A diary? Well no! Rather, notes, notes, memories – more correctly, physiology (a forgotten genre in which fiction is combined with journalism, sociology, psychology, in order to more fully, and more easily describe a social slice). And now the hero is already on the train, rushing him from the Russian province to the Russian capital, the car is full of the same like him, the provincials, and the provincial complains that nowhere in the province can not hide (even in the post the province is arranged in the same hotel ), ponders how the devil has pulled him to Petersburg, for there are no concessions for the construction of railroads, nor any other urgent matters in his memory.
However, the environment, as you know, sucks: everyone runs around the ministries and departments, and the hero starts running, if not the same, at least to the oyster hall to Eliseev, to this peculiar exchange where Adam’s apple, head, cap and red cockades, some olive personages – either
Greeks, or Jews, or Armenians, – anemopodists timofeichi, who run the court and deal with cognac, balyk, vodka. The cycle of bustling business idleness sucks: everyone aspires to the theater to gawk at the visiting actress Schneider – and ours there too… They cheat and talk, and everything depresses the idea that there is something else that needs to be got, but what is this something – it’s this that the hero can not formulate and can not. Involuntarily he recalls his grandfather Matvey Ivanych, who was living with his life – he smashed up the police, utensils in the taverns, – and did not get into misanthropy. True, the grandson thinks up what he yearns for, because he has no one to ponder anything over, although he does not regret serfdom, but that, despite his abolition, it lives in our hearts.
Prokop’s friend does not let him relax: he pulls the poor man in all circles and societies where the projects are written (now these projects are in vogue, they all write about reduction, another about expansion, another about shooting, about waste, because everyone I want
a pie). “A people without religion is like a body without a soul. Agriculture is destroyed, the industry breathes a little, it is stagnant in trade, and why are you being tagged with this scathing literature?” Tell me, where are we going? ” – Democratic circles are extremely concerned about the fate of their homeland. As for the shooting, it is useful to subject them to the following persons: all those who do not agree; all, in their behavior there is a lack of sincerity; all those who are afflicted by the sullen contour of the heart of well-intentioned inhabitants; zuboskalov and newspapers – and only. From routa to rout, from one society of liberal-frightened people to another, until the provincial with Prokop get drunk to hell and spend the night, for the sake of sake, in the apartment of the assistant to the district warder. No, apparently, without grandfather’s morality there is no way to escape: only one way to protect your life from unpleasant elements, – having cast aside doubts, again start to beat on the teeth. And in a daze the hero thinks: is it possible that even in the newest progressive times a party is coming to replace the destructive-conservative party from the darkness, which is already to be called the most destructive-conservative? – having cast aside doubts, again to start to beat on a teeth. And in a daze the hero thinks: is it possible that even in the newest progressive times a party is coming to replace the destructive-conservative party from the darkness, which is already to be called the most destructive-conservative? – having cast aside doubts, again to start to beat on a teeth. And in a daze the hero thinks: is it possible that even in the newest progressive times a party is coming to replace the destructive-conservative party from the darkness, which is already to be called the most destructive-conservative?
