Gooseberry read online in full. Gooseberry. Anton Chekhov. Chekhov. "Gooseberry". Read by D. Zhuravlev

In this article we will introduce you to the work “Gooseberries” by Chekhov. Anton Pavlovich, as you probably already know, is a Russian writer and playwright. The years of his life are 1860-1904. We will describe the brief content of this story and analyze it. Chekhov wrote “Gooseberries” in 1898, that is, already in the late period of his work.

Burkin and Ivan Ivanovich Chimsha-Himalayan are walking across the field. The village of Mironositskoye is visible in the distance. Suddenly it starts to rain, and so they decide to go to Pavel Konstantinich Alekhine, a landowner friend whose estate is located in the village of Sofiino, nearby. Alekhine is described as a tall man, about 40 years old, plump, looking more like an artist or professor than a landowner, with long hair. He meets travelers at the barn. This man's face is black with dust, his clothes are dirty. He welcomes unexpected guests and invites them to go to the bathhouse. Having changed clothes and washed, Burkin, Ivan Ivanovich Chimsha-Gimalaysky and Alekhine go to the house, where Ivan Ivanovich tells the story of Nikolai Ivanovich, his brother, over tea with jam.

Ivan Ivanovich begins his story

The brothers spent their childhood on their father's estate, in freedom. Their parent himself was a cantonist, but left hereditary nobility to his children, having served the rank of officer. After his death, the estate was seized from the family for debts. From the age of nineteen, Nikolai sat behind papers in the government chamber, but he was terribly homesick there and dreamed of buying a small estate. Ivan Ivanovich never sympathized with his relative’s desire to lock himself in the estate for life. And Nikolai could not think about anything else, all the time imagining a large estate where gooseberries would certainly grow.

Nikolai Ivanovich makes his dream come true

Ivan Ivanovich's brother saved money, was malnourished, and in the end did not marry a rich, ugly widow for love. He kept his wife from hand to mouth, and put her money in the bank in his name. The wife could not bear this life and died soon, and Nikolai, without repenting at all, acquired the desired estate, planted 20 gooseberry bushes and lived for his own pleasure as a landowner.

Ivan Ivanovich visits his brother

We continue to describe the story that Chekhov created - “Gooseberry”. A summary of further events is as follows. When Ivan Ivanovich came to visit Nikolai, he was amazed at how much his brother had fallen, flabby, and aged. The master turned into a real tyrant, ate a lot, constantly sued factories and spoke in the tone of a minister. Nikolai treated Ivan Ivanovich to gooseberries, and it was clear from him that he was as pleased with his fate as he was with himself.

Ivan Ivanovich reflects on happiness and the meaning of life

The following further events are conveyed to us by the story “Gooseberry” (Chekhov). Nikolai's brother, at the sight of his relative, was overcome by a feeling close to despair. After spending the night in the estate, he thought about how many people in the world suffer, drink, and how many children die from malnutrition. Meanwhile, others live happily, sleep at night, eat during the day, talk nonsense. It occurred to Ivan Ivanovich that there must certainly be someone behind the door “with a hammer” knocking to remind him that there are unfortunate people on earth, that someday trouble will happen to him, and no one will hear or see him, just as he is now does not hear or notice others.

Finishing the story, Ivan Ivanovich says that there is no happiness, and if there is meaning in life, then it is not in it, but in doing good on earth.

How did Alekhine and Burkin perceive the story?

Neither Alekhine nor Burkin are satisfied with this story. Alekhine does not delve into whether Ivan Ivanovich’s words are true, since it was not about hay, not about cereals, but about something that is not directly related to his life. However, he is very happy to have guests and wants them to continue the conversation. But the time is already late, the guests and the owner go to bed.

"Gooseberry" in the works of Chekhov

To a large extent, Anton Pavlovich’s work is dedicated to “little people” and case life. The story that Chekhov created, “Gooseberry,” does not tell about love. In it, as in many other works of this author, people and society are exposed as philistinism, soullessness and vulgarity.

In 1898, Chekhov's story "Gooseberry" was published. It should be noted that the time when the work was created was the period of the reign of Nicholas II, who continued the policies of his father, not wanting to implement the liberal reforms necessary at that time.

Characteristics of Nikolai Ivanovich

Chekhov describes to us the Chimsha-Himalayan - an official who serves in one chamber and dreams of having his own estate. this person - to become a landowner.

Chekhov emphasizes how behind his time this character is, because in the time described, people no longer chased a meaningless title, many nobles dreamed of becoming capitalists, this was considered fashionable and advanced.

Anton Pavlovich's hero marries advantageously, after which he takes the money he needs from his wife and finally acquires the desired estate. The hero fulfills another dream of his by planting gooseberries on the estate. Meanwhile, his wife is dying of hunger...

Chekhov's "Gooseberry" is built using a "story within a story" - a special one. We learn the history of the landowner described from the lips of his brother. However, the eyes of Ivan Ivanovich are the eyes of the author himself; in this way he shows the reader his attitude towards people like the Chimsha-Himalayan.

Relation to Ivan Ivanovich's brother

The brother of the main character of the story "Gooseberry" by Chekhov is amazed at the spiritual poverty of Nikolai Ivanovich, he is horrified by the idleness and satiety of his relative, and the dream as such and its fulfillment seem to this man the pinnacle of laziness and selfishness.

During the time spent in the estate, Nikolai Ivanovich grows dull and old; he is proud of his belonging to the nobility, not realizing that this class is already dying out, and is being replaced by a more just and free form of life, social foundations are gradually changing.

However, what most strikes the narrator is the moment when Nikolai Ivanovich is served the first gooseberry harvest. Immediately he forgets about the fashionable things of the time and the importance of the nobility. This landowner, in the sweetness of the gooseberries, acquires the illusion of happiness, he finds a reason to admire and rejoice, and this circumstance amazes Ivan Ivanovich, who reflects on the fact that people prefer to deceive themselves in order to believe in their well-being. At the same time, he criticizes himself, finding such shortcomings as a desire to teach and complacency.

Ivan Ivanovich is thinking about the moral crisis of the individual and society, and is concerned about the moral state of his contemporary society.

Chekhov's thought

Ivan Ivanovich talks about how he is tormented by the trap that people create for themselves, and asks him to do only good in the future and try to eradicate evil. But in fact, Chekhov himself speaks through his character. A person (“Gooseberry” is addressed to each of us!) must understand that the goal in life is good deeds, and not a feeling of happiness. According to the author, everyone who has achieved success should have a “man with a hammer” at their door, reminding them of the need to do good - to help orphans, widows, and the disadvantaged. After all, one day trouble can happen even to the wealthiest person.

From early morning the entire sky was covered with rain clouds; it was quiet, not hot and boring, as happens on gray cloudy days, when clouds have long hung over the field, you wait for rain, but it doesn’t come. The veterinarian Ivan Ivanovich and the gymnasium teacher Burkin were already tired of walking, and the field seemed endless to them. Far ahead, the windmills of the village of Mironositsky were barely visible, on the right a row of hills stretched and then disappeared far behind the village, and both of them knew that this was the bank of the river, there were meadows, green willows, estates, and if you stood on one of the hills, you could see from there the same huge field, a telegraph and a train, which from a distance looks like a crawling caterpillar, and in clear weather you can even see the city from there. Now, in calm weather, when all nature seemed meek and thoughtful, Ivan Ivanovich and Burkin were imbued with love for this field, and both thought about how great and how beautiful this country is.

“Last time, when we were in the barn of the elder Prokofy,” said Burkin, “you were going to tell some story.

Yes, I wanted to tell you about my brother then.

Ivan Ivanovich took a long breath and lit a pipe to start telling the story, but just at that time it started to rain. And about five minutes later it was pouring heavily, constantly, and it was difficult to predict when it would end. Ivan Ivanovich and Burkin stopped in thought; the dogs, already wet, stood with their tails between their legs and looked at them with emotion.

We need to take refuge somewhere,” Burkin said.

Let's go to Alekhine. It's close here.

Let's go.

They turned to the side and walked along the mown field, now straight, now turning to the right, until they came out onto the road. Soon the poplars, the garden, then the red roofs of the barns appeared; the river began to sparkle, and a view opened onto a wide stretch with a mill and a white bathhouse. This was Sofiino, where Alekhine lived.

The mill worked, drowning out the noise of the rain; the dam trembled. Here wet horses stood near the carts with their heads hanging, and people walked around covered with sacks. It was damp, dirty, uncomfortable, and the view of the reach was cold and angry. Ivan Ivanovich and Burkin were already experiencing a feeling of wetness, uncleanliness, discomfort all over their bodies, their legs were heavy with mud, and when, having passed the dam, they went up to the master’s barns, they were silent, as if they were angry with each other.

A winnowing machine was making noise in one of the barns; the door was open and dust was pouring out of it. On the threshold stood Alekhine himself, a man of about forty, tall, plump, with long hair, looking more like a professor or an artist than a landowner. He was wearing a white shirt that had not been washed for a long time with a rope belt, long johns instead of trousers, and dirt and straw were also stuck to his boots. The nose and eyes were black with dust. He recognized Ivan Ivanovich and Burkin and, apparently, was very happy.

“Please, gentlemen, into the house,” he said, smiling. - I’m here right now, this minute.

The house was large, two-story. Alekhine lived downstairs, in two rooms with vaults and small windows, where clerks once lived; the furnishings here were simple, and there was a smell of rye bread, cheap vodka and harness. Upstairs, in the state rooms, he was rarely, only when guests arrived. Ivan Ivanovich and Burkin were met in the house by the maid, a young woman, so beautiful that they both stopped at once and looked at each other.

“You can’t imagine how glad I am to see you, gentlemen,” said Alekhine, following them into the hallway. - I didn’t expect it! Pelageya,” he turned to the maid, “let the guests change into something.” By the way, I’ll change my clothes too. I just need to go wash myself first, otherwise it seems like I haven’t washed myself since spring. Would you like to go to the bathhouse, gentlemen, while they get ready?

The beautiful Pelageya, so delicate and seemingly so soft, brought sheets and soap, and Alekhine and the guests went to the bathhouse.

“Yes, I haven’t washed for a long time,” he said, undressing. - As you can see, my bathhouse is good, my father was still building it, but somehow I still don’t have time to wash myself.

He sat down on the step and soaped his long hair and neck, and the water around him turned brown.

Yes, I confess...” said Ivan Ivanovich, looking significantly at his head.

I haven’t washed for a long time... - Alekhine repeated embarrassedly and lathered himself again, and the water near him became dark blue, like ink.

Ivan Ivanovich went outside, threw himself into the water noisily and swam in the rain, waving his arms widely, and waves came from him, and white lilies swayed on the waves; he swam to the very middle of the reach and dived, and a minute later he appeared in another place and swam further, and kept diving, trying to reach the bottom. “Oh, my God...” he repeated, enjoying himself. “Oh, my God...” He swam to the mill, talked about something with the men there and turned back, and lay down in the middle of the stretch, exposing his face to the rain. Burkin and Alekhine got dressed and got ready to leave, but he kept swimming and diving.

Oh, my God... - he said. - Oh, Lord have mercy.

It will be for you! - Burkin shouted to him.

We returned to the house. And only when the lamp was lit in the large living room upstairs, and Burkin and Ivan Ivanovich, dressed in silk dressing gowns and warm shoes, were sitting in armchairs, and Alekhine himself, washed, combed, in a new frock coat, walked around the living room, apparently enjoying the warmth , cleanliness, dry dress, light shoes, and when the beautiful Pelageya, silently walking on the carpet and smiling softly, served tea with jam on a tray, only then Ivan Ivanovich began to tell the story, and it seemed that not only Burkin and Alekhine were listening to him, but also old and young ladies and military men, calmly and sternly looking out from golden frames.

“We are two brothers,” he began, “I, Ivan Ivanovich, and the other, Nikolai Ivanovich, two years younger. I went into science, became a veterinarian, and Nikolai was already in the government ward at the age of nineteen. Our father Chimsha-Himalayan was from the cantonists, but, having served the rank of officer, he left us hereditary nobility and a small name. After his death, our little name was taken away from us for debts, but, be that as it may, we spent our childhood in the village free. We, just like peasant children, spent days and nights in the field, in the forest, guarding horses, stripping bast, catching fish and so on... Do you know who has caught a ruffe at least once in their life or seen migratory thrushes in the fall, as they on clear, cool days they fly in flocks over the village, he is no longer a city dweller, and until his death he will be drawn to freedom. My brother was sad in the government chamber. Years passed, and he still sat in one place, wrote the same papers and thought about the same things, like going to the village. And this melancholy little by little turned into a definite desire, a dream to buy himself a small estate somewhere on the banks of a river or lake.

He was a kind, meek man, I loved him, but I never sympathized with this desire to lock myself up in my own estate for the rest of my life. It is commonly said that a person only needs three arshins of land. But three arshins are needed by a corpse, not a person. And they also say now that if our intelligentsia is drawn to the land and strives for estates, then this is good. But these estates are the same three arshins of land. Leaving the city, from the struggle, from the noise of everyday life, leaving and hiding in your estate is not life, it is selfishness, laziness, it is a kind of monasticism, but monasticism without feat. A person needs not three arshins of land, not an estate, but the entire globe, all of nature, where in the open space he could demonstrate all the properties and characteristics of his free spirit.

My brother Nikolai, sitting in his office, dreamed of how he would eat his own cabbage soup, from which such a delicious smell spread throughout the yard, eat on the green grass, sleep in the sun, sit for hours on end on a bench outside the gate and look at the field and forest. Agricultural books and all sorts of advice in calendars constituted his joy, his favorite spiritual food; He also loved to read newspapers, but in them he only read advertisements that so many acres of arable land and meadows with an estate, a garden, a mill, and flowing ponds were for sale. And in his head he pictured paths in the garden, flowers, fruits, birdhouses, crucian carp in ponds and, you know, all this stuff. These imaginary pictures were different, depending on the advertisements that he came across, but for some reason there was certainly a gooseberry in each of them. He could not imagine a single estate, not a single poetic corner without gooseberries there.

Village life has its own conveniences, he used to say. - You sit on the balcony, drink tea, and your ducks are swimming on the pond, it smells so good, and... and gooseberries are growing.

He drew a plan of his estate, and every time his plan showed the same thing: a) a manor’s house, b) a servant’s room, c) a vegetable garden, d) gooseberries. He lived frugally: he didn’t eat enough, didn’t drink enough, dressed God knows how, like a beggar, and saved everything and put it in the bank. He was terribly greedy. It hurt me to look at him, and I gave him something and sent it on holidays, but he hid it too. Once a person has an idea, then nothing can be done.

Years passed, he was transferred to another province, he was already forty years old, and he kept reading advertisements in newspapers and saving. Then, I hear, he got married. All for the same purpose, in order to buy himself an estate with gooseberries, he married an old, ugly widow, without any feeling, but only because she had money. He also lived sparingly with her, kept her from hand to mouth, and put her money in the bank in his name. She used to work for the postmaster and got used to his pies and liqueurs, but at her second husband she didn’t even see enough black bread; She began to wither away from such a life, but after three years she took it and gave her soul to God. And, of course, my brother did not think for a single minute that he was to blame for her death. Money, like vodka, makes a person an eccentric. A merchant was dying in our city. Before his death, he ordered a plate of honey to be served to himself and ate all his money and winning tickets along with the honey so that no one would get it. Once at the station I was inspecting the herds, and at that time one dealer was hit by a locomotive and his leg was cut off. We take him to the emergency room, blood is pouring out - a terrible thing, and he keeps asking for his leg to be found, and he keeps worrying: there are twenty rubles in the boot on the severed leg, as if they were not lost.

“You’re from a different story,” said Burkin.

After the death of his wife,” Ivan Ivanovich continued, after thinking for half a minute, “my brother began to look for an estate for himself. Of course, even if you look for five years, you will still end up making a mistake and buying something completely different from what you dreamed of. Brother Nikolai, through a commission agent, with the transfer of debt, bought one hundred and twelve dessiatines with a manor house, with a people's house, with a park, but no orchard, no gooseberries, no ponds with ducks; there was a river, but the water in it was the color of coffee, because there was a brick factory on one side of the estate, and a bone factory on the other. But my Nikolai Ivanovich was little sad; he ordered twenty gooseberry bushes for himself, planted them and began to live as a landowner.

Last year I went to visit him. I’ll go, I think, and see how and what’s there. In his letters, his brother called his estate this way: Chumbaroklova wasteland, Himalayan also. I arrived at the Himalayan identity in the afternoon. It was hot. Near the ditches, fences, hedges, Christmas trees planted in rows - and you don’t know how to get into the yard, where to put the horse. I’m walking towards the house, and a red dog meets me, fat, like a pig. I want to bark at her, but I’m too lazy. The cook, bare-legged, fat, also looking like a pig, came out of the kitchen and said that the master was resting after dinner. I go in to my brother, he is sitting in bed, his knees are covered with a blanket; aged, plump, flabby; cheeks, nose and lips stretch forward - just look, he grunts into the blanket.

We hugged and cried with joy and with the sad thought that we had once been young, but now we were both gray and it was time to die. He got dressed and took me to show his estate.

Well, how are you doing here? - I asked.

Yes, nothing, thank God, I live well.

This was no longer the former timid poor official, but a real landowner, a gentleman. He has already settled down here, got used to it and got a taste for it; he ate a lot, washed himself in the bathhouse, gained weight, was already suing society and both factories, and was very offended when the men did not call him “your honor.” And he took care of his soul solidly, like a lord, and did good deeds not simply, but with importance. And what good deeds? He treated the peasants for all diseases with soda and castor oil, and on his name day he served a thanksgiving prayer service among the village, and then put half a bucket, I thought it was necessary. Oh, these terrible half-buckets! Today the fat landowner drags the peasants to the zemstvo chief for weed, and tomorrow, on a solemn day, he gives them half a bucket, and they drink and shout “Hurray”, and the drunks bow at his feet. A change in life for the better, satiety, and idleness develop in a Russian person conceit, the most arrogant. Nikolai Ivanovich, who once in the government chamber was afraid even for himself to have his own views, now spoke only truths, and in such a tone, like a minister: “Education is necessary, but for the people it is premature,” “corporal punishment is generally harmful, but in some cases they are useful and irreplaceable.”

“I know the people and know how to deal with them,” he said. - People love me. All I have to do is lift a finger, and people will do whatever I want for me.

And all this, mind you, was said with a smart, kind smile. He repeated twenty times: “we are nobles,” “I am like a nobleman”; Obviously, he no longer remembered that our grandfather was a man, and our father was a soldier. Even our surname Chimsha-Himalayan, essentially incongruous, now seemed sonorous, noble and very pleasant to him.

But it’s not about him, it’s about me. I want to tell you what a change occurred in me in these few hours while I was at his estate. In the evening, when we were drinking tea, the cook brought a full plate of gooseberries to the table. These were not purchased, but my own gooseberries, collected for the first time since the bushes were planted. Nikolai Ivanovich laughed and looked at the gooseberries for a minute silently, with tears - he could not speak from excitement, then he put one berry in his mouth, looked at me with the triumph of a child who had finally received his favorite toy, and said:

So tasty!

And he ate greedily and kept repeating:

Oh, how delicious! You try!

It was tough and sour, but, as Pushkin said, “the darkness of truths is dearer to us than deception that elevates us.” I saw a happy person, whose cherished dream had come true so obviously, who had achieved his goal in life, got what he wanted, who was satisfied with his fate, with himself. For some reason, something sad was always mixed with my thoughts about human happiness, but now, at the sight of a happy person, I was overcome by a heavy feeling close to despair. It was especially difficult at night. They made a bed for me in a room next to my brother’s bedroom, and I could hear how he did not sleep and how he got up and went to the plate with gooseberries and took a berry. I thought: how, in essence, there are a lot of satisfied, happy people! What an overwhelming force this is! Just look at this life: the impudence and idleness of the strong, the ignorance and bestiality of the weak, impossible poverty all around, overcrowding, degeneration, drunkenness, hypocrisy, lies... Meanwhile, in all the houses and on the streets there is silence and calm; Of the fifty thousand living in the city, not a single one cried out or was loudly indignant. We see those who go to the market for provisions, eat during the day, sleep at night, who talk their nonsense, get married, grow old, complacently drag their dead to the cemetery; but we do not see or hear those who suffer, and what is scary in life happens somewhere behind the scenes. Everything is quiet, calm, and only silent statistics protest: so many people have gone crazy, so many buckets have been drunk, so many children have died from malnutrition... And such order is obviously needed; Obviously, the happy person feels good only because the unfortunate bear their burden in silence, and without this silence happiness would be impossible. This is general hypnosis. It is necessary that behind the door of every contented, happy person there should be someone with a hammer and constantly remind him by knocking that there are unhappy people, that, no matter how happy he is, sooner or later life will show him its claws, trouble will strike him - illness, poverty , loss, and no one will see or hear him, just as now he does not see or hear others. But there is no man with a hammer, the happy one lives for himself, and the small worries of life worry him lightly, like the wind on an aspen tree - and everything is fine.

That night it became clear to me how contented and happy I was, too,” continued Ivan Ivanovich, getting up. “I, too, at dinner and while hunting, taught them how to live, how to believe, how to govern the people.” I also said that learning is the light, that education is necessary, but for ordinary people, just reading and writing is enough for now. Freedom is a blessing, I said, you can’t live without it, like you can’t live without air, but you have to wait. Yes, I said so, but now I ask: why wait? - asked Ivan Ivanovich, looking angrily at Burkin. - Why wait, I ask you? For what reasons? They tell me that not everything at once, every idea is realized in life gradually, in due time. But who is saying this? Where is the evidence that this is true? You refer to the natural order of things, to the lawfulness of phenomena, but is there order and lawfulness in the fact that I, a living, thinking person, stand over a ditch and wait for it to overgrow itself or be covered with silt, while, perhaps, could I jump over it or build a bridge over it? And again, why wait? To wait when there is no strength to live, but meanwhile you need to live and want to live!

I then left my brother early in the morning, and from then on it became unbearable for me to be in the city. The silence and calm depress me, I’m afraid to look at the windows, because for me now there is no more painful sight than a happy family sitting around a table drinking tea. I am already old and not fit to fight, I am incapable even of hating. I just grieve mentally, get irritated, annoyed, at night my head burns from the influx of thoughts, and I can’t sleep... Oh, if only I were young!

Ivan Ivanovich paced nervously from corner to corner and repeated:

If only I were young!

He suddenly approached Alekhine and began to shake him first one hand, then the other.

Pavel Konstantinich! - he said in a pleading voice. - Don’t calm down, don’t let yourself be lulled to sleep! While you are young, strong, vigorous, do not get tired of doing good! There is no happiness and there should not be, and if there is meaning and purpose in life, then this meaning and purpose is not at all in our happiness, but in something more reasonable and greater. Do good!

And Ivan Ivanovich said all this with a pitiful, pleading smile, as if he was asking for himself personally.

Then all three sat in armchairs at different ends of the living room and were silent. Ivan Ivanovich's story did not satisfy either Burkin or Alekhine. When generals and ladies looked out from golden frames, who seemed alive in the twilight, it was boring to listen to the story about the poor official who ate gooseberries. For some reason I wanted to talk and listen about elegant people, about women. And the fact that they were sitting in the living room, where everything - the chandelier in its case, and the armchairs, and the carpets underfoot - said that these same people who were now looking out of the frames had once walked, sat, and drank tea here. the fact that beautiful Pelageya was now walking silently here was better than any stories.

Alekhine really wanted to sleep; he got up early to do housework, at three o'clock in the morning, and now his eyes were drooping, but he was afraid that the guests might start telling something interesting without him, and he did not leave. Whether what Ivan Ivanovich had just said was smart or fair, he did not delve into; the guests were talking not about cereals, not about hay, not about tar, but about something that was not directly related to his life, and he was glad and wanted them to continue...

However, it’s time to sleep,” Burkin said, getting up. - Let me wish you good night.

Alekhine said goodbye and went downstairs, while the guests remained upstairs. They were both given a large room for the night, where there were two old wooden beds with carved decorations and in the corner there was an ivory crucifix; their beds, wide and cool, made by the beautiful Pelageya, smelled pleasantly of fresh linen.

Ivan Ivanovich silently undressed and lay down.

Lord, forgive us sinners! - he said and covered his head.

His pipe, lying on the table, smelled strongly of tobacco fume, and Burkin did not sleep for a long time and still could not understand where this heavy smell came from.

The rain hammered on the windows all night.

The end of the 19th century was a time marked by a period of stagnation in the socio-political life of Russia. In these difficult days for our Fatherland, the famous writer A.P. Chekhov is trying to convey good ideas to thinking people. Thus, in the story “Gooseberry” he asks the reader questions about the meaning of life and true happiness, revealing the conflict between material and spiritual goods.

Included in the “little trilogy” is the story of A.P. Chekhov's "Gooseberry" was published by the publishers of "Russian Thought" in 1898. It was created by a writer in the village of Melikhovo, Moscow region. This story is a continuation of the work “The Man in a Case,” which also tells about a dead human soul with a distorted concept of happiness.

It is believed that Chekhov based his plot on a story that the famous lawyer Anatoly Koni told to the writer L.N. Tolstoy. This story tells about one official who, like N.I. Chimshe-Himalayan, put aside savings all his life to achieve his dream. The official believed that a ceremonial uniform with gold embroidery would bring him honor and respect and make him happy. But during his lifetime, the “lucky” thing was not useful to him. Moreover, the uniform, tarnished by mothballs, was put on the poor fellow only at his own funeral.

Genre and direction

The work “Gooseberry” is written in the genre of a story and belongs to such a direction in literary creativity as realism. A laconic prose form allows the author to express his thoughts as briefly as possible, and as a result, attract the reader’s attention and reach his heart.

As you know, a story is distinguished from other genres by the presence of only one storyline, the presence of one or two main characters, a small number of secondary characters and a small volume. We see all these signs in “Gooseberry”.

About what?

Veterinarian Ivan Ivanovich Chimsha-Himalaysky and a teacher at the Burkin gymnasium are caught in the field by the rain. The heroes wait out the bad weather in the estate of Alekhine, a friend of Ivan Ivanovich. Then the doctor shares with his dining companions the story of his brother, whose fate was sad.

Since childhood, the brothers learned one simple truth - you have to pay for pleasure. They came from a poor family and tried to provide for themselves.

The youngest of the brothers, Nikolai Ivanovich, especially sought to enrich himself. The limit of all his dreams was an estate and a garden in which ripe and fragrant gooseberries would grow. To achieve his goal, the Chimsha-Himalayan even killed his wife, albeit not on purpose. He saved on everything, seemed to notice nothing around him except advertisements for the sale of “acres of arable land and meadows with an estate.” Ultimately, he still managed to acquire the desired plot. On the one hand, the main character is happy, he eats his gooseberries with pleasure, pretends to be a stern but fair master... But on the other hand, the current situation of Nikolai Ivanovich does not please his brother, who came to stay. Ivan Ivanovich understands that there are things whose value is much greater than the pleasure of eating your own gooseberries. It is at this moment that the conflict between the material and spiritual reaches its climax.

Composition

The plot of “Gooseberry” is based on the “story within a story” principle. Nonlinear storytelling helps the author deepen the meaning of the work.

In addition to the story of the main character of the story, Nikolai Ivanovich Chimshi-Himalayan, there is another reality in which Ivan Ivanovich, Alekhine and Burkin live. The last two give their assessment of what happened to Nikolai Ivanovich. Their ideas about life are the most common version of human existence. It is important to pay attention to the exposition of the story, which contains a detailed description of nature. The landscape on Nikolai Ivanovich’s estate confirms the spiritual poverty of the newly minted master.

The main characters and their characteristics

1. Chimsha-Himalayan Ivan Ivanovich- a representative of the nobility who serves in the medical field - treats animals. He is also a character in the stories "The Man in the Case" and "About Love". This hero performs important functions in the story “Gooseberry”. Firstly, he is a storyteller, and secondly, he is a reasoning hero, since from his lips the reader can hear the author’s appeal, his main thoughts. For example, the words of Ivan Ivanovich about the transience of life, the need to act and live here and now.
2. Chimsha-Himalayan Nikolai Ivanovich- a representative of the nobility, a minor official, and then a landowner. He is two years younger than his brother, "a kind, gentle man." The character sought to return to the village - to lead the quiet life of a landowner. I dreamed of feeding the ducks on the pond, walking through the garden, bathing in the rays of the warm sun, picking ripe gooseberries from branches still wet from the morning dew. For the sake of his dream, he denied himself everything: he saved money, he did not marry for love. After the death of his wife, he was finally able to buy the estate of his dreams: he settled down, began to gain weight and put on airs, talk about his noble origins, and asked men to address him as “Your Honor.”

Themes

This work touches on themes of happiness, dreams, search for the meaning of life. All three topics are closely related to each other. The dream of his own estate with gooseberries led Nikolai Ivanovich to his happiness. He not only ate gooseberries with pleasure, but also spoke intelligently about public education, sincerely believing that thanks to him every simple man could become a full-fledged member of society. Only the happiness of the protagonist is false: it is just peace and idleness that lead him to stagnation. Time has literally stopped around him: he does not need to bother himself, try or deny himself anything, since now he is a master. Previously, Nikolai Ivanovich was firmly convinced that happiness must be won and deserved. Now, in his opinion, happiness is a gift from God, and only a chosen one like him can live in heaven on earth. That is, his dubious achievement became only fertile ground for selfishness. A man lives only for himself. Having become rich, he became spiritually poor.

One can also highlight a topic such as indifference and responsiveness. The narrator, discussing this topic, notes that neither Alekhine nor Burkin fully understood his ideas and showed passivity towards a very instructive story about the meaning of life. Ivan Ivanovich Chimsha-Himalayan himself encourages everyone to seek happiness throughout their lives, to remember about people, and not just about themselves.

And thus, the hero admits, the meaning of life lies not in satisfying carnal desires, but in more sublime things, for example, helping others.

Problems

1. Greed and vanity. The main problem in the story “Gooseberry” is human misconceptions that true happiness is material wealth. So, Nikolai Ivanovich worked all his life for money, lived in the name of it. As a result, his ideas turned out to be wrong, which is why he ate sour gooseberries, smiling and saying: “Oh, how delicious!” In his opinion, only money gives a person significance: being a master, he himself began to extol himself, as if without an estate
2. An equally important problem is selfishness. The main character, like many people on earth, forgot or did not want to remember the misfortunes of those around him. He followed this rule: I feel good, but don’t care about others.

Meaning

The main idea of ​​A.P. Chekhov is expressed in Ivan Ivanovich’s phrase that one cannot rejoice when others feel bad. You can’t turn a blind eye to other people’s problems; it’s important to remember that trouble can knock on any home. It is important to be able to respond to requests for help in a timely manner, so that they can help you in difficult times. Thus, the author expresses his contempt for constant peace and stagnation in human life. Happiness, according to Chekhov, is a movement, an action, aimed at doing good and fair deeds.

The same idea can be seen in all parts of the trilogy.

Criticism

Positively assessed the story “Gooseberry” V. I. Nemirovich-Danchenko:

It’s good, because there is a coloring inherent to you, both in the general tone and background, and in the language, and also because very good thoughts...

But not only critics and literary scholars spoke about what they read. Ordinary people actively wrote letters to Anton Pavlovich. For example, one day the writer received a letter from Natalia Dushina, a student at a technical school. Here is her quote:

When I read something of yours, I always feel that I lived with these people, that I want to say the same thing about them that you said, and I’m not the only one who feels this, and this is because you write only the truth and everything said differently from what you said will be a lie...

The most detailed description of Chekhov's creative manner of describing the realities of Russian life was given by B. Eikhenbaum in his article in Zvezda magazine :

Over the years, Chekhov's artistic diagnoses became more precise and deepened. Under his pen, the disease of Russian life acquired increasingly sharp and vivid outlines.<…>From diagnoses, Chekhov began to move on to issues of treatment. This came out with particular force in the story “Gooseberry”.<…>Chekhov never composed - he heard these words in life and was delighted by them, because he himself was this man with a hammer. He knocked on the very heart of Russia - and got through.

He spoke especially emotionally about the story G.P. Berdnikov, declaring that “it is a shame to be happy” in the reality that Chekhov describes. :

The drama... is revealed to us in the story “Gooseberry”.<…>However, under the pen of Chekhov, the dream-passion that gripped the official consumes him so much that in the end it completely deprives him of his human appearance and likeness.

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", "Gooseberry", "About love". The story tells about a man who subordinated his entire life to a material idea - the desire to have an estate with gooseberry bushes.

History of creation

The story “Gooseberry” was first published in the August issue of the magazine “Russian Thought” in 1898. The stories “Gooseberry” and “About Love,” which continued the “little trilogy” begun by the story “The Man in a Case,” were created by Chekhov in Melikhovo in July 1898.

“Gooseberry” was highly praised by some critics; Nemirovich-Danchenko thought that it contained very good ideas. In a letter to Chekhov, he noted: “Despite working to the point of stupor and nervous shortness of breath, I manage to read. Now I closed the book on the story “About Love”. “Gooseberry” is good. It’s good, because there is a coloring inherent to you, both in the general tone and background, and in the language, and also because you have very good thoughts.”

Natalia Dushina wrote to the author: “When I read “Gooseberry,” I felt terrible and sorry for him, endlessly sorry for the poor, lonely, callous-hearted man. I also experienced “Love” together with those who were so close in soul to each other, but in appearance should have seemed strangers. And the scary thing is that you still had to live and life went on as usual, and even the separation was experienced, and you had to continue to live, the same activities went on, the same little things, and the consciousness that there was no loved one filled the soul, and it seemed You can’t live, but you lived.”

N. N. Gusev sent from exile to L. N. Tolstoy an excerpt from the story “Gooseberry”: “There is no happiness and there should not be, and if there is a meaning and purpose in life, then this meaning and purpose is not at all in our happiness, but in something more reasonable and greater." Tolstoy wrote to Gusev in a letter: “How good is your extract from Chekhov! She asks to join the Reading Circle."

During Chekhov's lifetime, the story was translated into Bulgarian, German and Serbo-Croatian.

Characters

• Ivan Ivanovich Chimsha-Himalayan- narrator
• Nikolai Ivanovich Chimsha-Himalayan- the main character of the work, the younger brother of Ivan Ivanovich, served in the treasury chamber.
• Pavel Konstantinovich Alekhin- a poor landowner whom Ivan Ivanovich drops in on
• Burkina- friend and interlocutor of Ivan Ivanovich.

Plot

Ivan Ivanovich and Burkin walk through a field near the village of Mironositskoye and decide to visit a friend, landowner Pavel Konstantinych Alyokhin, whose estate is located nearby in the village of Sofiino. Alyokhin, “a man of about forty, tall, plump with long hair, looking more like a professor or artist than a landowner,” greets guests on the threshold of a barn in which a winnowing machine is noisy. His clothes are dirty, and his face is black with dust. He welcomes the guests and invites them to go to the bathhouse. After washing and changing clothes, Ivan Ivanovich, Burkin and Alyohin go to the house, where over a cup of tea with jam, Ivan Ivanovich tells the story of his brother Nikolai Ivanovich.

The brothers spent their childhood in freedom, on the estate of their father, who served as an officer and left the children hereditary nobility. After the death of their father, their estate was seized for debts. From the age of nineteen, Nikolai sat in the government chamber and dreamed of buying himself a small estate and simply could not think of anything else. He kept imagining his future estate, where gooseberries would certainly grow. Nikolai saved money, was malnourished, and married an ugly but rich widow without love. He kept his wife from hand to mouth, and put her money in the bank in his name. The wife could not bear such a life and died, and Nikolai bought himself an estate, ordered twenty gooseberry bushes, planted them and began to live as a landowner. When Ivan Ivanovich came to visit his brother, he was unpleasantly surprised by how he had become depressed, aged and flabby. He became a real master, ate a lot, and sued neighboring factories. Nikolai treated his brother to gooseberries, and it was clear from him that he was satisfied with his fate and with himself.

At the sight of this happy man, Ivan Ivanovich “was overcome by a feeling close to despair.” The whole night he spent in the estate, he thought about how many people in the world suffer, go crazy, drink, how many children die from malnutrition. And how many other people live “happily”, “eat during the day, sleep at night, talk their nonsense, get married, grow old, complacently drag their dead to the cemetery.” He thought that behind the door of every happy person there should be “someone with a hammer” and remind him with a knock that there are unfortunate people, that sooner or later trouble will befall him, and “no one will see or hear him, just as he is not now.” sees and does not hear others.” Ivan Ivanovich, finishing his story, says that there is no happiness, and if there is meaning in life, then it is not in happiness, but in “doing good.”