What Chichikov advised the footman to Parsley. The images of Selifan and Petrushka and their functions in Gogol’s poem “Dead Souls”

29.08.2019

/S.P. Shevyrev (1806-1864). The Adventures of Chichikov, or Dead Souls. Poem by N. Gogol. Article one/

With Chichikov there are two more people, two faithful companions: the greasy footman Petrushka in a frock coat, which he never takes off, and coachman Selifan. It is remarkable that the first, being always near his master, imitating him in a suit and even being able to read, stunk, while Selifan, being always with the horses and in the stable, retained the fresh, untouched Russian nature. It turns out that this is always the case with the Chichikovs: Petrushka the footman is completely like a hero: this is his living, walking attribute; The author’s deep remark about how he reads everything, no matter what he comes across, and how in reading he likes more the process of reading itself, that some word always comes out of the letters. “The coachman Selifan is a completely different matter: he is a new, complete typical creation, taken out of simple Russian life. We did not know about him until Manilov’s servants made him drunk and until the wine revealed to us all his glorious and kind nature. He gets drunk and drunk more so that he can talk to a good man. The wine stirred up Selifan: he began to talk with the horses, which in his innocence he considered almost his neighbors. His good disposition towards Gnedom and the Assessor, and his special hatred for the scoundrel Chubary, about whom he even bothers his master in order to sell him, are taken from the nature of every coachman who has a special calling for his business. Our drunken Selifan boasted that he wouldn’t overthrow, and when trouble happened to him, how naively he cried out: “Look, you overthrown!” - But with what cordiality and humility he responded to the master’s threats: “Why not flog, if it’s the cause, that’s the master’s will... why not flog?”...

Of all the persons who still appear in the poem, our greatest sympathy is for the invaluable coachman Selifan. Indeed, in all previous persons we see vividly and deeply how an empty and idle life can bring down human nature to bestial. Each of them bears a striking resemblance to some animal. Sobakevich, as we have already said, combined the bear and pork breeds into one; Nozdryov is very similar to a dog that, without reason, barks, nibbles, and caresses at the same time; The box could be compared to a fussy squirrel that collects nuts in its bin and lives entirely in its household; Plyushkin, like an ant, by one animal instinct, drags everything he finds into his hole; Manilov bears a resemblance to a stupid tattooed man 3 who, sitting in the forest, gets bored with a monotonous cry and seems to be dreaming about something; Parsley with its smell turned into a fragrant goat; Chichikov outdid all the animals with his trickery and thereby only supported the glory of human nature... Only the coachman Selifan lived his life with horses and most likely preserved the good human nature of all.

But there is also a face that lives in the poem with its full, integral life and is created by the comic fantasy of the poet, which in this creation played out to its fullest and almost renounced essential life: this face is city N. In it you will not find any of our provincial cities, but it is composed of many data, which, having been noticed by the author’s observation in different parts of Russia and passing through his comic humor, merged into one new, strange whole. We will try to portray this city as one person, combining together all its features, widely scattered by the author.

The official part of the city of N. is composed of the governor, a gentle man who embroiders on tulle, the prosecutor, a serious and silent man, the postmaster, a wit and a philosopher, the chairman of the chamber - a sensible, amiable and good-natured man, the police chief - a father and benefactor, and other officials who everyone is divided into thick and thin.

Its unofficial part consists, firstly, of enlightened people who read “Moskovskie Vedomosti”, Karamzin, etc., then tyuryuks, boibaks and ladies who call their husbands with the affectionate names “little egg”, “fat man”, “potty”, “ nigella", "kiki" and "zhuzhu". Of these latter, two especially distinguished themselves: the lady is simply pleasant and the lady is pleasant in all respects.

This city also has a garden, where the trees are no taller than reeds, but in the newspapers, however, on the occasion of the illumination, it was said that it consists of shady, wide-branched trees that provide coolness on a hot day... The city travels around in its own special carriages, from which are remarkable for their rattles and wheel whistles. He is kind, hospitable and most simple-minded in character; His conversations bear the stamp of some special shortness, everything is family-like, everyone is familiar, and so on, among themselves. Whether the city plays cards, it has its own special sayings and expressions for every suit and every card. Whether he talks to each other, he has his own proverb for every name, which no one is offended by. If you want to have an idea about the special language of this city, listen to famous story the postmaster, the city's first speaker, about Captain Kopeikin.

All official affairs also take place in family life: bribes, some kind of domestic, anciently accepted custom, which no one is amazed at.<…>Despite the fact that this city is not one of our well-known provincial cities and was created by the mocking, playful imagination of a poet, for all that the city is so alive and natural that we understand that only in it, and not in any other city, Chichikov could carry out part of his extraordinary courageous plan.

Other articles by critics about the poem N.V. Gogol's "Dead Souls":

V.G. Belinsky. The Adventures of Chichikov, or Dead Souls. Poem by N. Gogol

Russian spirit in "Dead Souls". Humor, irony and satire in the poem

K.S. Aksakov. A few words about Gogol's poem: The Adventures of Chichikov, or Dead Souls

Contents and syllable of the poem "Dead Souls". The essence of the Russian people
Gogol is a poet from Little Russia. Gogol's Little Russian language

S.P. Shevyrev. The Adventures of Chichikov, or Dead Souls. Poem by N. Gogol

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Essay. Images of Selifanand Parsleys and their functions in pOeme N.V. Gogol's "Dead Souls"

provincial gogol comical selifan

Do you hear this quiet, gentle music? It is getting closer, becoming louder and brighter! Song, Russian song! It flows: sometimes it rings like a silver bell, sometimes it explodes into the sky with rollicking polyphony. Likewise, the image of Rus' in Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol’s magical poem “Dead Souls” is revealed as the work progresses. Now the national spirit already permeates all the pages of the poem, is expressed in the characters, is felt in the author’s sincere lyrical digressions: “Rus! Rus'!.. Why is your melancholy song heard and heard incessantly in your ears, rushing along your entire length and width, from sea to sea? What's in it, in this song? What calls and cries and grabs your heart? What sounds painfully kiss and strive into the soul and curl around my heart? Rus! What do you want from me?

Rus' is silent, concealing hidden power. Gogol strives to show this power dormant in the depths in the poem. The great future of his native country appears to the writer, first of all, as a living victory people's soul over deadening social orders. In the landowner and bureaucratic environment, Gogol does not see a single decent person. For residents provincial town NN, mired in rumors, bribery, embezzlement, there is nothing sacred, eternal, great. Their activities: chatter and gossip, traveling to balls and dinners are tinsel that hides the emptiness of existence. The image of the city of NN is unusually typified; it is a caricature of all of Rus' “from one side.” The ladies here only talk about fashion: “festoons, everything is festoons,” or they tell such tall tales that they themselves are frightened and make the whole city uneasy. The men, whom Gogol ironically divides into thin and fat, hover around the ladies or look around in search of a whist table. Of these gentlemen of the second type, who “never occupy indirect places, but all are direct, and even if they sit somewhere, they will sit securely and firmly, so that the place will soon crack and bend under them, and they will not fly off,” and the bureaucracy consists "family" of the provincial town. Gogol produces an expressive portrait of the city of NN, although he does not paint the officials in as much detail and detail as the landowners from neighboring estates. These definitely make for an ominous gallery of human degradation.

Believe me, Rus' has hidden forces, capable of tearing her out of the shackles of vulgarity. Gogol sees these sprouts in our great people mighty life. The author's lyrical digressions express everything: admiration, love, hope, faith in a wonderful future. In them, Gogol goes beyond the vulgar world of his heroes, landowners and officials, and talks about the life of the people, full of anxiety, labor and poetry. Here they are, living peasant types: “Russian” men discussing whether the wheel of Chichikov’s chaise will reach Moscow or not; the peasants who showed the way to Manilovka insisted that “there is no Zamanilovka”; Uncle Mityai and Uncle Minyai, helping to move Chichikov’s stuck chaise; girl Pelageya showing the way; people who endow Plyushkin with the apt Russian word “patched.” These episodes with the peasants are comical and imbued with the author’s love. The central characters who come from the people in Gogol’s poem are Chichikov’s people: the coachman Selifan and the footman Petrushka. This essay will be about them.

While reading the poem, I managed to become attached to these good-natured people, in their own way. interesting people. This is how the author introduces the reader to them: “The suitcase was brought in by the coachman Selifan, a short man in a sheepskin coat, and the footman Petrushka, a fellow of about thirty, in a spacious second-hand frock coat, as can be seen from the master’s shoulder, a little stern in appearance, with very large lips and nose " In this small description one can feel Gogol’s kind smile: he treats his characters with sympathy. Parsley turns out to be not at all harsh in character. He even has a “noble urge to enlightenment.” And even though he is attracted to reading by the process of putting words together from letters, and not by the opportunity to gain knowledge, he looks even smarter than the officials. Gogol speaks about them with sarcasm: “Many were not without education: ... some read Karamzin, some Moskovskie Vedomosti, some even read nothing at all.” A person from a people who has virtually no opportunity to study strives for education more than officials holding high government positions. In addition to this, Petrushka has two more “characteristic features: sleeping without undressing, just as you are, in the same frock coat, and always carrying with you some kind of special air, its own smell, which evokes a somewhat lived-in peace...”. When describing the footman, Gogol does not use his favorite technique - comparing the character with some animal or inanimate object to show deadness human soul. On the contrary, Parsley, appearing somewhere, brings there a feeling of life, warmth, and comfort. He is real, not “dead” and frozen in development. “So, this is what can be said about Petrushka for the first time,” Gogol ends his characterization of the lackey. Next, the author’s attention turns to Selifan. With him, Chichikov goes on a journey through the estates of the landowners.

Selifan is a coachman. He incredibly loves his profession, communicates with horses as with people: he conducts moralizing conversations and gives sensible comments to the horses. For Selifan, the main thing is to live in truth, serve honestly, and fulfill one’s duty. He explains this to the brown-haired horse, who is “very crafty” and only pretends to be driving Chichikov’s chaise: “You think that you will hide your behavior. No, you live in truth when you want to be respected.” Selifan expresses many similar thoughts to the horses, and then begins a song that is endless, like Rus'. In all people from the people, Gogol sees this poetic beginning, sincere, touching the soul. Selifan can be called a kind of reasoner: “What a nasty gentleman!.. You better man don’t let him eat, but you must feed the horse, because the horse loves oats.” This is what the coachman thinks about Nozdryov. Perhaps, indeed, against the backdrop of the landowners and officials depicted in “ Dead souls ah,” the horses look more alive and human. Therefore, Selifan initiates them into the secrets of his Russian soul.

Gogol is far from idealizing Selifan and Petrushka, Despite all their merits. These heroes have absorbed many national traits Russian people, both good and bad. They collective image all the people. Let us remember Selifan’s frivolity: he “couldn’t remember if he had passed two or three turns,” on his way to Sobakevich’s estate. “Since a Russian man, in decisive moments, will find something to do without going into long-term reasoning, then, turning right onto the first cross road, he shouted: “Hey, respectable friends!” - and set off at a gallop, thinking little about where the road taken would lead.” This episode perfectly describes Russian "recklessness" and eternal hope to "maybe". As a result, the coachman turns the wrong way, drives across a harrowed field and, due to his carelessness, turns the chaise on its side, throwing Chichikov into the mud. The poem shows the excessive obedience and weak-willedness of the Russian peasant, brought up by centuries of slavery: “As your mercy will always,” Selifan answered, agreeing to everything, “if you flog, then flog; I'm not at all averse to it. Why not flog, if it’s for the cause, that’s the will of the Lord.” The theme of drunkenness, relevant for Russia at all times, is also reflected in Gogol’s work. Selifan will never refuse to drink with a “good person”, for example, going “somewhere” with Petrushka. However, he acutely feels his guilt towards Chichikov after another drunken incident. The coachman immediately becomes extremely attentive to his work, the horses are thoroughly cleaned and all torn collars are mended. Laziness is another vice of peasant Rus'. Until Chichikov’s departure from the city of NN, Selifan procrastinates with shoeing horses and re-tightening tires.

Russian national character, which is expressed in “Dead Souls,” is felt and literary critics. V.G. Belinsky writes in the magazine “Domestic Notes”: “This Russian spirit is felt in humor, and in irony, and in the expression of the author, and in the sweeping power of feelings, and in the lyricism of digressions, and in the pathos of the entire poem, and in the characters characters, from Chichikov to Selifan and the “black-haired scoundrel” inclusive - in Petrushka, who carried his special air with him, and in the watchman, who, in the lantern light, while asleep, executed an animal on his fingernail and fell asleep again.” S.P. Shevyrev agrees with the opinion of Vissarion Grigorievich. This is what he says about Selifan: “The coachman Selifan is a completely different matter: he is a new, complete typical creation, taken out of simple Russian life.”

Let Petrushka and Selifan not be idealized by the author of the poem. Gogol wants to see invincible, mighty heroes in the vast expanses of his native country, and not submissive, oppressed people. However, the role of the coachman and footman in Dead Souls is very important. In them the author manages to fully show the character of the people. This is what Gogol writes at the beginning of his work: “But... perhaps in this very story other, hitherto unstrung strings will be felt, the untold wealth of the Russian spirit will appear...” Yes, the function of the images of Selifan and Petrushka is fulfilled. They reveal the theme of populism throughout the work. They do not have this inertia and deadness that is characteristic of landowners and officials. Selifan and Petrushka are truly living Russian types.

A trio of horses - a magical “bird-troika” - is flying along the roads of Rus', the reins are held by the dashing coachman Selifan. He is a counselor who guides a light chaise along the right road: How strange, and alluring, and carrying, and wonderful is the word: road!” The chaise rushes at great speed: “And what Russian doesn’t like driving fast?” He flies forward together with Chichikov and his faithful servants: Selifan and Petrushka. “Rus, where are you rushing to? Give an answer. Doesn't give an answer."

How long we spent together with these unlucky, kind, pure-hearted characters - Selifan and Petrushka - how much we felt! Yes, maybe Rus' will get rid of its vices: bribery, vulgarity, deadness of souls, lazy lordship and submissive slavery. Maybe if the national spirit awakens, if its poetic, strong, bright beginning breaks out into the vast expanses of the country!

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Main character

Pavel Ivanovich Chichikov

A rather beautiful small spring chaise, in which bachelors travel: retired lieutenant colonels, staff captains, landowners with about a hundred peasant souls - in a word, all those who are called middle-class gentlemen, drove into the gates of the hotel in the provincial town of NN. In the chaise sat a gentleman, not handsome, but not bad-looking either, neither too fat nor too thin; One cannot say that he is old, but not that he is too young. His entry made absolutely no noise in the city and was not accompanied by anything special; only two Russian men, standing at the door of the tavern opposite the hotel, made some comments, which, however, related more to the carriage than to those sitting in it. “Look,” one said to the other, “what a wheel! What do you think, if that wheel happened, would it get to Moscow or not?” “It will get there,” answered the other. “But I don’t think he’ll get to Kazan?” “He won’t get to Kazan,” answered another. This is where the conversation ended...

... Having rested, he wrote on a piece of paper, at the request of the tavern servant, his rank, first and last name for reporting to the appropriate place, to the police. On a piece of paper, going down the stairs, I read the following from the warehouses: “Collegiate adviser Pavel Ivanovich Chichikov, landowner, according to his needs”...

… . The gentleman had something dignified in his manners and blew his nose extremely loudly. It is not known how he did it, but his nose sounded like a trumpet. This, in my opinion, a completely innocent dignity, however, gained him a lot of respect from the tavern servant, so that every time he heard this sound, he shook his hair, straightened up more respectfully and, bending his head from on high, asked: is it necessary? what?

Chichikov woke up, stretched his arms and legs and felt that he had slept well. After lying on his back for about two minutes, he snapped his hand and remembered with a beaming face that he now had nearly four hundred souls. He immediately jumped out of bed, did not even look at his face, which he sincerely loved and in which, it seems, he found the chin most attractive, for he very often boasted of it to one of his friends, especially if this happened while shaving. “Look,” he usually said, stroking it with his hand, “what a chin I have: completely round!”

...He didn’t even like to allow himself to be treated with familiarity in any case, unless the person was of too high a rank...

The next day Chichikov went for lunch and evening to the police chief, where from three o'clock in the afternoon they sat down to whist and played until two o'clock in the morning. There, by the way, he met the landowner Nozdryov, a man of about thirty, a broken fellow, who after three or four words began to say “you” to him. Nozdryov was also on first-name terms with the police chief and the prosecutor and treated him in a friendly manner; but when we sat down to play big game, the police chief and the prosecutor examined his bribes extremely carefully and followed almost every card with which he walked. The next day Chichikov spent the evening with the chairman of the chamber, who received his guests in a dressing gown, somewhat oily, including two ladies. Then I was at an evening with the vice-governor, at a big dinner with the tax farmer, at a small dinner with the prosecutor, which, however, was worth a lot; at the after-mass snack given by the mayor, which was also worth lunch. In a word, he never had to stay at home for a single hour, and he came to the hotel only to fall asleep. The newcomer somehow knew how to find himself in everything and showed himself to be experienced socialite. Whatever the conversation was about, he always knew how to support it: whether it was about a horse factory, he talked about a horse factory; were they talking about good dogs, and here he made very practical comments; whether they interpreted the investigation carried out by the treasury chamber, he showed that he was not unaware of the judicial tricks; whether there was a discussion about the billiard game - and in the billiard game he did not miss; they talked about virtue, and he talked about virtue very well, even with tears in his eyes; about making hot wine, and he knew the use of hot wine; about customs overseers and officials, and he judged them as if he himself were both an official and an overseer. But it’s remarkable that he knew how to dress it all up with some kind of sedateness, he knew how to behave well. He spoke neither loudly nor quietly, but absolutely as he should. In a word, wherever you turn, it was very honest man. All officials were pleased with the arrival of a new person. The governor explained about him that he was a well-intentioned person; the prosecutor - that he is a sensible person; the gendarme colonel said that he learned man; the chairman of the chamber - that he is a knowledgeable and respectable person; the police chief - that he is a respectable and kind man; the police chief's wife - that he is the most kind and courteous person. Even Sobakevich himself, who rarely spoke kindly of anyone, arrived quite late from the city and had already completely undressed and lay down on the bed next to his thin wife, said to her: “I, darling, was at the governor’s party, and at the police chief’s. I had lunch and met the collegiate adviser Pavel Ivanovich Chichikov: a pleasant person!” To which the wife replied: “Hm!” - and pushed him with her foot.

This opinion, very flattering for the guest, was formed about him in the city, and it persisted until one strange property of the guest and the enterprise, or, as they say in the provinces, a passage about which the reader will soon learn, led almost to complete bewilderment. the whole city.

Landowners

Nastasya Petrovna Korobochka

... A minute later, the owner, an elderly woman, came in, in some kind of sleeping cap, put on hastily, with a flannel around her neck, one of those mothers, small landowners who cry about crop failures, losses and keep their heads somewhat to one side, and meanwhile gain a little money in colorful bags placed in chest of drawers. All the rubles are taken into one bag, fifty rubles into another, quarters into a third, although from the outside it seems as if there is nothing in the chest of drawers except linen, night blouses, skeins of thread, and a torn cloak, which can then turn into a dress if the old one will somehow burn out while baking holiday cakes with all sorts of yarn, or it will wear out on its own. But the dress will not burn and will not fray on its own: the old woman is thrifty, and the cloak is destined to lie for a long time in an open form, and then, according to the spiritual will, go to the niece of her grandsister along with all other rubbish...

Plyushkin

...His face did not represent anything special; it was almost the same as that of many thin old men, one chin only protruded very far forward, so that he had to cover it with a handkerchief every time so as not to spit; the small eyes had not yet gone out and ran from under their high eyebrows, like mice, when, sticking their sharp muzzles out of the dark holes, pricking their ears and blinking their whiskers, they look out to see if a cat or a naughty boy is hiding somewhere, and sniff the very air suspiciously. Much more remarkable was his outfit: no amount of effort or effort could have been used to find out what his robe was made of: the sleeves and upper flaps were so greasy and shiny that they looked like the kind of yuft that goes into boots; in the back, instead of two, there were four floors dangling, from which cotton paper came out in flakes. He also had something tied around his neck that could not be made out: a stocking, a garter, or a belly, but not a tie. In a word, if Chichikov had met him, so dressed up, somewhere at the church door, he would probably have given him a copper penny. For to the honor of our hero it must be said that he had a compassionate heart and he could not resist giving the poor man a copper penny. But it was not a beggar who stood before him, a landowner stood before him. This landowner had more than a thousand souls, and would anyone try to find someone else who had so much bread in grain, flour and simply in storerooms, whose storerooms, barns and drying rooms were cluttered with so many canvases, cloth, dressed and rawhide sheepskins, dried fish and any vegetable or gubina..

... But there was a time when he was just a thrifty owner! he was married and a family man, and a neighbor came to have dinner with him, listen and learn from him about housekeeping and wise stinginess.

Manilov

God alone could have said what Manilov’s character was. There is a kind of people known by the name: so-so people, neither this nor that, neither in the city of Bogdan nor in the village of Selifan, according to the proverb. Maybe Manilov should join them. In appearance he was a distinguished man; His facial features were not devoid of pleasantness, but this pleasantness seemed to have too much sugar in it; in his techniques and turns there was something ingratiating favor and acquaintance. He smiled enticingly, was blond, with blue eyes. In the first minute of conversation with him you can’t help but say: “What a pleasant and a kind person! The next minute you won’t say anything, and the third you’ll say: “The devil knows what it is!” - and move away; If you don’t leave, you will feel mortal boredom. You won’t get any lively or even arrogant words from him, which you can hear from almost anyone if you touch an object that bothers him. Everyone has their own enthusiasm: one of them turned his enthusiasm to greyhounds; to another it seems that he is a strong lover of music and amazingly feels all the deep places in it; the third master of a dashing lunch; the fourth to play a role at least one inch higher than the one assigned to him; the fifth, with a more limited desire, sleeps and dreams of going on a walk with the adjutant, in front of his friends, acquaintances and even strangers; the sixth is already gifted with such a hand that feels a supernatural desire to bend the corner of some to the ace of diamonds or two, while the hand of the seventh is trying to create order somewhere, to get closer to the personality of the stationmaster or the coachmen - in a word, everyone has their own, but Manilov had nothing. At home he spoke very little and for the most part he pondered and thought, but what he was thinking about, God knew too. It’s impossible to say that he was involved in farming, he never even went to the fields, farming somehow went on by itself. When the clerk said: “It would be nice, master, to do this and that,” “Yes, not bad,” he usually answered, smoking a pipe, which he made a habit of smoking when he was still serving in the army, where he was considered the most modest, most delicate and educated officer . “Yes, it’s not bad,” he repeated. When a man came to him and, scratching the back of his head with his hand, said: “Master, let me go away to work, let me earn some money,” “Go,” he said, smoking a pipe, and it didn’t even occur to him that the man was going out to drink. Sometimes, looking from the porch at the yard and the pond, he talked about how nice it would be if suddenly an underground passage was built from the house or a stone bridge was built across the pond, on which there would be benches on both sides, and so that people could sit in them merchants sold various small goods needed by the peasants. At the same time, his eyes became extremely sweet and his face took on the most contented expression; however, all these projects ended with only words. In his office there was always some kind of book, bookmarked on page fourteen, which he had been constantly reading for two years. There was always something missing in his house: in the living room there was beautiful furniture, upholstered in smart silk fabric, which was probably quite expensive; but there wasn’t enough for two chairs, and the chairs were simply upholstered in matting; However, for several years the owner always warned his guest with the words: “Don’t sit on these chairs, they are not ready yet.” In another room there was no furniture at all, although it was said in the first days after marriage: “Darling, you will need to work tomorrow to put furniture in this room, at least for a while.” In the evening, a very dandy candlestick made of dark bronze with three antique graces, with a dandy mother-of-pearl shield, was served on the table, and next to it was placed some simple copper invalid, lame, curled up to the side and covered in fat, although neither the owner nor mistress, no servant. His wife... however, they were completely happy with each other. Despite the fact that more than eight years of their marriage had passed, each of them still brought the other either a piece of apple, or candy, or a nut and said in a touchingly tender voice, expressing perfect love: “Open your mouth, darling, I’ll put this one for you.” a piece". It goes without saying that the mouth opened very gracefully on this occasion.

Nozdryov

He was of average height, a very well-built fellow with full rosy cheeks, teeth white as snow and jet-black sideburns. It was fresh, like blood and milk; his health seemed to be dripping from his face.

- Ba, ba, ba! - he suddenly cried, spreading both arms at the sight of Chichikov. - What destinies?

Chichikov recognized Nozdryov, the same one with whom he had dined with the prosecutor and who in a few minutes got on such friendly terms with him that he began to say “you”, although, however, he, for his part, did not give any reason for this...

... Nozdryov’s face is probably already somewhat familiar to the reader. Everyone has encountered many such people. They are called broken fellows, they are reputed even in childhood and at school for being good comrades, and for all that they can be beaten very painfully. In their faces you can always see something open, direct, and daring. They soon get to know each other, and before you know it, they’re already saying “you.” They will make friends, it seems, forever: but it almost always happens that the person who has become friends will fight with them that same evening at a friendly party. They are always talkers, carousers, reckless people, prominent people. Nozdryov at thirty-five was exactly the same as he was at eighteen and twenty: a lover of a walk. Marriage did not change him at all, especially since his wife soon went to the next world, leaving behind two children who he absolutely did not need. However, the children were looked after by a pretty nanny. He's at home more than a day I couldn't sit still. His sensitive nose heard him several dozen miles away, where there was a fair with all sorts of conventions and balls; in the blink of an eye he was there, arguing and causing chaos at the green table, for, like all of them, he had a passion for cards. At cards, as we have already seen from the first chapter, he did not play completely sinlessly and purely, knowing many different overexposures and other subtleties, and therefore the game very often ended in another game: either they beat him with boots, or they gave him overexposure to a thick and very good sideburns, so that he sometimes returned home with only one sideburn, and then a rather runny one. But his healthy and full cheeks were so well created and contained so much plant power that his sideburns soon grew back, even better than before. And what’s strangest of all, which can only happen in Rus', is that after some time he already met again with those friends who were pestering him, and he met as if nothing had happened, and he, as they say, was nothing, and they were nothing.

Nozdryov was in some respects historical person. Not a single meeting he attended was complete without a story. Some kind of story would certainly happen: either the gendarmes would lead him out of the hall by the arm, or his own friends would be forced to push him out. If this doesn’t happen, then something will happen that won’t happen to anyone else: either he’ll cut himself up at the buffet in such a way that he only laughs, or he’ll lie to himself. in a cruel way , so that he himself will finally become ashamed. And he will lie completely without any need: he will suddenly tell that he had a horse with some kind of blue or pink wool, and similar nonsense, so that those listening finally all leave, saying: “Well, brother, it seems you have already begun to pour bullets.” " There are people who have a passion to spoil their neighbor, sometimes for no reason at all. Someone, for example, even a person in rank, with a noble appearance, with a star on his chest, will shake your hand, talk to you about deep subjects that provoke thought, and then, lo and behold, right there, before your eyes, he will spoil you. And he will spoil things like a simple college registrar, and not at all like a man with a star on his chest, talking about subjects that provoke thought, so that you just stand there and marvel, shrugging your shoulders, and nothing more. Nozdryov had the same strange passion. The closer someone got with him, the more likely he was to annoy everyone: he spread a tall tale, the stupidest of which is difficult to invent, upset a wedding, a trade deal, and did not at all consider himself your enemy; on the contrary, if chance brought him to meet you again, he would treat you again in a friendly manner and even say: “You’re such a scoundrel, you’ll never come to see me.” Nozdryov was in many respects a multifaceted man, that is, a man of all trades. At that very moment he invited you to go anywhere, even to the ends of the world, to enter into any enterprise you want, to exchange whatever you have for whatever you want. A gun, a dog, a horse - everything was the subject of exchange, but not at all in order to win: this simply happened from some kind of restless agility and liveliness of character. If at a fair he was lucky enough to attack a simpleton and beat him, he bought a bunch of everything that had previously caught his eye in the shops: collars, smoking candles, scarves for a nanny, a stallion, raisins, a silver washstand, Dutch linen, grain flour, tobacco, pistols, herrings, paintings, sharpening tools, pots, boots, earthenware - as much as there was enough money. However, it rarely happened that it was brought home; almost on the same day it descended to another, luckiest player, sometimes even adding his own pipe with a pouch and mouthpiece, and other times the whole foursome with everything: with a carriage and a coachman, so that the owner himself set off in a short frock coat or arkhaluk to look for some a friend to use his carriage. That's what Nozdryov was like! Maybe they will call him a beaten character, they will say that now Nozdryov is no longer there. Alas! those who speak like this will be unjust. Nozdryov will not leave the world for a long time. He is everywhere between us and, perhaps, only wears a different caftan; but people are thoughtlessly undiscerning, and a person in a different caftan seems to them a different person.

Mizhuev, Nozdryov's son-in-law, Fetyuk

He was a tall man, with a thin face, or what is called shabby, with a red mustache. From his tanned face one could conclude that he knew what smoke was, if not gunpowder, then at least tobacco...

... Blonde was one of those people whose character, at first glance, has some kind of stubbornness. Before you even have time to open your mouth, they are already ready to argue and, it seems, will never agree to something that is clearly opposite to their way of thinking, that they will never call a stupid person smart and that in particular they will not agree to dance to someone else’s tune; but it will always end with the fact that their character will turn out to be soft, that they will agree to exactly what they rejected, they will call stupid things smart and then go off to dance as best they can to someone else’s tune - in a word, they will start as a smooth surface and end up as a viper.

Sobakevich

When Chichikov looked sideways at Sobakevich, this time he seemed to him very similar to average size bear To complete the similarity, the tailcoat he was wearing was completely bear-colored, his sleeves were long, his trousers were long, his feet walked this way and that and constantly stepped on other people’s feet. His complexion was red-hot, the kind you get on a copper coin. It is known that there are many such persons in the world, over the finishing of which nature did not spend much time, did not use any small tools, such as files, gimlets and other things, but simply chopped from her shoulder: she took the ax once and her nose came out, she took it another time. - her lips came out, she picked her eyes with a large drill and, without scraping them, released them into the light, saying: “He lives!” Sobakevich had the same strong and amazingly well-made image: he held it more downward than up, did not move his neck at all, and due to such non-rotation, he rarely looked at the person he was talking to, but always either at the corner of the stove or at the door . Chichikov glanced sideways at him again as they passed the dining room: bear! perfect bear! We need such a strange rapprochement: he was even called Mikhail Semenovich. Knowing his habit of stepping on his feet, he moved his own very carefully and gave him the way forward. The owner seemed to feel this sin behind him and immediately asked: “Did I bother you?” But Chichikov thanked him, saying that no disturbance had yet occurred.

Tentetnikov

Who was the tenant, lord and owner of this village? What lucky person did this nook belong to?

And to the landowner of Tremalakhansky district Andrei Ivanovich Tentetnikov, a young thirty-three-year-old gentleman, collegiate secretary, an unmarried man.

What kind of person was landowner Andrei Ivanovich Tentetnikov, what disposition, what properties and what character was he?

Of course, you should ask your neighbors. A neighbor, who belonged to the family of retired staff officers and firemen, expressed himself about him in a laconic expression: “A natural brute!” The general, who lived ten miles away, said: “The young man is not stupid, but he has taken a lot into his head. I could be useful to him, because with me both in St. Petersburg, and even with...” The general did not finish his speech. The police captain remarked: “But the workman on him is rubbish; but tomorrow I’ll go to him for the arrears!” The peasant of his village, when asked what kind of master they had, did not answer anything. In a word, public opinion about him was more unfavorable than favorable.

Meanwhile, in his being, Andrei Ivanovich was neither a good nor a bad creature, but simply a smoker of the sky. Since there are already quite a few people in this world who smoke the sky, why shouldn’t Tentetnikov smoke it too? However, here in a few words is the entire journal of his day, and from it let the reader judge for himself what kind of character he had.

In the morning he woke up very late and, getting up, sat on his bed for a long time, rubbing his eyes. Unfortunately, the eyes were small, and therefore rubbing them took an unusually long time. During all this time, the man Mikhailo was standing at the door with a washstand and a towel. This poor Mikhailo stood for an hour, then another, then went to the kitchen, then came again - the master was still rubbing his eyes and sitting on the bed. Finally, he got out of bed, washed, put on a robe and went out into the living room to drink tea, coffee, cocoa and even fresh milk, sipping a little of everything, crumbling the bread mercilessly and shamelessly littering pipe ash everywhere. He sat over tea for two hours; this was not enough: he took the still cold cup and with it moved towards the window facing the courtyard. The following scene took place every time at the window.

First of all, the unshaven barman Grigory roared, referring to Perfilyevna, the housekeeper, in these expressions:

- You little soul, such an insignificance! You, vile woman, should be silent, and that’s all.

- I won’t listen to you, insatiable throat! - shouted the insignificance, or Perfilyevna.

- But no one will get along with you, after all, you will get into trouble with the clerk, you little thing in the barn! - Grigory roared.

- Yes, and the clerk is a thief just like you! - the insignificance shouted so loudly that it could be heard throughout the village. - You are both drinkers, destroyers of the master’s, bottomless barrels! Do you think the master doesn't know you? After all, he is here, because he hears you.

- Where is the master?

- Yes, here he is sitting by the window; he sees everything.

And sure enough, the master was sitting by the window and saw everything.

To top it off, the yard child, who had received a slap on the wrist from his mother, screamed and screamed; the greyhound squealed, crouching with his back to the ground, about the hot boiling water with which the cook, peeking out from the kitchen, poured it over him. In a word, everything screamed and squealed unbearably. The master saw and heard everything. And only when this was done to such an unbearable degree that it even prevented the master from doing anything, he sent out to tell them to keep the noise down.

Betrishchev (character in the second volume)

The general struck him with his majestic appearance. He was wearing a quilted satin robe of magnificent purple. An open look, a courageous face, a mustache and large sideburns streaked with gray hair, a low, combed haircut at the back of the head, a thick neck at the back, called three layers, or three folds, with a crack across; in a word, he was one of those picture generals with whom the famous 12th year was so rich. General Betrishchev, like many of us, had a lot of advantages and a lot of disadvantages. Both, as is usual with a Russian person, were sketched out in some kind of pictorial disorder. In decisive moments - generosity, courage, boundless generosity, intelligence in everything and, mixed with this, whims, ambition, pride and those small personalities that not a single Russian can do without when he is sitting idle. He did not like everyone who went ahead of him in the service, and expressed himself caustically about them, in caustic epigrams. Most of all went to his former comrade, whom he considered inferior to himself both in intelligence and abilities, and who, however, overtook him and was already the governor-general of two provinces, and, as luck would have it, those in which his estates were located, so he found himself, as it were, dependent on him. In retaliation, he was sarcastic at him on every occasion, denigrated every order and saw in all his measures and actions the height of unreason. Everything about him was somehow strange, starting with enlightenment, of which he was a champion and zealot; he loved to show off and also loved to know what others did not know, and did not like those people who knew something that he did not know. In short, he liked to show off his intelligence a little. Brought up by a semi-foreign upbringing, he wanted to play at the same time the role of a Russian master. And it is not surprising that with such unevenness in character and such large, striking contrasts, he was bound to inevitably encounter many troubles in his service, as a result of which he resigned, blaming some hostile party for everything and not having the generosity to blame or yourself. In retirement, he retained the same picturesque, stately posture. Whether in a frock coat, a tailcoat, or a dressing gown, he was still the same. From his voice to the slightest body movement, everything about him was powerful, commanding, inspiring in the lower ranks, if not respect, then at least timidity.

Pyotr Petrovich Rooster (character of the second volume)

The master was already riding next to him, dressed in a grass-green nankeen coat, yellow trousers and a neck without a tie, in the manner of Cupid! He sat sideways on the droshky, taking over all the droshky... When he drove up to the porch of the house, to his greatest amazement, the fat gentleman was already on the porch and took him into his arms. How he managed to fly like that was incomprehensible. They kissed, according to the old Russian custom, crosswise three times: the master was of an old cut.

“I brought you greetings from His Excellency,” said Chichikov.

“From what Excellency?”

“From your relative, from General Alexander Dmitrievich.”

“Who is this Alexander Dmitrievich?”

“General Betrishchev,” Chichikov answered with some amazement.

“Stranger,” said x with amazement<озяин>.

Chichikov was even more amazed...

“How is this?.. I hope, at least, that I have the pleasure of speaking with Colonel Koshkarev?”

“No, don’t get your hopes up. You came not to him, but to me. Petr Petrovich Rooster. Rooster Pyotr Petrovich,” the owner picked up.

Afanasy Afanasyevich Murazov, charitable rich man (character in the second volume)

“This is our tax farmer Murazov.”

“I’ll hear about him another time!” cried Chichikov.

“This is a man who, not only from the estate of a landowner, will manage the entire state. If I had a state, I would make him minister of finance right away.”

“And, they say, a man who surpasses the measure of all belief: ten million, they say, he made.”

“What ten! has passed forty! Soon half of Russia will be in his hands.”

"What are you saying!" cried Chichikov, his eyes wide and his mouth agape.

“By all means. It is clear. The one who has just hundreds of thousands gets rich slowly, and the one who has millions, his radius is large: whatever he grabs, he grabs twice or three times against himself. The field is too spacious. There are no rivals here. There is no one to compete with him. Whatever price he assigns to something, it will remain that way: there is no one to beat it.”

Servants and serfs

Footman Chichikov Petrushka

... The suitcase was brought in by the coachman Selifan, a short man in a sheepskin coat, and the footman Petrushka, a fellow of about thirty, in a spacious second-hand frock coat, as seen from the master’s shoulder, a little stern-looking fellow, with very large lips and nose.

Petrushka wore a somewhat wide brown frock coat from a lord's shoulder and, according to the custom of people of his rank, had a large nose and lips. He was more of a silent character than a talkative one; he even had a noble urge to educate himself, that is, to read books whose contents he did not find difficult: he did not care at all whether it was the adventures of a hero in love, just a primer or a prayer book - he read everything with equal attention; if they had given him chemotherapy, he wouldn’t have refused it either. He liked not what he read about, but more the reading itself, or, better to say, the process of reading itself, that some word always comes out of the letters, which sometimes means God knows what. This reading was performed in a supine position in the hallway, on the bed and on the mattress, which, as a result of this circumstance, had become dead and thin, like a flatbread. In addition to the passion for reading, he had two more habits, which constituted his other two characteristic features: sleeping without undressing, as is, in the same frock coat, and always carrying with him some kind of special air, his own smell, which resonated somewhat living quarters, so all he had to do was build his bed somewhere, even in a hitherto uninhabited room, and drag his overcoat and belongings there, and it already seemed that people had been living in this room for ten years. Chichikov, being a very ticklish person and even in some cases picky, sniffed the fresh air into his nose in the morning, only winced and shook his head, saying: “You, brother, the devil knows, you’re sweating or something. You should at least go to the bathhouse.” To which Petrushka did not answer anything and tried to immediately get busy with some business; or approached with a whip to the hanging master's coat, or simply tidied up something. What was he thinking at the time when he was silent - maybe he was saying to himself: “And you, however, are good, aren’t you tired of repeating the same thing forty times” - God knows, it’s difficult to know what the servant is thinking a serf at that time, the master gives him instructions.

Coachman Selifan

The coachman Selifan was a completely different person [in relation to Petrushka]... But the author is very ashamed to keep readers occupied for so long with people of the low class, knowing from experience how reluctantly they become acquainted with low classes. Such is the Russian man: a strong passion to become arrogant with someone who is at least one rank higher than him, and a casual acquaintance with a count or prince is better for him than any close friendly relationship.

Clerk Manilov

The clerk appeared. He was a man about forty years old, shaved his beard, wore a frock coat and, apparently, led a very quiet life, because his face looked somehow plump, and his yellowish skin color and small eyes showed that he knew too well, What are down jackets and feather beds? One could immediately see that he had completed his career, as all the master's clerks do: he was first just a literate boy in the house, then he married some Agashka the housekeeper, the lady's favorite, and became a housekeeper himself, and then a clerk. And having become a clerk, he acted, of course, like all clerks: he hung out and made friends with those who were richer in the village, contributed to the taxes of the poorer ones, woke up at nine o’clock in the morning, waited for the samovar and drank tea.

Fetinya, Korobochka's maid

- Do you hear, Fetinya! - said the hostess, turning to the woman who was going out onto the porch with a candle, who had already managed to drag the feather bed and, fluffing it up on both sides with her hands, released a whole flood of feathers throughout the room. “You take their caftan along with the underwear and first dry them in front of the fire, as they did for the deceased master, and then grind them and beat them thoroughly.”

- I’m listening, madam! - Fetinya said, laying a sheet on top of the feather bed and placing pillows.

“Well, the bed is ready for you,” said the hostess. - Farewell, father, I wish you good night. Isn't there anything else needed? Maybe you’re used to having someone scratch your heels at night, my father? My deceased could not fall asleep without this.

But the guest also refused to scratch his heels. The mistress came out, and he immediately hurried to undress, giving Fetinya all the harness he had taken off, both upper and lower, and Fetinya, also wishing good night on her part, took away this wet armor. Left alone, he looked, not without pleasure, at his bed, which was almost to the ceiling. Fetinya, apparently, was an expert in fluffing feather beds.

Gnarled old lady

A flabby old woman, looking like a dried pear, slipped between the legs of the others, approached him, clasped her hands and squealed: “You are our little snivel, how thin you are! The damned little thing has worn you out!” - “Fuck you, woman! - the beards immediately shouted to her with a spade, shovel and wedge. - Look where you went, you clumsy one!” Someone attached a word to this that only a Russian peasant could help but laugh at.

Ivan Antonovich seemed not to have heard and plunged completely into the papers, not answering anything. It was suddenly clear that he was already a man of reasonable years, not like a young talker and helipad. Ivan Antonovich seemed to be well over forty years old; His hair was black and thick; the whole middle of his face protruded forward and went into his nose - in a word, it was the face that in the hostel is called a jug's snout.

Ivan Petrovich, ruler of the office in the distant state

Suppose, for example, there is an office, not here, but in a distant country, and in the office, let us suppose, there is a ruler of the office. I ask you to look at him when he sits among his subordinates - but you simply cannot utter a word out of fear! pride and nobility, and what does his face not express? just take a brush and paint: Prometheus, determined Prometheus! Looks out like an eagle, acts smoothly, measuredly. The same eagle, as soon as he left the room and approaches the office of his boss, is in such a hurry as a partridge with papers under his arm that there is no urine. In society and at a party, even if everyone is of low rank, Prometheus will remain Prometheus, and a little higher than him, Prometheus will undergo such a transformation that Ovid would not have imagined: a fly, less than even a fly, was destroyed into a grain of sand! “Yes, this is not Ivan Petrovich,” you say, looking at him. - Ivan Petrovich is taller, but this one is short and thin; he speaks loudly, has a deep bass voice and never laughs, but this devil knows what: he squeaks like a bird and keeps laughing.” You come closer and look - exactly Ivan Petrovich! “Ehehe,” you think to yourself...

Elderly police officer

But despite all this, his road was difficult; he fell under the command of an already elderly police officer, who was the image of some kind of stony insensibility and unshakeability: always the same, unapproachable, never in his life showing a smile on his face, never greeting anyone even with a request for health. No one had ever seen him be anything other than what he always was, whether on the street or at home; at least once he showed his participation in something, even if he got drunk and laughed while drunk; even if he indulged in the wild joy that a robber indulges in during a drunken moment, there was not even a shadow of anything like that in him. There was absolutely nothing in him: neither villainous nor good, and something terrible appeared in this absence of everything. His callous, marble face, without any sharp irregularity, did not hint at any resemblance; his features were in stern proportionality with each other. Only the frequent rowan trees and potholes that punctured them ranked him among those persons on whom, according to popular expression, the devil came at night to thresh peas. It seemed that there was no human strength to approach such a person and attract his favor, but Chichikov tried. At first, he began to please in all sorts of unnoticeable details: he carefully examined the mending of the feathers with which he wrote, and, having prepared several according to their model, placed them under his hand every time; blew sand and tobacco off his table; got a new rag for his inkwell; I found his hat somewhere, the worst hat that had ever existed in the world, and every time I placed it next to him a minute before the end of his presence; I cleaned his back if he stained it with chalk against the wall - but all this remained absolutely without any notice, as if nothing of this had happened or been done. Finally, he sniffed out his home, family life, learned that he had a mature daughter, with a face that also looked like it was threshing peas at night. It was from this side that he came up with the idea to launch an attack. I found out which church she came to Sundays, stood opposite her every time, cleanly dressed, with his shirtfront very starched - and the business was a success: the stern police officer staggered and invited him to tea! And before the office had time to look back, things had worked out in such a way that Chichikov moved into his house, became a necessary and indispensable person, bought flour and sugar, treated his daughter like a bride, called the police officer papa, kissed his hand; Everyone in the ward decided that there would be a wedding at the end of February before Lent. The stern police officer even began to lobby his superiors for him, and after a while Chichikov himself became a police officer in one vacant position that had opened up. This, it seemed, was the main purpose of his connections with the old police officer, because he immediately sent his chest secretly home and the next day he found himself in another apartment. The police officer stopped calling him daddy and no longer kissed his hand, and the matter of the wedding was hushed up, as if nothing had happened at all. However, when meeting him, he always affectionately shook his hand and invited him to tea, so that the old police officer, despite his eternal immobility and callous indifference, shook his head every time and said under his breath: “You cheated, you cheated, you damn son !

Teacher Chichikova

It should be noted that the teacher was a great lover of silence and good behavior and could not stand smart and sharp boys; it seemed to him that they must certainly laugh at him. It was enough for the one who was reprimanded for his wit, it was enough for him to just move or somehow inadvertently wink his eyebrow to suddenly fall under anger. He persecuted him and punished him mercilessly. “I, brother, will drive arrogance and disobedience out of you! - he said. - I know you through and through, just as you don’t know yourself. Here you are, standing on my knees! I’ll make you go hungry!” And the poor boy, without knowing why, rubbed his knees and went hungry for days. “Abilities and gifts? “It’s all nonsense,” he used to say, “I only look at behavior.” I will give full marks in all sciences to someone who doesn’t know the basics but behaves commendably; and in whom I see a bad spirit and mockery, I am zero to him, although he put Solon in his belt! So said the teacher, who did not love Krylov to death because he said: “For me, it’s better to drink, but understand the matter,” and always told with pleasure in his face and eyes, as in the school where he taught before, There was such silence that you could hear a fly flying; that not a single student coughed or blew his nose in class all year round, and that until the bell rang it was impossible to know whether anyone was there or not. ||

The next day Chichikov went for lunch and evening to the police chief, where from three o'clock in the afternoon they sat down to whist and played until two o'clock in the morning. There, by the way, he met the landowner Nozdryov, a man of about thirty, a broken fellow, who after three or four words began to say “you” to him. Nozdryov was also on first-name terms with the police chief and the prosecutor and treated him in a friendly manner; but when they sat down to play the big game, the police chief and the prosecutor examined his bribes extremely carefully and watched almost every card he played with. The next day Chichikov spent the evening with the chairman of the chamber, who received his guests in a dressing gown, somewhat oily, including two ladies. Then I was at an evening with the vice-governor, at a big dinner with the tax farmer, at a small dinner with the prosecutor, which, however, was worth a lot; at the after-mass snack given by the mayor, which was also worth lunch. In a word, he never had to stay at home for a single hour, and he came to the hotel only to fall asleep. The newcomer somehow knew how to find his way around everything and showed himself to be an experienced socialite. Whatever the conversation was about, he always knew how to support it: whether it was about a horse factory, he talked about a horse factory; were they talking about good dogs, and here he made very practical comments; whether they interpreted the investigation carried out by the treasury chamber, he showed that he was not unaware of the judicial tricks; whether there was a discussion about a billiard game - and in a billiard game he did not miss; they talked about virtue, and he talked about virtue very well, even with tears in his eyes; about making hot wine, and he knew the use of hot wine; about customs overseers and officials, and he judged them as if he himself were both an official and an overseer. But it’s remarkable that he knew how to dress it all up with some kind of sedateness, he knew how to behave well. He spoke neither loudly nor quietly, but absolutely as he should. In a word, no matter where you turn, he was a very decent person. All officials were pleased with the arrival of a new person. The governor explained about him that he was a well-intentioned person; the prosecutor - that he is a sensible person; the gendarme colonel said that he was a learned man; the chairman of the chamber - that he is a knowledgeable and respectable person; the police chief - that he is a respectable and kind man; the police chief's wife - that he is the most kind and courteous person. Even Sobakevich himself, who rarely spoke kindly of anyone, arrived quite late from the city and had already completely undressed and lay down on the bed next to his thin wife, said to her: “I, darling, was at the governor’s party, and at the police chief’s. had lunch and met the collegiate adviser Pavel Ivanovich Chichikov: a pleasant person! “To which the wife answered: “Hm!” - and pushed him with her foot.

In the text of the poem "", N.V. Gogol quite openly tries to reveal folk theme. The author sings and glorifies the common people, describes them best qualities. We repeatedly come across the author’s thoughts about how great and broad the soul is common man how sincere are the feelings of ordinary people.

In the text of the poem, the reader encounters the images of the maidens Mavra and Proshka, the carpenter Probka, and the coachman Mikheev. The central figures for the full disclosure of such an exciting topic for the author are the footman Petrushka and the coachman Selifan.

We are introduced to the images of serfs at the beginning of the poem. Gogol does not reveal the personality of the main character, but already introduces the reader to his faithful servants, gives them names and titles.

How do these people differ from other heroes? They are alive! What could this mean? Their soul and inner world are still capable of giving a healthy assessment of their actions and deeds, unlike those landowners who sold dead peasants to the entertainer Chichikov.

Selifan and Petrusha look natural and real. There is no pretense in their images. Drunk Selifan can communicate with horses, considering them excellent conversationalists. Petrusha, without a single word or objection, carries out all Chichikov’s orders, so that he does not reproach him with anything.

I mentioned more than once that it is in the persons of Selifan and Petrusha that the real, national and folk character Russian person. A servant like Petrusha is always submissive. He speaks little and tries to please his master in everything. The footman has trained his master so well that, without unnecessary orders, he knows what to do and when.

The coachman Selifan was talkative. He always spoke out on any occasion and could even make a remark - to his horse! Selifan was not as responsible as Petrusha. He could drive a carriage while drunk, and could be negligent in breaking down the carriage.

It is these two images that are the most real in the text of the entire poem. They are what they are. Descriptions of the personalities of Selifan and Petrusha help us understand and reveal the image of the main character - Chichikov, understand his character traits and manners of behavior.