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- Николай Гоголь
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- Мертвые души
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- Стр. 219/232
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"
Save
me
!
"
gasped
Chichikov
.
"
They
are
taking
me
away
to
prison
and
death
!
"
Yet
almost
as
he
spoke
the
gendarmes
seized
him
again
,
and
hurried
him
away
so
swiftly
that
Murazov
's
reply
escaped
his
ears
.
A
damp
,
mouldy
cell
which
reeked
of
soldiers
'
boots
and
leggings
,
an
unvarnished
table
,
two
sorry
chairs
,
a
window
closed
with
a
grating
,
a
crazy
stove
which
,
while
letting
the
smoke
emerge
through
its
cracks
,
gave
out
no
heat
--
such
was
the
den
to
which
the
man
who
had
just
begun
to
taste
the
sweets
of
life
,
and
to
attract
the
attention
of
his
fellows
with
his
new
suit
of
smoked-grey-shot-with-flame-colour
,
now
found
himself
consigned
.
Not
even
necessaries
had
he
been
allowed
to
bring
away
with
him
,
nor
his
dispatch-box
which
contained
all
his
booty
.
No
,
with
the
indenture
deeds
of
the
dead
souls
,
it
was
lodged
in
the
hands
of
a
tchinovnik
;
and
as
he
thought
of
these
things
Chichikov
rolled
about
the
floor
,
and
felt
the
cankerous
worm
of
remorse
seize
upon
and
gnaw
at
his
heart
,
and
bite
its
way
ever
further
and
further
into
that
heart
so
defenceless
against
its
ravages
,
until
he
made
up
his
mind
that
,
should
he
have
to
suffer
another
twenty-four
hours
of
this
misery
,
there
would
no
longer
be
a
Chichikov
in
the
world
.
Yet
over
him
,
as
over
every
one
,
there
hung
poised
the
All-Saving
Hand
;
and
,
an
hour
after
his
arrival
at
the
prison
,
the
doors
of
the
gaol
opened
to
admit
Murazov
.
Compared
with
poor
Chichikov
's
sense
of
relief
when
the
old
man
entered
his
cell
,
even
the
pleasure
experienced
by
a
thirsty
,
dusty
traveller
when
he
is
given
a
drink
of
clear
spring
water
to
cool
his
dry
,
parched
throat
fades
into
insignificance
.
"
Ah
,
my
deliverer
!
"
he
cried
as
he
rose
from
the
floor
,
where
he
had
been
grovelling
in
heartrending
paroxysms
of
grief
.
Seizing
the
old
man
's
hand
,
he
kissed
it
and
pressed
it
to
his
bosom
.
Then
,
bursting
into
tears
,
he
added
:
"
God
Himself
will
reward
you
for
having
come
to
visit
an
unfortunate
wretch
!
"
Murazov
looked
at
him
sorrowfully
,
and
said
no
more
than
"
Ah
,
Paul
Ivanovitch
,
Paul
Ivanovitch
!
What
has
happened
?
"
"
What
has
happened
?
"
cried
Chichikov
.
"
I
have
been
ruined
by
an
accursed
woman
.
That
was
because
I
could
not
do
things
in
moderation
--
I
was
powerless
to
stop
myself
in
time
,
Satan
tempted
me
,
and
drove
me
from
my
senses
,
and
bereft
me
of
human
prudence
.
Yes
,
truly
I
have
sinned
,
I
have
sinned
!
Yet
how
came
I
so
to
sin
?
To
think
that
a
dvorianin
--
yes
,
a
dvorianin
--
should
be
thrown
into
prison
without
process
or
trial
!
I
repeat
,
a
dvorianin
!
Why
was
I
not
given
time
to
go
home
and
collect
my
effects
?
Whereas
now
they
are
left
with
no
one
to
look
after
them
!
My
dispatch-box
,
my
dispatch-box
!
It
contained
my
whole
property
,
all
that
my
heart
's
blood
and
years
of
toil
and
want
have
been
needed
to
acquire
.
And
now
everything
will
be
stolen
,
Athanasi
Vassilievitch
--
everything
will
be
taken
from
me
!
My
God
!
"
And
,
unable
to
stand
against
the
torrent
of
grief
which
came
rushing
over
his
heart
once
more
,
he
sobbed
aloud
in
tones
which
penetrated
even
the
thickness
of
the
prison
walls
,
and
made
dull
echoes
awake
behind
them
.
Then
,
tearing
off
his
satin
tie
,
and
seizing
by
the
collar
,
the
smoked-grey-shot-with-flame-colour
frockcoat
,
he
stripped
the
latter
from
his
shoulders
.
"
Ah
,
Paul
Ivanovitch
,
"
said
the
old
man
,
"
how
even
now
the
property
which
you
have
acquired
is
blinding
your
eyes
,
and
causing
you
to
fail
to
realise
your
terrible
position
!
"
