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Wonderful doctor description of Mertsalov. Details of the Mertsalov family ("The Wonderful Doctor" by A. I. Kuprin). Several interesting essays

Elizaveta Mertsalova is one of the key characters in Kuprin’s rather touching work called “The Wonderful Doctor.”

We learn that she and her husband Emelyan Mertsalov live quite poorly and barely make ends meet. According to the author's narration, we learn that most likely they came from a family of burghers. Due to lack of money, they have been living in the basement of a small house located in Kyiv for a year now.

Together they are trying to raise four children: Grisha and Volodya recently turned ten years old, Mashutka is seven, and also a baby who is still an infant. Three months before the events unfold, the main characters’ daughter dies, which becomes a real tragedy in her life, which she experiences painfully.

By external description we see that the main character has to work hard, her face looks exhausted and unhappy, it is partially blackened from the grief she has experienced. Often it expresses real concern for its future life and how it will provide for the children it loves with all its heart and sincerely worries about them.

A woman has a hardworking character and does not allow laziness. Every day she works at home for the benefit of her family, and also travels daily to the other end of the city to work as a laundress.

It is difficult for her to get to her place of work, but she goes there every day to provide for herself and her children. She understands that what her children will eat depends on her earnings; she no longer thinks about what she herself will eat and how she will eat.

Despite a number of financial difficulties, Elizabeth and her husband live a fairly peaceful life and share the hardships and hardships between them. The author writes that the woman is seriously ill and Dr. Pirogov is helping her. After this, money appears in the family, and the characters’ lives begin to gradually improve.

Elizaveta Mertsalova is a selfless woman, ready to share the difficulties and hardships of life with her husband. She works for the future good of her family, tries to work tirelessly, and maintains friendly and good relations with their family, despite the fact that they are experiencing financial difficulties and have to live in a small basement in the center of Kyiv.

Essay Image of Elizaveta Mertsalova

Kuprin’s touching story “The Wonderful Doctor” forces the reader to plunge into the gloomy atmosphere of poverty, where life is experienced in completely different colors. At the center of the story is the Mertsalov family, who live in a basement amid dirt, poverty and a terrible smell. Mertsalova and her husband have four children, one of whom is an infant. Taking into account the fact that the reader understands the conditions in which this family lives, he can conclude that the father and mother of the family are very courageous people, especially when he learns about another child who recently died.

Just imagine what a mother must feel, whose child died three months ago, and besides this, she has another infant in her arms, three older children and work on the other side of the city. It is the remaining children and husband that are the only thing that keeps Elizabeth afloat in this world, the only thing for which she still lives.

The woman looks like a gray spot, which symbolizes grief: she is thin, tall, and her face is literally blackened from all the torment she endured. But living for the sake of the remaining family members is not enough; you need to earn money without thinking about what disaster happened a few months ago. Elizaveta works for her mistress, washing clothes from morning to night, but this work is on the other side of the city, so Mertsalova must be terribly tired.

In addition to all the stress at home, work and childcare, Elizabeth is sick severe illness, because the author writes that she may even die, but by spring everything ends well thanks to the doctor who helped this unfortunate family financially.

I think that there are very few heroines like Elizaveta Mertsalova in our lives. I am sure that not every person will find the strength to live on when there is absolute darkness and darkness, poverty and illness around you. Not everyone can survive the death of their child, but she could. This means that Elizabeth is not just a courageous and persistent woman, she is a real role model. And let her not live in favorable conditions, let life prick her over and over again, but she overcomes all obstacles every time, maintaining her tender love for her husband, children and life as such.

Kuprin was able to create not only positive heroine, but a heroine with whom you want to sympathize and help. And even more so, when you understand how real the whole situation and all the characters are, how alive they are, then you immediately have a desire to empathize, a desire for everything to end well for this family.

Several interesting essays

  • Essay The essence and meaning of the fairy tale The Silver Hoof of Bazhov

    This fairy tale tells about good people and the miracles that happened to them. One of the main characters of Bazhov's fairy tale is the lonely old man Kokovanya.

  • Essay on the proverb Idleness is the mother of all vices, grade 7

    I cannot say with certainty that idleness is the mother of all vices. Of course, when a person has too much free time, when he is bored, he toils... He does not know (lucky) what to do with himself. Walks from corner to corner, calling friends

  • Essay What brings Bunin’s prose and lyrics together?
  • Essay My favorite Lego toy

    The first construction set I got was about a policeman who is chasing a criminal in a car. Then they gave me a police boat, and I started collecting a whole set about policemen

  • Analysis of the work White Nights by Dostoevsky

    The story “White Nights” was written by F. M. Dostoevsky in 1848. The work belongs to early creativity writer. It is interesting that Dostoevsky classified “White Nights” as a “sentimental novel” genre.

The Mertsalov family in the story "The Wonderful Doctor" by Kuprin ( a brief description of, description)

The Mertsalov family is a poor family, probably from the bourgeois class. Family members are 6 people:

father Emelyan Mertsalov

mother Elizaveta Ivanovna

eldest son Grisha (10 years old)

youngest son Volodya (age not specified)

daughter Mashutka (7 years old)

infant

Another daughter of the Mertsalovs died 3 months before the events described in the story:

“One girl died three months ago, now another is lying in the heat and unconscious.”

About a year ago, a series of misfortunes began in the Mertsalov family. The father of the family lost his job, after which the already not rich Mertsalovs fell into poverty. For more than a year now, the Mertsalov family has been living in the basement of an old house in terrible conditions. 7-year-old Mashutka is sick and lies in the heat, but the Mertsalovs do not know where to find money for medicine:

“In this terrible, fateful year, misfortune after misfortune persistently and mercilessly rained down on Mertsalov and his family. First, he himself fell ill with typhoid fever, and all their meager savings were spent on his treatment. Then, when he recovered, he learned that his place, modest The position of house manager for twenty-five rubles a month was already occupied by someone else... A desperate, convulsive pursuit began for odd jobs, for correspondence, for an insignificant position, pledging and re-pledge of things, selling all sorts of household rags. And then the children started getting sick."

The father of the family, Emelyan Mertsalov, suffers deeply due to the fact that he cannot provide for his family. It’s hard for him to see his wife and children starving and getting sick due to lack of money:

"... and my dear sir, at the moment my children are dying of hunger at home... Gifts!... And my wife’s milk has disappeared, and my infant hasn’t eaten all day..."

The mother of the family, Elizaveta Ivanovna, does household chores and takes care of four children. Despite her illness (probably a cold), she works part-time as a laundress on the other side of town:

“Elizabeth Ivanovna had to simultaneously care for a sick girl, breastfeed a little one, and go almost to the other end of the city to the house where she washed clothes every day.”

The Mertsalovs' sons, Volodya and Grisha, are well-mannered, polite, non-capricious boys. The brothers, like the whole family, live from hand to mouth, eat empty cabbage soup, wear old clothes, etc.:

"...both of them haven't eaten anything since the morning except empty cabbage soup..."

One day, on the day before Christmas, a real miracle happens in the unfortunate Mertsalov family: the father of the family meets a good doctor who decides to help the poor family. The doctor gives the Mertsalovs a large sum money, writes out a prescription for a sick girl, etc. After this, the life of the unhappy family improves. Apparently, the Mertsalovs all their later life feel gratitude towards the wonderful doctor Pirogov:

“Doctor, wait! ... Tell me your name, doctor! At least let my children pray for you!” (Mertsalov to the doctor)

Many years later, when Grisha Mertsalov grows up and becomes a wealthy banker, he himself helps the poor. As an adult, Grisha still remembers the wonderful doctor:

“Now he occupies a fairly large, responsible position in one of the banks, reputed to be an example of honesty and responsiveness to the needs of poverty. And every time, finishing his story about the wonderful doctor, he adds in a voice trembling from hidden tears...” (about the adult Grisha )


There is such a character in Chernyshevsky’s novel - Alexey Petrovich Mertsalov. This is the priest who married Lopukhov to Vera Pavlovna:

"Who will get married?" - and there was only one answer: “no one will get married!” And suddenly, instead of “no one will get married,” the surname “Mertsalov” appeared in his head.(Chapter 2,XXI).

Mertsalov is a minor character, and probably few readers remember him. Meanwhile, it is of great interest to supporters of Orthodox socialism.

Just as Rakhmetov was brought out by Chernyshevsky not only in order to convey Lopukhov’s letter to Vera Pavlovna, so the meaning of Mertsalov’s image is not limited to cameo role in the development of the plot. In the image of Mertsalov, the author sought to show what was new that was emerging among the Russian clergy, and he largely succeeded in this, despite the difficulties caused by censorship restrictions.

Upon careful analysis of the text, a guess arises that precisely in order not to attract the censor’s attention to this character, Chernyshevsky tried to give him less brightness, less “convexity.” Only once does the author call him a priest, and no longer focuses on this: for example, there is no description appearance Mertsalov (accordingly, the cassock and beard are not mentioned, which would depict in the reader’s mind the appearance of a clergyman), acquaintances address him by his first name and patronymic, and not “Father Alexey” or “father”.
And, unfortunately, due to censorship, Chernyshevsky could not say everything he wanted to say about the socialist priest.

Getting to know Mertsalov, the reader finds him reading a book by the atheist Feuerbach, which the author reports in “Aesopian” language:

“Mertsalov, sitting at home alone, was reading some new work, either by Louis XIV, or someone else from the same dynasty.”(Chapter 2,XXI).

Apparently, this is “The Essence of Christianity” - the same “German book” that was brought to Vera Pavlovna by Lopukhov and mistakenly accepted by Marya Alekseevna and Storeshnikov as the work of Louis XIV:

"Well, what about German?

Mikhail Ivanovich slowly read: “On religion, an essay by Ludwig.” Louis XIV, Marya Aleksevna, composition of Louis XIV; it was Marya Aleksevna, the French king, the father of the king in whose place the current Napoleon sat. "(chapter 2,VII)

It is difficult to say what meaning Chernyshevsky put into the picture he painted: a young priest reading a book by Feuerbach. Did the arguments sway German philosopher the priest's faith? Did he find them unconvincing? We only know that Mertsalov remains a priest, and we have no reason to suspect him of disgusting hypocrisy.

Mertsalov does not break with either religion or the church, unlike Chernyshevsky himself and his friend Dobrolyubov, former seminarians who became ideological leaders of the revolutionary democratic movement. Nevertheless, he is from the cohort of “new people”, along with Lopukhov and Kirsanov.

Mertsalov takes a serious risk by marrying Lopukhov and Vera Pavlovna without the consent of the bride’s parents:

- That’s what it’s all about, Alexey Petrovich! I know that this is a very serious risk for you; it’s good if we make peace with our relatives, but what if they start a business (53)? you may be in trouble, and probably will be; but... Lopukhov could not find any “but” in his head: how, in fact, can we convince a person to put his neck in a noose for us!
Mertsalov thought for a long time, also looked for a “but” to authorize himself to take such a risk, and also could not come up with any “but”.
- How to deal with this? After all, I would like... what you are doing now, I did a year ago, but I became involuntary, just like you will be. And I’m ashamed: I should help you. Yes, when you have a wife, it’s a little scary to walk without looking back (54).
- Hello, Alyosha. My all bow to you, hello, Lopukhov: we haven’t seen each other for a long time. What are you talking about your wife? “It’s all your wives’ fault,” said a lady of about 17, a pretty and lively blonde, who had returned from her family.
Mertsalov recounted the matter to his wife. The young lady's eyes sparkled.
- Alyosha, they won’t eat you!
- There is a risk, Natasha.
“It’s a very big risk,” confirmed Lopukhov.
“Well, what to do, take a risk, Alyosha,” I ask you.
- When you don’t judge me, Natasha, that I forgot about you, running into danger, then the conversation is over. When do you want to get married, Dmitry Sergeevich?

Mertsalov is interested in socialist ideas and sympathizes with their implementation. This is evidenced by the following conversation between Vera Pavlovna, who decided to organize a sewing workshop on a socialist basis, and Lopukhov:

“My friend, you have some fun: why don’t you share it with me?
- It seems there is, my dear, but wait a little longer: I’ll tell you when it’s true. We need to wait a few more days. And this will be my great joy. Yes, and you will be happy, I know; and Kirsanov, and The Mertsalovs will like it.
- But what is it?
- Have you forgotten, my dear, our agreement: not to ask questions? I'll tell you when it's right.
Another week has passed.
- My dear, I will tell you my joy. Just advise me, you know all this. You see, I’ve been wanting to do something for a long time. I came up with the idea that I should start a sewing shop; isn't that good?
- Well, my friend, we had an agreement so that I would not kiss your hands, but that was said in general, but there was no agreement for such a case. Give me your hand, Vera Pavlovna.
- Later, my dear, when I can do it.
- When you manage to do it, then you won’t let me kiss your hand, then both Kirsanov and Alexey Petrovich, and everyone will kiss. And now I'm alone. And the intention is worth it.

Mertsalov agrees to give lectures for women sewing workers, and in addition, with his authority as a clergyman, give the event respectability in the eyes of the authorities:

“- Alexey Petrovich,” said Vera Pavlovna, who once visited the Mertsalovs, “I have a request to you. Natasha is already on my side. My workshop is becoming a lyceum of all kinds of knowledge. Be one of the professors,
- What am I going to teach them? perhaps Latin and Greek, or logic and rhetoric?
- said Alexey Petrovich, laughing.
- After all my specialty is not very interesting, in your opinion and also according to one person about whom I know who he is (71).
- No, you are needed precisely as a specialist: you will serve as a shield of good behavior and the excellent direction of our sciences.
- But it’s true. I see that without me it would be unseemly. Appoint a department.
- For example, Russian history, essays from general history.
- Perfect. But I will read this, and it will be assumed that I am an expert. Great. Two positions: professor and shield. Natalya Andreevna, Lopukhov, two or three students, Vera Pavlovna herself were other professors, as they jokingly called themselves."

Finally, Mertsalov’s wife takes over the management of one of the sewing workshops:

“Mertsalova was very good at the sewing shop that was set up on Vasilievsky, and naturally: after all, she and the workshop were very familiar with each other. Vera Pavlovna, having returned to St. Petersburg, saw that if she needed to visit this sewing shop , then perhaps occasionally, for a short time; that if she continues to be there almost every day, it is, in fact, only because her affection draws her there, and that her affection meets there; perhaps for a few times, her feelings are not completely useless visits, Mertsalova still sometimes finds it necessary to consult with her; but this takes so little time and happens less and less often; and soon Mertsalova will gain so much experience that she will no longer need Vera Pavlovna at all."(chapter 4, IV)

Mertsalov’s relationship with his wife is built on the same principles of mutual respect, friendship and trust as Lopukhov’s (there is no hint of the wife’s patriarchal subordination to her husband):

"... between another conversation they said a few words and about the Mertsalovs, who had visited the day before, they praised their concordant life, they noted that this was a rarity; everyone said this, including Kirsanov said: “yes, it’s very good in Mertsalov and that’s it, that his wife can freely reveal her soul to him,” that’s all Kirsanov said, each of the three of them thought of saying the same thing, but it happened to be said to Kirsanov, however, why did he say this? What does this mean? After all, if you understand this from a certain point of view, what will it be? It will be a praise for Lopukhov, it will be a glorification of the happiness of Vera Pavlovna with Lopukhov; of course, this could be said without thinking about anyone except the Mertsalovs, and if we assume that he was thinking about both the Mertsalovs and together about Lopukhovs, then this means that this was said directly for Vera Pavlovna, for what purpose was this said?(Chapter 3, XXIII)

The Lopukhovs and Mertsalovs are very friendly and spend a lot of time together; the interests of Mertsalov and Lopukhov are also similar: philosophy, politics, science:
“When they arrived home, after a while the guests they were waiting for gathered at their place - ordinary guests of that time: Alexey Petrovich with Natalya Andreevna, Kirsanov - and the evening passed as usual with them. How doubly gratifying it seemed to Vera Pavlovna new life with pure thoughts, in society pure people"! As usual, there was a cheerful conversation with many memories, there was also a serious conversation about everything in the world: from the historical affairs of that time (the civil war in Kansas (63), the harbinger of the current great war North and South (64), the harbinger of even greater events in more than one America, occupied this small circle: now everyone talks about politics, then very few were interested in it; among the few - Lopukhov, Kirsanov, their friends) before the then dispute about the chemical foundations of agriculture according to Liebig’s theory (65), and about the laws of historical progress, without which not a single conversation in such circles could do then (66), and about the great importance distinguishing real desires (67), which seek and find satisfaction for themselves, from fantastic ones, for which there is no, and for which there is no need to find satisfaction, like a false thirst during a fever, which, like it, has only one satisfaction: healing the body, a painful condition which they are generated through the distortion of real desires, and about the importance of this fundamental distinction, then exposed by anthropological philosophy, and about everything like that and not like that, but related. The ladies from time to time listened attentively to these eruditions, which were spoken so simply as if they were not eruditions, and intervened in them with their questions, and more - of course, they did not listen any more, they even sprinkled Lopukhov and Alexei Petrovich with water when they were already very much delighted with the great importance mineral fertilizer; but Alexey Petrovich and Lopukhov spoke unshakably about their learning.(Chapter 3, II)

In “Vera Pavlovna’s second dream,” it is Mertsalov who speaks about the great role of labor in the formation of the human personality (undoubtedly, these are echoes of what she heard from Mertsalov the day before):
“Yes, movement is reality,” says Alexey Petrovich, “because movement is life, and reality and life are one and the same. But life has labor as its main element, and therefore the main element of reality is labor, and the surest sign reality - efficiency"
"...work appears in anthropological analysis as the fundamental form of movement, which gives the basis and content to all other forms: entertainment, relaxation, fun, fun; without previous work they have no reality. And without movement there is no life, that is, reality"

There, in the “second dream” Mertsalov talks about the poor and working life in the parental family:
“My father was a sexton in a provincial town and was engaged in bookbinding, and my mother allowed seminarians into the apartment. From morning to night, my father and mother were always fussing and talking about a piece of bread. My father drank, but only when the need was unbearable - this is a real grief, or when the income was decent; then he gave his mother all the money and said: “Well, mother, now, thank God, you won’t see any need for two months; and I left myself fifty kopecks, I’ll drink it out of joy” - this is real joy. My mother was often angry, sometimes she beat me, but when, as she said, her lower back was weakened from carrying pots and irons, from washing clothes for the five of us and for five seminarians, and washing floors dirty with our twenty feet that did not wear galoshes, and caring for a cow; this is a real irritation of the nerves with excessive work without rest; and when, with all this, “the ends did not meet,” as she said, then There wasn't enough money to buy boots for one of us brothers, or to buy shoes for our sisters - then she would beat us. She would caress us when we, even stupid children, volunteered to help her in her work, or when we did something something else smart, or when she had a rare moment to rest, and her “lower back would go away,” as she said, these are all real joys...”

It is interesting that Mertsalov disappears from the pages of the novel after the return of Lopukhov-Beaumont - in this one can see a hint that the priest did not approve of the way his life was organized family life the young people he once married.

So, the great Russian revolutionary democrat Chernyshevsky testifies in defense of the Russian clergy of the 19th century: they were among Orthodox priests and those who realized the incompatibility Christian teaching and exploitation of man by man.

The family is beset with illnesses and misfortunes one after another. The father of the family is already thinking about suicide, but he meets a doctor who helps him cope with his difficulties and becomes their guardian angel.

Kyiv. The Mertsalov family has been huddled in the damp basement of an old house for more than a year. Most youngest child hungry and screaming in his cradle. An older girl has a high fever, but there is no money for medicine. On New Year's Eve, Mertsalova sends her two eldest sons to the man for whom her husband worked as a manager. The woman hopes that he will help them, but the children are kicked out without giving a penny.

Mertsalov fell ill with typhus. While he was recovering, another man took his place as manager. All the family’s savings were spent on medicine, and the Mertsalovs had to move to a damp basement. The children started getting sick. One girl died three months ago, and now Mashutka is sick. In search of money for medicine, Mertsalov ran around the whole city, humiliated himself, begged, but did not get a penny.

Having learned that nothing worked out for the children either, Mertsalov leaves.

Mertsalov wanders aimlessly around the city and turns into a public garden. There is deep silence here. Mertsalov wants peace, the thought of suicide comes to mind. He almost makes up his mind, but then a short old man in a fur coat sits down next to him. He talks to Mertsalov about New Year's gifts, and he is overcome by a “tide of desperate anger.” The old man, however, is not offended, but asks Mertsalov to tell everything in order.

About ten minutes later, the old man, who turned out to be a doctor, already enters the Mertsalovs’ basement. Money immediately appears for firewood and food. The old man writes out a free prescription and leaves, leaving a few on the table large bills. The name of the wonderful doctor - Professor Pirogov - Mertsalov is found on a label attached to the bottle of medicine.

Since then, “like a beneficent angel descended” into the Mertsalov family. The head of the family finds a job, and the children recover. Fate brings them together with Pirogov only once - at his funeral.

The narrator learns this story from one of the Mertsalov brothers, who became a major employee of the bank.

The following story is not the fruit of idle fiction. Everything I described actually happened in Kyiv about thirty years ago and is still sacred, down to the smallest detail, preserved in the traditions of the family in question. For my part, I just changed the names of some characters I gave this touching story oral history written form. - Grisha, oh Grisha! Look at the pig... Laughing... Yes. And in his mouth!.. Look, look... there is grass in his mouth, by God, grass!.. What a thing! And two boys, standing in front of a huge solid glass window of a grocery store, began to laugh uncontrollably, pushing each other in the side with their elbows, but involuntarily dancing from the cruel cold. They had been standing for more than five minutes in front of this magnificent exhibition, which excited their minds and stomachs in equal measure. Here, illuminated by the bright light of hanging lamps, towered whole mountains of red, strong apples and oranges; there were regular pyramids of tangerines, delicately gilded through the tissue paper enveloping them; stretched out on the dishes, with ugly gaping mouths and bulging eyes, huge smoked and pickled fish; below, surrounded by garlands of sausages, juicy cut hams with a thick layer of pinkish lard adorned... Countless jars and boxes with salted, boiled and smoked snacks completed this spectacular picture, looking at which both boys for a moment forgot about the twelve-degree frost and about the important assignment , entrusted to them by their mother - an assignment that ended so unexpectedly and so pitifully. The eldest boy was the first to tear himself away from contemplating the enchanting spectacle. He tugged at his brother's sleeve and said sternly: - Well, Volodya, let's go, let's go... There's nothing here... At the same time suppressing a heavy sigh (the eldest of them was only ten years old, and besides, both of them had eaten nothing since the morning except empty cabbage soup) and casting one last lovingly greedy glance at the gastronomic exhibition, the boys hurriedly ran down the street. Sometimes, through the foggy windows of some house, they saw a Christmas tree, which from a distance seemed like a huge cluster of bright, shining spots, sometimes they even heard the sounds of a cheerful polka... But they courageously drove away the tempting thought: to stop for a few seconds and lean their eyes to glass As the boys walked, the streets became less crowded and darker. Beautiful shops, shining Christmas trees, trotters racing under their blue and red nets, the squealing of runners, the festive excitement of the crowd, the cheerful hum of shouts and conversations, the laughing faces of elegant ladies flushed with frost - everything was left behind. There were vacant lots, crooked, narrow alleys, gloomy, unlit slopes... Finally they reached a rickety, dilapidated house that stood alone; its bottom - the basement itself - was stone, and the top was wooden. Having walked around the cramped, icy and dirty courtyard, which served as a natural cesspool for all residents, they went downstairs to the basement, walked in the darkness along a common corridor, groped for their door and opened it. The Mertsalovs had been living in this dungeon for more than a year. Both boys had long since gotten used to these smoky walls, crying from the dampness, and to the wet scraps drying on a rope stretched across the room, and to this terrible smell of kerosene fumes, children's dirty linen and rats - the real smell of poverty. But today, after everything they saw on the street, after this festive rejoicing that they felt everywhere, their little children’s hearts sank with acute, unchildish suffering. In the corner, on a dirty wide bed, lay a girl of about seven years old; her face was burning, her breathing was short and labored, her wide, shining eyes looked intently and aimlessly. Next to the bed, in a cradle suspended from the ceiling, a baby was screaming, wincing, straining and choking. A tall, thin woman, with a gaunt, tired face, as if blackened by grief, was kneeling next to the sick girl, straightening her pillow and at the same time not forgetting to push the rocking cradle with her elbow. When the boys entered and white clouds of frosty air quickly rushed into the basement after them, the woman turned her alarmed face back. - Well? What? - she asked abruptly and impatiently. The boys were silent. Only Grisha noisily wiped his nose with the sleeve of his coat, made from an old cotton robe. - Did you take the letter?.. Grisha, I’m asking you, did you give the letter? “I gave it away,” Grisha answered in a voice hoarse from the frost. - So what? What did you say to him? - Yes, everything is as you taught. Here, I say, is a letter from Mertsalov, from your former manager. And he scolded us: “Get out of here, he says... You bastards...” - Who is this? Who was talking to you?.. Speak clearly, Grisha! - The doorman was talking... Who else? I tell him: “Uncle, take the letter, pass it on, and I’ll wait for the answer here downstairs.” And he says: “Well, he says, keep your pocket... The master also has time to read your letters...”- Well, what about you? “I told him everything, as you taught me: “There’s nothing to eat... Mother is sick... She’s dying...” I said: “As soon as dad finds a place, he’ll thank you, Savely Petrovich, by God, he’ll thank you.” " Well, at this time the bell will ring as soon as it rings, and he tells us: “Get the hell out of here quickly! So that your spirit is not here!..” And he even hit Volodka on the back of the head. “And he hit me on the back of the head,” said Volodya, who was following his brother’s story with attention, and scratched the back of his head. The older boy suddenly began to anxiously rummage through the deep pockets of his robe. Finally pulling out the crumpled envelope from there, he put it on the table and said: - Here it is, the letter... The mother didn't ask any more questions. For a long time in the stuffy, dank room, only the frantic cry of the baby and Mashutka’s short, rapid breathing, more like continuous monotonous moans, could be heard. Suddenly the mother said, turning back: — There’s borscht there, left over from lunch... Maybe we could eat it? Only cold, there’s nothing to warm it up with... At this time, someone’s hesitant steps and the rustling of a hand were heard in the corridor, searching for the door in the darkness. The mother and both boys - all three even turning pale from intense anticipation - turned in this direction. Mertsalov entered. He was wearing a summer coat, a summer felt hat and no galoshes. His hands were swollen and blue from the frost, his eyes were sunken, his cheeks were stuck around his gums, like a dead man's. He didn’t say a single word to his wife, she didn’t ask him a single question. They understood each other by the despair they read in each other's eyes. In this terrible fateful year, misfortune after misfortune persistently and mercilessly rained down on Mertsalov and his family. First, he himself fell ill with typhoid fever, and all their meager savings were spent on his treatment. Then, when he recovered, he learned that his place, the modest place of managing a house for twenty-five rubles a month, was already taken by someone else.... A desperate, convulsive pursuit began for odd jobs, for correspondence, for an insignificant position, collateral and remortgage. things, sale of all household rags. And then the children started getting sick. Three months ago one girl died, now another lies in the heat and unconscious. Elizaveta Ivanovna had to simultaneously care for a sick girl, breastfeed a little one and go almost to the other end of the city to the house where she washed clothes every day. All day today I was busy trying to squeeze out from somewhere at least a few kopecks for Mashutka’s medicine through superhuman efforts. For this purpose, Mertsalov ran around almost half the city, begging and humiliating himself everywhere; Elizaveta Ivanovna went to see her mistress, the children were sent with a letter to the master whose house Mertsalov used to manage... But everyone made excuses either with holiday worries or lack of money... Others, like, for example, the doorman of the former patron, simply they drove the petitioners off the porch. For ten minutes no one could utter a word. Suddenly Mertsalov quickly rose from the chest on which he had been sitting until now, and with a decisive movement pulled his tattered hat deeper onto his forehead. - Where are you going? - Elizaveta Ivanovna asked anxiously. Mertsalov, who had already grabbed the door handle, turned around. “Anyway, sitting won’t help anything,” he answered hoarsely. - I’ll go again... At least I’ll try to beg. Going out into the street, he walked forward aimlessly. He didn't look for anything, didn't hope for anything. He had long ago experienced that burning time of poverty when you dream of finding a wallet with money on the street or suddenly receiving an inheritance from an unknown second cousin. Now he was overcome by an uncontrollable desire to run anywhere, to run without looking back, so as not to see the silent despair of a hungry family. Beg for alms? He has already tried this remedy twice today. But the first time, some gentleman in a raccoon coat read him an instruction that he should work and not beg, and the second time, they promised to send him to the police. Unnoticed by himself, Mertsalov found himself in the center of the city, near the fence of a dense public garden. Since he had to walk uphill all the time, he became out of breath and felt tired. Mechanically he turned through the gate and, passing a long alley of linden trees covered with snow, descended onto a low garden bench. It was quiet and solemn here. The trees, wrapped in their white robes, slumbered in motionless majesty. Sometimes a piece of snow fell from the top branch, and you could hear it rustling, falling and clinging to other branches. The deep silence and great calm that guarded the garden suddenly awakened in Mertsalov’s tormented soul an unbearable thirst for the same calm, the same silence. “I wish I could lie down and go to sleep,” he thought, “and forget about my wife, about the hungry children, about the sick Mashutka.” Putting his hand under his vest, Mertsalov felt for a rather thick rope that served as his belt. The thought of suicide became quite clear in his head. But he was not horrified by this thought, did not shudder for a moment before the darkness of the unknown. “Rather than perish slowly, isn’t it better to choose more shortcut? He was about to get up to fulfill his terrible intention, but at that time, at the end of the alley, the creaking of steps was heard, clearly heard in the frosty air. Mertsalov turned in this direction with anger. Someone was walking along the alley. At first, the light of a cigar that flared up and then went out was visible. Then Mertsalov little by little could see a small old man, wearing a warm hat, a fur coat and high galoshes. Having reached the bench, the stranger suddenly turned sharply in the direction of Mertsalov and, lightly touching his hat, asked: —Will you allow me to sit here? Mertsalov deliberately turned sharply away from the stranger and moved to the edge of the bench. Five minutes passed in mutual silence, during which the stranger smoked a cigar and (Mertsalov felt it) looked sideways at his neighbor. “What a nice night,” the stranger suddenly spoke. - Frosty... quiet. What a delight - Russian winter! His voice was soft, gentle, senile. Mertsalov was silent, without turning around. “But I bought gifts for the children of my acquaintances,” continued the stranger (he had several packages in his hands). “But on the way I couldn’t resist, I made a circle to go through the garden: it’s really nice here.” Mertsalov was generally a meek and shy person, but last words the stranger was suddenly overcome by a surge of desperate anger. He turned with a sharp movement towards the old man and shouted, absurdly waving his arms and gasping: - Gifts!.. Gifts!.. Gifts for the kids I know!.. And I... and I, dear sir, at the moment my children are dying of hunger at home... Gifts!.. And my wife’s milk has disappeared, and the baby hasn't eaten all day... Gifts!.. Mertsalov expected that after these chaotic, angry screams the old man would get up and leave, but he was mistaken. The old man brought his intelligent, serious face with gray sideburns closer to him and said in a friendly but serious tone: - Wait... don't worry! Tell me everything in order and as briefly as possible. Maybe together we can come up with something for you. There was something so calm and trust-inspiring in the stranger’s extraordinary face that Mertsalov immediately, without the slightest concealment, but terribly worried and in a hurry, conveyed his story. He spoke about his illness, about the loss of his place, about the death of his child, about all his misfortunes, right up to the present day. The stranger listened without interrupting him with a word, and only looked more and more inquisitively into his eyes, as if wanting to penetrate into the very depths of this painful, indignant soul. Suddenly he is very fast youth movement jumped up from his seat and grabbed Mertsalov by the hand. Mertsalov involuntarily also stood up. - Let's go! - said the stranger, dragging Mertsalov by the hand. - Let's go quickly!.. You are lucky that you met with a doctor. Of course, I can’t vouch for anything, but... let’s go! Ten minutes later Mertsalov and the doctor were already entering the basement. Elizaveta Ivanovna lay on the bed next to her sick daughter, burying her face in dirty, oily pillows. The boys were slurping borscht, sitting in the same places. Frightened by the long absence of their father and the immobility of their mother, they cried, smearing tears over their faces with dirty fists and pouring them abundantly into the smoky cast iron. Entering the room, the doctor took off his coat and, remaining in an old-fashioned, rather shabby frock coat, approached Elizaveta Ivanovna. She didn't even raise her head when he approached. “Well, that’s enough, that’s enough, my dear,” said the doctor, affectionately stroking the woman on the back. - Get up! Show me your patient. And just like recently in the garden, something affectionate and convincing sounding in his voice forced Elizaveta Ivanovna to instantly get out of bed and unquestioningly do everything the doctor said. Two minutes later, Grishka was already heating the stove with firewood, for which the wonderful doctor had sent to the neighbors, Volodya was inflating the samovar with all his might, Elizaveta Ivanovna was wrapping Mashutka in a warming compress... A little later Mertsalov also appeared. With three rubles received from the doctor, during this time he managed to buy tea, sugar, rolls and get hot food at the nearest tavern. The doctor was sitting at the table and writing something on a piece of paper that he had torn from notebook. Having finished this lesson and depicting some kind of hook below instead of a signature, he stood up, covered what he had written with a tea saucer and said: - With this piece of paper you will go to the pharmacy... give me a teaspoon in two hours. This will cause the baby to cough up... Continue the warming compress... Besides, even if your daughter feels better, in any case, invite Dr. Afrosimov tomorrow. This is a good doctor and good man. I'll warn him right now. Then farewell, gentlemen! May God grant that the coming year treats you a little more leniently than this one, and most importantly, never lose heart. Having shaken the hands of Mertsalov and Elizaveta Ivanovna, who was still reeling from amazement, and casually patting Volodya, who was open-mouthed, on the cheek, the doctor quickly put his feet into deep galoshes and put on his coat. Mertsalov came to his senses only when the doctor was already in the corridor, and rushed after him. Since it was impossible to make out anything in the darkness, Mertsalov shouted at random: - Doctor! Doctor, wait!.. Tell me your name, doctor! Let at least my children pray for you! And he moved his hands in the air to catch the invisible doctor. But at this time, at the other end of the corridor, a calm, senile voice said: - Eh! Here are some more nonsense!.. Come home quickly! When he returned, a surprise awaited him: under the tea saucer, along with the wonderful doctor’s prescription, lay several large credit notes... That same evening Mertsalov learned the name of his unexpected benefactor. On the pharmacy label attached to the bottle of medicine, in the clear hand of the pharmacist it was written: “According to the prescription of Professor Pirogov.” I heard this story, more than once, from the lips of Grigory Emelyanovich Mertsalov himself - the same Grishka who, on the Christmas Eve I described, shed tears into a smoky cast iron pot with empty borscht. Now he occupies a fairly large, responsible position in one of the banks, reputed to be a model of honesty and responsiveness to the needs of poverty. And every time, finishing his story about the wonderful doctor, he adds in a voice trembling from hidden tears: “From now on, it’s like a beneficent angel descended into our family.” Everything has changed. At the beginning of January, my father found a place, my mother got back on her feet, and my brother and I managed to get admitted to the gymnasium at public expense. This holy man performed a miracle. And we have only seen our wonderful doctor once since then - this was when he was transported dead to his own estate Vishnya. And even then they didn’t see him, because that great, powerful and sacred thing that lived and burned in the wonderful doctor during his lifetime died out irrevocably.
 


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