live - by feeling or by reason, one might say, is an eternal problem. Surprisingly, when meeting with students of the Moscow Printing Institute, I received a note with the following content: “Please tell me how best to live - with the heart or the mind?” And this was in 1971! One hundred and twenty-five years after the novel “An Ordinary Story” was written.

There is one extremely remarkable place in the novel. “In your opinion, the feeling needs to be controlled like steam,” Alexander noted, “then let it out a little, then suddenly stop it, open the valve or close it...” - “Yes, it’s not for nothing that nature gave this valve to man - it’s reason...”

Throughout the novel, the reader follows these two ways of living life - feeling and reason. Sometimes it seems that Goncharov in the most categorical form advises us to live wisely and only wisely, in any case, to verify our feelings with our minds, like Salieri with algebra to verify harmony. But this is Goncharov the thinker, a reflective man. And if the author of the novel were just that, he would certainly “prove” to us that it is necessary to live wisely. However, Goncharov is first and foremost an artist, and a realistic artist at that. He depicts the phenomenon as it is, and not as he would like it to be. As a son of his century, Goncharov is entirely in favor of Aduev Sr., he himself admits this: “The struggle between uncle and nephew reflected the then, just begun, breakdown of old concepts and mores - sentimentality, caricatured exaggeration of feelings of friendship and love, poetry of idleness, family and the domestic lies of feigned, essentially unprecedented feelings... All this was becoming obsolete, gone away; there were faint glimpses of a new dawn, something sober, businesslike, necessary.”

In the figure of Aduev Sr., Goncharov felt a new person. And he felt correctly - it was a new person coming. Ivan Alexandrovich pinned his hopes on him.

Who is Pyotr Ivanovich Aduev, this role model, this man of action and sober mind? Historically, it has long been clear to all of us. This new type, replacing the people of the dilapidated feudal system, is a capitalist. But the capitalist at all times, from his very birth, and in all countries is the same - he is a man of action and calculation.

How many times in the novel does Aduev Sr. pronounce words about business and calculation. Calculation in action. Calculation in friendship. Calculation in love. Calculation in marriage... And this word never sounds condemning in his mouth. Even in matters of creativity there is calculation. “Are you sure you have talent? Without this, you will be a laborer in art - what good? Talent is another matter: you can work; You will do a lot of good, and besides, this is capital - worth your hundred souls.” - “Do you measure this in money too?” - “What do you order? The more people read you, the more money they pay.”

Here it is, a calculation expressed in its most real reality - in money. Everything is measured by money!

“You just can’t imagine the grief without money! “What kind of grief is it if it’s not worth a penny…”

Capitalist... The measure of value is money.

Goncharov - a thinker, sociologist - wants to see the ideal in a new type of person, in Pyotr Ivanovich Aduev. He wants... But Goncharov the artist does not allow the eyes of Goncharov, a reflective man, to become clouded. In knowing the truth, the artist is, in a certain sense, more accurate than the thinker, for “fiction,” in the apt expression of A.P. Chekhov - that’s why it’s called artistic because it depicts life as it really is. Its purpose is true, unconditional and honest.”

With a feeling of undeniable superiority, from the height of his age and experience, from the height of his knowledge of life, the uncle crushes his nephew’s naive and pure faith in the “perfection of the world,” and crushes it with great success. This is what is going on in the soul of the once ardent, young Alexander:

“Looking into life, questioning his heart, his head, he saw with horror that neither here nor there there was not a single dream, not a single rosy hope: everything had already happened; the fog cleared; naked reality spread out before him like a steppe. God! what a vast space! what a boring, desolate look! The past is dead, the future is destroyed, there is no happiness: everything is a chimera - but live!”

Aduev Jr. sinks to the most pitiful state and even attempts suicide. Goncharov does not spare his hero - he debunks it completely. There is no doubt: yes, this is exactly what happens to people who are disappointed in life.

“Teach me, uncle, at least what should I do now? How will you solve this problem with your mind?” – Alexander exclaims in complete powerlessness. And he receives the answer: “What should I do? Yes... go to the village."

And, cursing the city where he buried his best feelings and lost his vitality, Alexander returns to the “villages and pastures”: he goes back to the village. Alexander did not win. She was possessed by her uncle. Completely won.

In vain Alexander goes to the village, hoping for a miracle of resurrection there. Resurrection is impossible, only transformation is possible. And it happens. Strange as it may seem, it was in the village that Alexander began to yearn for Petersburg, that same evil, gloomy, soulless Petersburg that he had so recently anathematized. New thoughts began to stir in the brain of the transformed Alexander: “Why is uncle better than me? Can’t I find a way for myself?.. I can’t die here!.. And my career, and my fortune?.. I’m just very behind... but why?..” And Alexander Fedorov Aduev rushes back to St. Petersburg to pursue his career and fortune!

“...not a madman, not a dreamer, not a disappointed person, not a provincial will come to you, but just a person, of which there are many in St. Petersburg and no matter how long ago it’s time for me to be,” he writes to his aunt.

I have long noticed this phenomenon of life: some young people, prone to idealizing reality, throwing thunder and lightning against any manifestations of human weaknesses, demanding ideal behavior from others - having matured and seeing their peers, people who may not be so ideal, who have gone far ahead along the path of ordinary life advancement, suddenly seem to come to their senses and begin to catch up with them. Catch up at all costs! And then these sweet, demanding idealists turn into extremely practical people, who do not disdain any means in achieving their belated goals, and are much more nasty than those whom they so recently reproached for all mortal sins.

The same thing happened with Alexander. The naive, pure provincial idealist becomes, simply put, a monster. Goncharov debunked his hero to the end. This, as the author seems to say, is the end of a person who enters life with far-fetched ideas about it. First, he smashes his ideal forehead against the real sharp corners of life, then this forehead hardens and a hard growth grows on it, this forehead, the man becomes a rhinoceros.

But what are the fruits of the victory of Pyotr Ivanovich, the author’s favorite hero? A hero in whom Goncharov saw a man of action, a man of labor, capable of fighting all-Russian stagnation? As strange and even illogical as it may seem, the fruits of the uncle’s victory are one more bitter than the other. A man with a realistic view of things, he first spiritually killed his nephew, who in his own way was even dear to his heart, and almost drove his beloved wife Lizaveta Alexandrovna to consumption. In the end, Pyotr Ivanovich is going to sell his factory, quit his service, give up the title of Privy Councilor and dreams of one thing - to go to Italy, where, perhaps, he will be able to prolong the life of his wife.

The nephew turned into an uncle, and with a twist! The uncle, to some extent, turns into a nephew. Quite involuntarily, Goncharov, who proves to us the advantages of sober reason and calculation, screams that love for people is higher than any calculation and soulless deed. It was precisely as a true artist that Goncharov did not see in his time a way out of this dramatic collision: the opportunity to combine a great cause with a truly human essence. Any business, if it is only a means of personal success, becomes difficult and sometimes disastrous for the people involved in it. The world of entrepreneurship is tough.

Goncharov the thinker and Goncharov the artist fought throughout the entire novel. Goncharov the artist won. And we can rightfully attribute him to those outstanding writers of the last century, whose realism, in the words of F. Engels, “can manifest itself even regardless of views.”

A young man or girl who sent me a note with the question: “How to live – with feeling or with reason?” – I would ask you to read and re-read “Ordinary History”. True, in Goncharov’s novel one cannot find a direct answer to such a question. But this old novel will greatly help young people to independently find answers to some important questions that the twentieth century poses to them.

Victor Rozov

Themes

The formation of personality
is the main theme of the novel. Goncharov showed the path that a man took from a dreamy young man to a prudent careerist. The formation of personality, according to Goncharov, can be not only with a “plus” sign, but also with a “minus” sign. Under the influence of failures, Alexander betrayed himself.
Love
- throughout the entire work, young Aduev repeatedly falls in love. However, all his love endeavors are doomed to failure. Because, according to Goncharov, in the metropolitan society of the Russian Empire, mired in cynicism and infantilism, there is no place for truly deep feelings. It is ironic, however, that it is the cynical Pyotr Aduev who demonstrates true love in the novel.
Family
- in the metropolitan society depicted in the novel, there is no place for a real family. Elizabeth is unhappy in her marriage, and Alexander ends up marrying for convenience. On the other hand, Adueva’s mother, who lives in the provinces, truly values family and loves her son. The city is once again opposed to the village and is defeated in Goncharov’s value system.
Fathers and sons
- the endless disputes of young Alexander and seasoned Peter symbolize the clash of two generations, the attempt of wild youth to break the way of life formed by their elders. However, in the end, the “fathers” win, and the “children” are forced to follow in their footsteps.
Creativity
- Alexander's attempts to become a writer fail not only because of his inexperience, but also because of his lack of will to try again and again. According to the writer, art is a long and painstaking work that cannot be approached lightly.
Education
– childhood has a huge impact on a person’s life. It was the upbringing that Alexander’s mother gave him that made him a romantic and an idealist, who ultimately could not resist the corrupting influence of society.

Problems

Careerism
- Goncharov has an undisguised disgust for careerists, devoid of conscience and principles, limited only to the search for their own benefit. At the same time, the writer understands that often it is this approach to life that helps a person survive and achieve success. But what is the price of such success? The work makes you think about this.
Indifference
- the society depicted by Goncharov is absolutely indifferent to the suffering of people. All its members strive only for their own well-being, and the desires of others do not play any role. This is how the capital lives, mired in bustle. This is also promoted by the uncle, who does not support, but ridicules his nephew.
Philistinism
- in the person of Peter, and then Alexander Aduevs, Goncharov introduces us to a whole caste of people - the philistines. In his understanding, these are petty and pitiful people who are immersed in everyday life and work and have forgotten about any spiritual development. They live their lives aimlessly among thousands of similar philistines.
Youthful maximalism
- the writer sympathizes with young Alexander, his idealism and ardor, but at the same time shows that these qualities bring nothing but pain and disappointment. The author encourages readers to maintain a balance between sincerity and healthy cynicism.
City and country life
- Goncharov strictly contrasts the city and the countryside. The city is an abode of vice, in which there is no place for a truly good person, but at the same time, the city is extremely attractive and few people are able to refuse the bustle of the city. The village in his eyes is presented as an ideal utopia, in which there is no place for excitement and suffering, but few people who thirst for life will remain in this frozen paradise. The writer draws out two extremes and invites readers to make their own choice.

I. A. Goncharov “An Ordinary Story”: characteristics of the heroes

Source

An ordinary story

Ordinary life of ordinary people...

Ivan Goncharov “Ordinary History”

“There are a lot of evil people everywhere, but you won’t find good ones soon.”

Right

How I want to talk!
But I can't find the words. Or I just can't. Or it just doesn't work out. Don't know. Read "An Ordinary Story"
!
She entered me a little at a time, since I could not read more than twenty to thirty electronic pages in one sitting. It didn’t go well, and that’s it... I had a complicated, very complicated relationship with her. And in the end I didn’t like her! Come on, throw a stick at me and say: “This is a classic.
You can't help but love her. It is eternal and always relevant. You just didn't understand the book." And I partly agree with you, but partly don’t.
I love and respect classic novels. Otherwise I wouldn't read them. But as for the fact that I didn’t understand it, I’m willing to bet. The “tragedy”
is precisely that I understood everything a long time ago.
“Ordinary Story”
didn’t captivate me ... Too often I came across similar plots and their implementation in a similar vein.
I know that life is shit!
Life is a cynical, selfish and ruthless world that kills all noble impulses! Many volumes have been written about this.
And the only question is, will you like the next novel you read or not? Will another typical story grab you or not? Will you empathize with the heroes or not? And if the story of Martin Eden
fascinated me, the story of
Alexander Aduev
did not.
But this in no way detracts from the writing talent of Ivan Aleksandrovich Goncharov
!

“To love means not to belong to oneself, to stop living for oneself, to move into the existence of another, to concentrate all human feelings on one object - hope, fear, sorrow, pleasure; to love means to live in the infinite... Know no limit to feeling, devote yourself to one being and live, think only for its happiness..."

Sometimes

For successful reading, the coincidence of a suitable book, mood, weather, etc. is important.
If the reader gets acquainted with the work at the “inopportune” moment for himself, then write - lost. For all its beauty and underlying idea, “An Ordinary Story”
is an empty novel with deep meaning.
And this statement applies only to my perception of the novel at the moment. No more... To my deepest regret, this story did not capture me at all the way I wanted. What might the reader like about the book? Plot? Yes. Language? Yes. Main characters? Yes. It’s great if these things find themselves in one novel. But it also happens that a novel is drawn out by one thing. Or a couple. But a picture can emerge where everything is wonderful in the book, but it doesn’t grab you. And in this case, it’s not her fault. “An Ordinary Story”
probably came to me at the wrong time... What a pity! What hopes did I have for this book... If I had come across it at another time...

“One is sad in the crowd, uncle; I have no one to share my impressions with...”

Read

in the summer of two thousand and thirteen,
Oblomov
seemed to me a wonderful, real summer novel.
The questions raised in Oblomov
and
Ordinary History
are similar in essence.
Goncharov
explores the simple Russian soul of ordinary people, simple everyday relationships.
How similar they are: Oblomov
and
Alexander Aduev
,
Stolz
and
Pyotr Aduev!
If then I still shared some of
Ilya Ilyich’s
on life and believed in something good on this Earth, now all this is gone... Have I really become such an impenetrable cynic in more than two years?
I can’t believe it myself! It is always bad to give in to any extreme. And how hard it is to find balance... Reason or feeling? Pragmatist or romantic? An impulse of feelings or a dry calculation? Ah, these eternal questions that have haunted humanity for several centuries now. Our young hero Alexander Aduev
is a young dreamer and romantic who is in the grip of dreams.
His uncle, Pyotr Aduev
, is a thirty-seven-year-old man who has already seen a lot and understood this life from beginning to end.
Alpha and Omega, antagonist and protagonist! Two opposing forces... The plot in this novel is painfully simple. To be honest, I became bored as I got to know him. Everything is simple and banal. A certain “airy” young man comes to St. Petersburg
to try to conquer it and realize the creative impulses of a free, young and pure soul.
He dreamed of fame, of love... At the beginning of the novel, the moment when Alexander
, when asked by his mother “where and why is he going?”, could not give an intelligible answer, is indicative.
What does this mean? And this means that our young hero is completely unprepared for real life and has his head in the clouds. I liked how easily and unobtrusively Ivan Aleksandrovich
.

“Come on tiptoe, quietly, and see if Sashenka is sleeping? - she said. “He, my darling, will probably sleep through his last day: I won’t get enough of him.” No, where are you going? Look, you'll fit in like a cow! I’d rather do it myself... And I went. - Come on, you’re not a cow! - Agrafena grumbled, returning to her room. - Look, I found a cow! How many of these cows do you have?”

Goncharov

with great love and very touchingly described the farewell of
Aduev Jr.
to his family and dear friend, who rode one hundred and sixty miles just to say goodbye.
And also Sonechka. Parting with the mother who raised me in love and meekness is especially special. After all, it is a tragedy for her to let her son go into the wolf’s den.
,
we are shown a cold, unusual, full of storm and unexpected discoveries for him scene of the meeting with Aduev Sr. Gradually Sasha
gets acquainted with the everyday life of a large city, where everything is unfamiliar, unusual and alien to him.
Even after several years of life, our Sasha
cannot fully understand and accept that
“Love is love, but business is business...”
Almost always a big city breaks such people.
It breaks their foundation and the core on which a person rests. He either becomes like this himself, or will remain the same, but will never be the same again... After all, he saw and encountered a Man
.
The romantic understands that his ideals are not valued in this society, and a breakdown in consciousness and ideals occurs. Alexander
suffers failures in love, friendship, and work.
Changes await him where he could not even imagine - in the Soul! He changes after all the events he has experienced and in appearance. Now before us is no longer a handsome blond man, but a balding, overweight man who is disappointed in everything. A man who returned back to rethink what he had lived, and came to conclusions that were disappointing for the reader. And now we already see a new version of Pyotr Ivanovich
. His “work” continues and there are no obstacles to it...

“Who did you live with all your life, with whom did you deal, who did you love, if you have such dark suspicions? “He lived with people, he loved a woman.”

Peter

Ivanovich Aduev.
A complex character, but so understandable! A shrewd, calculating hero to the core, who is no stranger to embarrassment and, to some extent, humility. This is a man who, seventeen years earlier, took the same path, who later “submitted” to our main character. He treats people who are not adapted to life with contempt. Having rich life experience, he considers his nephew’s life ideals to be just beautiful words and aspirations that have no place in real earthly life. He does everything with calculation (marriage, work, love), he tries to extract benefit from everything, because this is the only way to survive among the vultures. Cynically and with sophisticated methodicality, he knocked out his nephew’s frivolous attitude towards life. I was wondering: did he deliberately mold his young nephew into the kind of person he himself was, or was Pyotr Ivanovich
trying to protect the young man from cruel realities?
Let him learn life better from me than from strangers who will do him double, triple the pain. After all, in fact, everything that Pyotr Ivanovich
sooner or later came true. And I didn’t come to a clear answer...

“What should I do, ma tante? - Alexander said with a loud sigh, - this is the age. I’m keeping up with the times: I can’t lag behind!”

Descriptions

in a comparative form, urban and rural life amazes with its beauty.
Goncharov
belongs to that type of writer who is given the natural gift of presenting everyday life with the grace inherent in Russian classics.
I remember this from the time I read Oblomov
.
God, how I love sketches of provincial life! The feeling of closeness, participation and warmth of any person you meet in the village quickly gives way to selfishness, indifference and trickery of city residents. There are wonderful descriptions of four-story St. Petersburg
, this stone jungle in which there is no place for anything human, where everything is built on contrasts and life is in constant motion. The village is superbly shown, literally frozen in its boring immobility, where everything rests on the old foundations and landowners.

“Petersburg has long been described, and what is not described, you have to see for yourself”

Which

“Ordinary History”
give us ?
It seems to me that Ivan Aleksandrovich
is saying that we need to change under the weight of circumstances.
Unfortunately, there is no other way to survive in this world. But you also need to remain yourself, try not to lose all the good things that were inherent in you from birth or acquired throughout your life. You should always try to find a moral compromise and maintain inner peace. Only this is our salvation! And it won’t hurt to meet the “right” person who will try to develop your skills, and at the same time avoid vices and not kill your romantic view of the world. If you're lucky, you'll meet a girl who will love you and can get by without cheating... Life is actually a complicated thing and some people are lucky in it, but others are not. I believe that I will definitely be lucky. After all, I’m not yet forty-year-old Alexander. I still have a chance and time to take a different path... Complex and difficult, but at the same time so ordinary and natural, questions for society are raised by the great classic of Russian literature in his “ Ordinary History”
.
Questions to which humanity will never be able to give an unambiguous and affirmative answer. This is why we are beautiful! But this is also why We are terrible!

“You can hide from people, but where can you hide from yourself?”

-WITH

debut of you, Ivan Alexandrovich!
-Close the valve, Alexander! ☩ ☩ ☩
PS

It saddens me to realize that young romantics often turn out to be many cold, soulless careerists and tenacious, calculating businessmen.
Why, why do bright people with pure, kind souls die spiritually? It hurts, it hurts a lot from this thought... P.P.S.
Despite everything, I give
“Ordinary History”
a solid five points!
P.P.P.S.
It’s time to read something about real hardened cynics who have been such since childhood or adolescence...

“- The feeling, uncle, asks to come out, requires an impulse, an outpouring... - It doesn’t ask me and doesn’t demand it, and if it were asked, I would refrain - and I advise you too. - Why? “And then, so that later, when you take a closer look at the person you hugged, you don’t blush for your hug.”

Review written to the music of Georg Friedrich Händel - Passacaglia

.
Danke für Ihre Aufmerksamkeit!
Mit freundlichen Grüßen A.K.

The book was read as part of the Book Marathon games. January 2021. Literary debut" and "Hopscotch game. 5th round. Complicated version."