Wartkin's reign is called the era of wars for enlightenment. The mayor sought to revive the order established by the only worthy predecessor, in his opinion, Dvoekurov. Under a very serious name hides a series of stupid “battles” that had mustard, the benefits of stone foundations, Persian chamomile and the rumor about the establishment of an academy in Foolov. The “good” intentions of the mayor turned into the plight of the Foolovites (the “enlightener” himself learned about this too late).
■ In his dreams, Wartkin captured Byzantium, and then went
■ To the Drava, Morava, to the distant Sava,
■ On the quiet and blue Danube,
■ like a great commander.
Thus, the approximate plan of his actions as mayor included the capture of Byzantium, the education of the people and, as a result, universal respect and honor.
Having achieved that the Foolovites recognized mustard (this campaign was the longest), and Persian chamomile and other “useful” inventions, Wartkin discovered the complete ruin of his possessions. And then, as luck would have it, the French Revolution, which forced the valiant mayor to doubt, and then become completely disillusioned with the wars for enlightenment and begin the reverse process - wars against enlightenment.
It is not difficult to guess that the people had a hard time living due to the changing whims of Wartkin. The most terrible phenomenon for the Foolovites were the fantastic tin soldiers, filled with blood and destroying the city's economy. Other methods were also used, namely: flogging (“not a single Foolovite could point to a place on his body that had not been carved”), proclamations hung in the streets and causing complete bewilderment and other punishments for riots, which in essence and there wasn't. “The Foolovites even tried hard to get Wartkin to shed light into their dark heads, but they didn’t get success, and they didn’t get it precisely because of the mayor.” For law-abiding citizens, Wartkin’s reign ended with the destruction of households and a complete misunderstanding of the true goals of the “enlightenment”...
In the depiction of the mayor, one cannot fail to note satirical techniques. First of all, this is typification: the author even emphasizes that Wartkin was a special “type” of mayor - efficient and meticulous. Then, the grotesque: Saltykov-Shchedrin gives the hero fantastic features (not closing his eyes), and also exaggerates the capabilities of the tin Soldiers (they filled with blood, talked and destroyed houses). And finally, the documents drawn up by the mayor are an absolute parody of state laws and proclamations. Thus, in the “War for Enlightenment” section, Saltykov-Shchedrin revealed to the reader another type of mayor, hiding behind noble goals.
Shchedrin tells us the history of the city of Foolov, what happened in it for about a hundred years. Moreover, he focuses on the mayors, since it was they who expressed the vices of city government. In advance, even before the start of the main part of the work, an “inventory” of mayors is given.
"inventory" of mayors. The word “inventory” is usually referred to things, so Shchedrin uses it deliberately, as if emphasizing the inanimate nature of the mayors, who are the key images in each chapter.
The essence of each of the mayors can be imagined even after a simple description of their appearance. For example, the tenacity and cruelty of Gloomy-Burcheev are expressed in his “wooden face, obviously never illuminated by a smile.” The more peaceful Pimple, on the contrary, “was rosy-cheeked, had scarlet and juicy lips,” “his gait was active and cheerful, his gesture was quick.”
Images are formed in the reader’s imagination with the help of such artistic techniques as hyperbole, metaphor, allegory, etc. Even facts of reality acquire fantastic features. Shchedrin deliberately uses this technique to enhance the feeling of an invisible connection with the true state of affairs in feudal Russia.
The work is written in the form of chronicles. Some parts, which, according to the author’s intention, are considered found documents, are written in heavy clerical language, and in the chronicler’s address to the reader there are colloquialisms, proverbs, and sayings. The comedy is enhanced by the confusion in dates and the anachronisms and allusions often made by the chronicler (for example, references to Herzen and Ogarev).
Shchedrin most fully introduces us to the mayor Ugryum-Burcheev. There is a clear analogy with reality here: the surname of the mayor is similar in sound to the surname of the famous reformer Arakcheev. In the description of Gloomy-Burcheev there is less comic, and more mystical, terrifying. Using satirical means, Shchedrin endowed him with a large number of the most “bright” vices. And it is no coincidence that the story ends with a description of the reign of this mayor. According to Shchedrin, “history has stopped flowing.”
The novel “The History of a City” is certainly an outstanding work; it is written in colorful, grotesque language and figuratively denounces the bureaucratic state. “History” has still not lost its relevance, because, unfortunately, we still meet people like Foolov’s mayors.
Vasilisk Semenovich Borodavkin replaced Brigadier Ferdyshchenko as mayor of the city of Glupov. Wartkin was distinguished by a thirst for activity that frightened the Foolovites. He “astounded with his quickness and some unheard-of corrosiveness, which manifested itself with special energy in questions concerning the eaten egg. Constantly buttoned up with all the buttons and having his cap and gloves at the ready, he was the type of mayor whose legs are at any time ready to run to God knows where...” It is also known about Wartkin that he constantly screamed, had a good appetite and ate with haste. In general, all his actions are accompanied by some kind of haste, absolutely unfounded. And the watchful eye! This is simply proof of the eternal functioning of the brain. If you do not take into account the comical nature of the image and setting, then in the reader’s mind the image of an active mayor may well form, taking care of his charges, trying with all his might to improve their situation.
Wartkin's reign is called the era of wars for enlightenment. The mayor sought to revive the order established by the only worthy predecessor, in his opinion, Dvoekurov. Under a very serious name hides a series of stupid “battles” that had mustard, the benefits of stone foundations, Persian chamomile and the rumor about the establishment of an academy in Foolov. The “good” intentions of the mayor turned into the plight of the Foolovites (the “enlightener” himself learned about this too late).
In his dreams, Wartkin captured Byzantium, and then went
To the Drava, Morava, to the distant Sava,
To the quiet and blue Danube,
like a great commander.
Thus, the approximate plan of his actions as mayor included the capture of Byzantium, the education of the people and, as a result, universal respect and honor.
Having achieved that the Foolovites recognized mustard (this campaign was the longest), and Persian chamomile and other “useful” inventions, Wartkin discovered the complete ruin of his possessions. And then, as luck would have it, the French Revolution, which forced the valiant mayor to doubt, and then become completely disillusioned with the wars for enlightenment and begin the reverse process - wars against enlightenment.
It is not difficult to guess that the people had a hard time living due to the changing whims of Wartkin. The most terrible phenomenon for the Foolovites were the fantastic tin soldiers, filled with blood and destroying the city's economy. Other methods were also used, namely: flogging (“not a single Foolovite could point to a place on his body that had not been carved”), proclamations hung in the streets and causing complete bewilderment and other punishments for riots, which in essence and there wasn't. “The Foolovites even tried hard to get Wartkin to shed light into their dark heads, but they didn’t get success, and they didn’t get it precisely because of the mayor.” For law-abiding citizens, Wartkin’s reign ended with the destruction of households and a complete misunderstanding of the true goals of the “enlightenment”...
In the depiction of the mayor, one cannot fail to note satirical techniques. First of all, this is typification: the author even emphasizes that Wartkin was a special “type” of mayor - efficient and meticulous. Then, the grotesque: Saltykov-Shchedrin gives the hero fantastic features (not closing his eyes), and also exaggerates the capabilities of the tin Soldiers (they filled with blood, talked and destroyed houses). And finally, the documents drawn up by the mayor are an absolute parody of state laws and proclamations.
Thus, in the part of the “War for Enlightenment” Saltykov-Shchedrin revealed to the reader another type of mayor hiding behind noble goals
Saltykov-Shchedrin’s novel “The History of a City” shows representatives of the authorities of a fictional town. One of the mayors was Vasilisk Semenovich Wartkin.
Basilisk Wartkin replaces the previous mayor named Ferdyshchenko. Initially, he may seem like a well-behaved, positive hero of the novel. Wartkin is meticulous in all aspects of life, he is characterized by perfectionism. With all its appearance, the Basilisk shows others its readiness for activity. He is hasty and restless, so he expresses his thoughts very quickly, raising his voice. Vasilisk Semenovich often gestures and is in a hurry with every action.
The main feature in the appearance of the Wart's Basilisk is its defective, non-closing eye. In the work, people consider this a sign of Wartkin's observant and thoughtful nature. Basilisk wants to improve the lives of citizens and return to the previous laws related to enlightenment that were in place during the time of the previous mayor, Dvoekurov. But his struggle was only for such absurd things as the approval of mustard and the recognition of the benefits of stone foundations. The Basilisk's goals were sincere and carried only positive intentions, but, unfortunately, they only led the population to ruin. When Wartkin saw this, he decided to start a reverse process aimed against enlightening the city.
One of the fantastic elements is Wartkin's way of fighting enlightenment. They are tin soldiers, capable of filling themselves with blood and destroying the foundations of the city. Basilisk also decided to fight the protests that were supposed to form, but discontent did not even arise in the city.
Basilisk Wartkin became a satirical hero in the work of Saltykov-Shchedrin. He is depicted as a man who wants to create change in the city, but does not know the purpose of creating it. His senseless laws did not bring any real benefit, they only reduced the city budget and worsened the lives of the citizens. The senseless war for enlightenment was just a mistake caused by the great ambitions of Basilisk Wartkin, which did not bring any positive changes for the local residents.
Essay on the topic Wartkin
Wartkin Vasilisk Semenovich became the mayor of the city of Foolov. Previously, his post was held by Brigadier Ferdyshchenko. The main trait that frightens all Foolovites is their passion for leadership and command. He was constantly ready to do something, always running somewhere.
Wartkin's appearance is that of a typical mayor; his suit was always buttoned up, and he carried a cap and gloves in his hands. Vasilisk Semenovich was always serious and decisive, he had a white horse, on which he constantly rode somewhere. He was a dreamy man, constantly making plans that could not be realized. Passion and restlessness caused anxiety and bewilderment among local residents.
When communicating with Foolovites, he started shouting and never spoke to them calmly and judiciously. They said about Wartkin that even in his sleep he controls everything that happens around him, because the mayor must be aware of the events happening in the city. During his leadership, Vasilisk Semenovich did little for the city of Foolov. In fact, he could not manage and lead correctly, making a large number of mistakes.
First he tries to wage his war for enlightenment. But at the moment when the French Revolution occurred, he abruptly changed his mind. Now his struggle, on the contrary, is against any kind of enlightenment. Wartkin constantly comes up with various punishments and floggings, which frightens his residents. He believes that the solution to conflict is the rod. In fact, no one needs all these proclamations and there is no need to punish the local Foolovites.
Wartkin's reign is the most difficult period in the life of the peaceful people in the city of Foolov. Over the entire period, he fought several wars for enlightenment, and then against enlightenment, about which he actually understood nothing. At the very end, he orders all the rebellious Foolovites to be flogged. After Vasilisk Semenovich left the mayor's office, an economic crisis and famine came to the city. He completely destroyed the courtyards and created unknown orders that baffled the local residents.
Towards the very end of his power, Wartkin came up with nothing better than to burn all of Foolov. But this was not destined to come true, as death suddenly overtook him.
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Galina Chetvertak is one of the main heroines of the story “And the dawns here are quiet...” by the famous Soviet writer, front-line soldier and hereditary officer Boris Lvovich Vasiliev. Of all the female anti-aircraft gunners, she is the youngest.
Vasilisk Semenovich Borodavkin replaced Brigadier Ferdyshchenko as mayor of the city of Glupov. Wartkin was distinguished by a thirst for activity that frightened the Foolovites. He “astounded with his quickness and some unheard-of meticulousness, which manifested itself with particular energy in questions concerning the eaten egg. Constantly buttoned up with all the buttons and having his cap and gloves at the ready, he was the type of mayor whose legs are always ready to run unknown Where…". It is also known about Wartkin that he constantly screamed, had a good appetite and ate with haste. In general, all his actions are accompanied by some kind of haste, absolutely unfounded. And the watchful eye! This is simply proof of the eternal functioning of the brain. If you do not take into account the comical nature of the image and setting, then in the reader’s mind the image of an active mayor may well form, who takes care of his charges, trying with all his might to improve their situation.
Wartkin's reign is called the era of wars for enlightenment. The mayor sought to revive the order established by the only worthy predecessor, in his opinion, Dvoekurov. Under a very serious name hides a series of stupid “battles” that had reasons for mustard, the benefits of stone foundations, Persian chamomile and the rumor about the establishment of an academy in Foolov. The “good” intentions of the mayor turned into the plight of the Foolovites (the “enlightener” himself learned about this too late).
In his dreams, Wartkin captured Byzantium, and then went to the Drava, Morava, to the distant Sava,
To the quiet and blue Danube,
like a great commander.
Thus, the approximate plan of his actions as mayor included the capture of Byzantium, the education of the people and, as a result, universal respect and honor.
Having achieved that the Foolovites recognized mustard (this campaign was the longest), and Persian chamomile and other “useful” inventions, Wartkin discovered the complete ruin of his possessions. And then, as luck would have it, the French Revolution, which forced the valiant mayor to doubt, and then become completely disillusioned with the wars for enlightenment and begin the reverse process - wars against enlightenment.
It is not difficult to guess that the people had a hard time living due to the changing whims of Wartkin. The most terrible phenomenon for the Foolovites were the fantastic tin soldiers, filled with blood and destroying the city's economy. Other methods were also used, namely: flogging (“not a single Foolovite could point to a place on his body that had not been carved”), proclamations hung in the streets and causing complete bewilderment and other punishments for riots, which in essence and there wasn't. “The Foolovites even tried hard to get Wartkin to shed light into their dark heads, but they didn’t get success, and they didn’t get it precisely because of the mayor.” For law-abiding citizens, Wartkin’s reign ended with the destruction of households and a complete misunderstanding of the true goals of the “enlightenment”...
In the depiction of the mayor, one cannot fail to note satirical techniques. First of all, this is typification: the author even emphasizes that Wartkin was a special “type” of mayor - efficient and meticulous. Then, the grotesque: Saltykov-Shchedrin gives the hero fantastic features (not closing his eyes), and also exaggerates the capabilities of the tin Soldiers (they filled with blood, talked and destroyed houses). And finally, the documents drawn up by the mayor are an absolute parody of state laws and proclamations.
Thus, in the part of the “War for Enlightenment” Saltykov-Shchedrin revealed to the reader another type of mayor, hiding behind noble goals.
Saltykov-Shchedrin: The story of a city
Chapter Summary: Wars of Enlightenment
Vasilisk Semyonovich Borodavkin, the new mayor of Foolov, studied the history of the city and decided that the only previous ruler worth emulating was Dvoekurov, and what struck him was not even the fact that his predecessor paved the streets of the city and collected arrears, but the fact that they sowed under him mustard. Unfortunately, people have already forgotten it and even stopped sowing this crop. Wartkin decided to remember the old days, resume sowing mustard and eating it. But the residents stubbornly did not want to return to the past. The Foolovites rebelled on their knees. They were afraid that if they obeyed Wartkin, in the future he would force them “to eat any more abomination.” The mayor undertook a military campaign against Streletskaya Sloboda, “the source of all evil,” to suppress the rebellion. The campaign lasted nine days and it is difficult to call it completely successful. In absolute darkness, they fought with their own. The mayor suffered betrayal from his supporters: one morning he discovered that more soldiers had been fired and replaced by tin soldiers, citing a certain resolution. However, the city governor managed to survive, organizing a reserve of tin soldiers. He reached the settlement, but found no one there. Wartkin began to dismantle houses log by log, which forced the settlement to surrender.
The future brought three more wars, which were also fought for “enlightenment.” The first of three subsequent wars was fought to explain to the city residents the benefits of stone foundations for houses, the second - because of the residents' refusal to grow Persian chamomile, and the third - against the establishment of an academy in the city.
The result of Wartkin's reign was the impoverishment of the city. The mayor died at the moment when he once again decided to burn the city.
The story of one city
Full Chapter Contents: Wars of Enlightenment
Vasilisk Semyonovich Wartkin, who replaced the foreman Ferdyshchenka, was the complete opposite of his predecessor. As much as the latter was loose and loose, the former amazed him with his efficiency and some kind of unheard-of administrative meticulousness, which manifested itself with particular energy in matters concerning the damned egg. Constantly buttoned up and with his cap and gloves at the ready, he was the type of mayor whose feet are at any time ready to run to God knows where. During the day, he flitted around the city like a fly, watching to see that the townsfolk looked cheerful and cheerful; at night - he put out fires, made false alarms and generally took him by surprise.
He screamed at all times, and screamed unusually. “He contained so much screaming,” the chronicler says on this occasion, “that it made many Foolovites afraid for themselves and for their children forever.” The evidence is remarkable and is confirmed by the fact that subsequently the authorities were forced to give various benefits to the Foolovites, precisely “for the sake of frightening them.” He had a good appetite, but was satisfied with haste and at the same time grumbled. He even slept with only one eye, which caused considerable embarrassment to his wife, who, despite twenty-five years of cohabitation, could not without a shudder see his other, awake, completely round and curiously directed at her eye. When there was absolutely nothing to do, that is, there was no need to flash or take him by surprise (such difficult moments occur in the life of the most efficient administrators), then he either legislated laws, or marched around the office, watching the game of a shoe sock, or resumed military signals in your memory.
There was one more peculiarity about Wartkin: he was a writer. Ten years before arriving in Foolov, he began to write a project “about expanding the army and fleets throughout the whole world, so that through the return (sic) of ancient Byzantium under the shadow of the Russian power to establish hope*,” and every day he added one line to it. In this way, a rather voluminous notebook was compiled, containing three thousand six hundred and fifty-two lines (there were two leap years), which he pointed out to visitors, not without pride, adding:
Behold, my lord, how far I extend my views!
In general, political daydreaming was in great vogue at that time, and therefore Wartkin did not escape the general trends of the time. Very often Foolov’s people saw him, sitting on the balcony of the mayor’s house, looking from there, with eyes full of tears, at the Byzantine strongholds blue in the distance. The pasture lands of Byzantium and Foolov were so contiguous that the Byzantine herds almost constantly mixed with Foolov’s, and this resulted in incessant bickering. It seemed that all one had to do was call the cry... And Wartkin waited for this cry, waited with passion, impatience, reaching almost to indignation.
First we’ll put an end to Byzantium, he dreamed, and then...
To the Drava, Morava, to the distant Sava,*
To the quiet and blue Danube...
Should I tell the whole truth: in secret, he even prepared a rather strange resolution in the name of our famous geographer, K.I. Arsenyev*: “It is granted to your honor,” he wrote, “for the future, Byzantium, known to you, will be listed as such in all geography textbooks : Constantinople, the former Byzantium, and now the provincial city of Ekaterinograd, stands at the outpouring of the Black Sea into the ancient Propontis and was acquired under the shadow of the Russian state in the year 17.. the city of St. Petersburg must find something to use for themselves). Due to its vastness, this city, administratively, is under the jurisdiction of four mayors, who are in constant wrangling with each other. Trades walnuts and has one soap factory and two tanneries.” But, alas! Days passed after days, Wartkin's dreams grew, but still there was no cry. Troops on foot passed through Foolov, troops on horseback passed through.
Where to, darlings? - Wartkin asked the soldiers with excitement.
But the soldiers blew trumpets, sang songs, played with the toes of their boots, raised dust in the streets in a column, and everyone passed, everyone passed.
The soldiers are pouring down! - said the Foolovites, and it seemed to them that these were some special people, that they were created by nature itself in order to walk endlessly, to walk in all directions. That they descend from one flat hill in order to climb another flat hill, cross one bridge in order to then cross another bridge. And another bridge, and another flat hill, and another, and another...
In this extremity, Wartkin realized that the time had not yet come for political enterprises and that he should limit his tasks only to the so-called urgent needs of the region. Among these needs, the first place was occupied, of course, by civilization*, or, as he himself defined the word, “the science of how every valiant son of the Russian Empire must be firm in adversity.”
Full of these vague dreams, he appeared in Foolov and, first of all, subjected the intentions and deeds of his predecessors to strict examination. But when he looked at the tablets, he gasped. A line of people passed in front of him: Clementy, and Velikanov, and Lamvrokakis, and Baklan, and the Marquis de Sanglot, and Ferdyshchenko, but what these people were doing, what they were thinking about, what tasks they were pursuing - this is precisely what could not be determined either under what guise? It seemed that this whole row was nothing more than a sleepy dream, in which images without faces flashed, in which some vague cries were ringing, similar to the distant hubbub of an intoxicated crowd... Then one shadow came out of the darkness, slammed: once ! - and disappeared to God knows where; you look, another shadow appears in its place, and it also claps at random, and disappears... “I’ll ruin it!”, “I won’t tolerate it!” can be heard from all sides, but what I will destroy, what I will not tolerate, is impossible to make out. I would be glad to move aside, to press against the corner, but it is impossible to either move aside or press close, because from every corner the same “I will destroy!” is heard, which drives the one hiding to another corner and there, in turn, overtakes him again. It was some kind of wild energy, devoid of any content*, so that even Wartkin, despite his efficiency, somewhat doubted its dignity. Only the civilian adviser Dvoekurov stood out from this motley crowd of administrators, showed a subtle and insightful mind, and generally showed himself to be the continuer of the transformative work that marked the beginning of the eighteenth century in Russia. It was, of course, that Wartkin took him as a model.
Dvoekurov accomplished a lot. He paved the streets: Dvoryanskaya and Bolshaya, collected arrears, patronized the sciences and petitioned for the establishment of an academy in Foolov. But his main merit was that he introduced mustard and bay leaves into use. This last action amazed Wartkin so much that he immediately had the daring idea of doing exactly the same thing with regard to Provençal oil. Inquiries began about what measures were taken by Dvoekurov to achieve success in the undertaking, but since the archival files, as usual, turned out to be burned (and perhaps deliberately destroyed), we had to be content with oral traditions and stories.
We made a lot of noise! - the old-timers said, - they flogged the soldiers, and they flogged them easily... Many even went to Siberia through this very thing!
So there were riots? - asked Wartkin.
There were a lot of riots! We, sir, have such a sign about this: if you get whipped, you know it’s a riot!
From further questioning it turned out that Dvoekurov was a persistent person and, once he conceived an enterprise, he carried it through to completion. He always acted in large numbers, that is, he both pacified and squandered everything; but at the same time he understood that this remedy alone was not enough. Therefore, regardless of general measures, he, for several years in a row, continuously and tirelessly made separate raids on philistine houses and pacified each philistine one by one. In general, in the whole history of Foolov, one fact is striking: today they will squander the Foolovites and destroy every last one of them, and tomorrow, you see, the Foolovites will appear again and even, according to custom, the so-called “old men” will come forward at meetings (probably “from the young and early"). How they grew was a mystery, but Dvoekurov understood this secret perfectly, and therefore did not burn the rod. As a true administrator, he distinguished between two types of sections: a section without consideration and a section with consideration, and was proud that he was the first in a number of city governors to introduce a section with consideration, while all his predecessors flogged at random, and often not even those who should have been. And indeed, acting intelligently and continuously, he achieved the most brilliant results. Throughout his entire tenure as mayor, the Foolovites not only did not sit down to table without mustard, but even planted quite extensive mustard plantations to meet the demands of foreign trade. “And it flourished all over, like a kryselny *, sending this bitter product to the most remote places of the Russian state, and receiving in return precious metals and furs.”
But in 1770 Dvoekurov died, and the two mayors who followed him not only did not support his reforms, but even, so to speak, spoiled them. And what’s most remarkable is that the Foolovites turned out to be ungrateful. They were not at all sad about the abolition of the superior civilization and even seemed to rejoice. They stopped eating mustard altogether, and the plantations were plowed up, planted with cabbage and peas. In a word, what happened is what always happens when enlightenment comes too early to infantile and civilly immature peoples. Even the chronicler, not without irony, mentions this circumstance: “For many years he (Dvoyekurov) built this ingenious building, but he did not realize that he was building on an arctic fox.” But the chronicler, obviously, in turn, forgets that this is precisely the intricacy of human actions: to build one building on an “arctic fox” today, and tomorrow, when it collapses, to begin a new building on the same “arctic fox.” erect.
Thus, it turned out that Wartkin arrived just in time to save the dying civilization. The passion to build on the Arctic fox was driven in him almost to frenzy. Days and nights he kept dreaming up something to build, so that it would suddenly, after being built, crash and fill the universe with dust and debris. I thought this way and that, but still couldn’t figure it out in a real way. Finally, due to a lack of original thoughts, he settled on literally following in the footsteps of his famous predecessor.
“My hands are tied,” he complained bitterly to the Foolovites, “otherwise you would have learned from me where the crayfish spend the winter!”
Then, by the way, he realized that the Foolovites, by omission, were completely behind the use of mustard, and therefore for the first time limited themselves to declaring this use mandatory; as punishment for disobedience, he added more Provençal oil. And at the same time, he decided in his heart: not to lay down weapons until at least one bewildered person remains in the city.
But the Foolovites were also on their own. With great resourcefulness they contrasted the energy of action with the energy of inaction.
Do whatever you want with us! - some said, - cut it into pieces if you like; Eat it with porridge if you like, but we don’t agree!
You can't take anything from us, brother! - said others, - we are not like others who have grown over their bodies! There’s nowhere to prick us, brother!
And they stubbornly stood on their knees.
Obviously, when these two energies meet, something very interesting always happens. There is no rebellion, but there is no real submission either. There is something in between, of which we have seen examples under serfdom. It used to be that the lady would come across a cockroach in her soup, she would call the cook and order him to eat that cockroach. The cook will take a cockroach into his mouth, visibly chew it, but not swallow it. It was exactly the same with the Foolovites: they chewed a lot, but did not swallow.
I will break this energy! - said Wartkin and slowly, without haste, thought over his plan.
And the Foolovites stood on their knees and waited. They knew that they were rebelling, but they could not help but kneel. God! Why didn’t they change their minds at this time! They think: they will now eat mustard, as if in the future they will not be forced to eat any kind of abomination; they won’t - no matter how much shellep they have to taste. It seemed that the knees in this case represented a middle path that could pacify both sides.
And suddenly the trumpet blew and the drum beat. Wartkin, buttoned up and full of courage, rode out on a white horse. It was followed by a cannon and rifle shell. The Foolovites thought that the mayor was going to conquer Byzantium, but it turned out that he planned to conquer them themselves...
Thus began that remarkable series of events that the chronicler describes under the general name of “wars of enlightenment.”
The first war “for enlightenment,” as mentioned above, was caused by mustard, and began in 1780, that is, almost after Wartkin’s arrival in Foolov.
Nevertheless, Wartkin did not dare to fire right away; he was too pedantic to fall into such an obvious administrative error. He began to act gradually, and for this purpose he first summoned the Foolovites and began to lure them. In a speech given on this occasion, he developed in some detail before the townsfolk the question of aids in general, and about mustard as an aid in particular; but is it because in his words there was more personal faith in the rightness of the case being defended than actual persuasiveness, or because, according to his custom, he did not speak, but shouted - be that as it may, the result of his convictions was as follows, that the Foolovites were frightened and again the whole company fell to their knees.
“There was something to be afraid of the Foolovites,” the chronicler says on this occasion, “standing in front of them is a man of small stature, not portly, he does not speak words, but only screams.”
Do you understand, old people? - he turned to the unconscious inhabitants.
The crowd bowed low and remained silent. Naturally, this blew him up even more.
What am I... leading you to death, or something... mmmerrrzavtsy!
But as soon as a new roar came from his lips, the Foolovites quickly jumped up from their knees and ran in all directions.
I'll ruin it! - he shouted after them.
All this day Wartkin mourned. He silently walked through the halls of the mayor's house and only occasionally quietly said: “Scoundrels!”
Most of all, he was concerned about the Streletskaya Settlement*, which, even under his predecessors, was distinguished by the most insurmountable tenacity. Sagittarians have taken the energy of inaction to almost subtlety. Not only did they not show up to meetings at Wartkin’s invitations, but when they saw him approaching, they disappeared somewhere, as if they were falling through the ground. There was no one to convince, no one to ask anything. It was heard that someone was trembling somewhere, but where he was trembling and how he was trembling was impossible to find.
Meanwhile, there could be no doubt that in Streletskaya Sloboda lies the source of all evil. The most bleak rumors reached Wartkin about this seditious nest. A preacher appeared who translated the surname “Wartkin” into numbers and argued that if you leave out the letter r, you will get 666, that is, the prince of darkness.* Polemical works circulated from hand to hand, in which it was explained that mustard is an old thing that grew from the body of a girl - a harlot, nicknamed bitter for her debauchery - that is why the “mustard” went into the world. Poems were even written in which the author approached the mayor's mother and spoke very disapprovingly of her behavior. Listening to these chants and interpretations, the archers reached an almost ecstatic state. Arm in arm, they wandered in a line along the street and, in order to forever banish the spirit of timidity from their midst, they shouted at the top of their lungs.
Wartkin felt his heart, drop by drop, overflowing with bitterness. He did not eat, did not drink, but only uttered foul language, as if feeding his vigor with them. The idea of mustard seemed so simple and clear that its rejection could not be interpreted as anything other than malicious intent. This consciousness was all the more painful the more efforts Wartkin had to use to curb the impulses of his passionate nature.
My hands are tied! - he repeated, thoughtfully biting his dark mustache, - otherwise I would show you where the crayfish spend the winter!
But he thought, not without reason, that the natural outcome of any collision was, after all, a cut, and this consciousness supported him. In anticipation of this outcome, he went about his business and secretly wrote a charter “about the freedom of mayors from laws.” The first and only paragraph of this charter read like this: “If you feel that the law places an obstacle on you, then remove it from the table and put it under you.” And then all this, having become invisible, will greatly facilitate you in action.”
However, while the charter had not yet been approved, and therefore it was impossible to evade the restrictions. A month later, Wartkin again convened the townsfolk and shouted again. But he barely had time to utter the first two syllables of his greeting (“I’m keeping silent about them, for shame’s sake,” the chronicler says), when the Foolovites scattered again, not even having time to kneel down. Then only Wartkin decided to launch real civilization.
Early in the morning he set out on a campaign and gave the matter the appearance of being on a simple military promenade. The morning was clear, fresh, slightly frosty (this happened in the middle of September). The sun played on the helmets and guns of the soldiers; the roofs of the houses and the streets were covered with a light layer of frost; Stoves were lit everywhere, and cheerful flames could be seen from the windows of every house.
Although the main goal of the campaign was Streletskaya Sloboda, Wartkin was cunning. He did not go straight, nor to the right, nor to the left, but began to maneuver. The Foolovites poured out of their houses into the streets and with loud approval encouraged the evolution of the skillful leader.
Thank God! I think I forgot about the mustard! - they said, taking off their hats and devoutly crossing themselves at the bell tower.
And Wartkin kept maneuvering and maneuvering, and around noon he reached the settlement of Negodnitsa, where he made a halt. Here, everyone participating in the campaign was given a glass of vodka and ordered to sing songs, and in the evening they captured one bourgeois girl who had strayed too far from the gates of her house.
The next day, waking up early, they began to look for the “language”. They did it all seriously, without blinking. They brought some Jew and wanted to hang him at first, but then they remembered that he was not needed for that at all, and they forgave him. The Jew, putting his hand under his hip, testified that one must first go to the settlement of Dung, and then circle around the field until the tract called “Dunka’s enemy” appears. From there, after passing three checks, go wherever your eyes lead you.
That's what Borodavkin did. But before the people had gone even a quarter of a mile, they felt that they were lost. Neither land, nor water, nor sky - nothing was visible. Wartkin demanded that the treacherous Jew come to him in order to hang him, but there was no trace of him (later it turned out that he fled to St. Petersburg, where at that time he managed to obtain a concession for the railway *). They got lost in this way in broad daylight for quite a long time, and it became like an eclipse for the people, because the Dung Settlement stood open before everyone’s eyes, but no one saw it. Finally, real twilight descended on the earth, and someone shouted: they are robbing! Some drunken soldier shouted, and the people became confused and, thinking that the archers were coming, began to fight. They fought hard all night, they fought without looking, but at random. There were many wounded here, and many were killed. Only when it was completely dawn did they see that they were fighting their own people and that the scene of this misunderstanding was taking place right on the outskirts of the Dung Settlement. They decided: having buried the dead, lay a monument at the site of the battle, and honor the very day on which it took place with the name “blind breed” and in memory of it, establish an annual festival with pandemonium*.
On the third day we made a halt in the settlement of Navoznaya; but here, taught by experience, they already demanded hostages. Then, having caught the common hens, they held a wake for those killed. This last circumstance seemed strange to the Sloboda residents, that here was a man playing a game, and at the same time catching chickens; but since Wartkin did not divulge his secret, they thought that this was “the game,” and they calmed down*.
But when Wartkin, after the commemoration, ordered the soldiers to trample the winter field adjacent to the settlement, then the townsfolk became thoughtful.
Is there really such a game, brothers? - they spoke to each other, but so quietly that even Wartkin, who vigilantly followed the direction of minds, did not hear anything.
On the fourth day, before dawn, we set off to “Dunkin’s enemy,” fearing to be late, because the transition ahead was long and tiring. They walked for a long time, and along the way they constantly asked the hostages: will it be soon? Great was the general amazement when suddenly, in the middle of an open field, the Amanats shouted: here! And there was, however, something to be amazed at: there was no sign of a settlement around; Far, far away lay a bare place, and only in the distance did a deep hole deepen, into which, according to legend, the once Pushkar maiden Dunka slipped, hurrying, drunk, to a love date.
Where is the freedom? - Wartkin asked the amanats.
There is no freedom here! - the amanats answered, - there was a settlement, there were settlements everywhere before, but the soldiers destroyed everything!
But they didn’t believe these words, and decided to flog the amanats until they showed where the settlement was. But strange thing! The more they flogged, the weaker the confidence became to find the desired settlement! It was so unexpected that Wartkin tore his uniform to pieces and, raising his right hand to the heavens, shook his finger and said:
The situation was awkward; darkness came, it became cold and damp, and wolves appeared in the field. Wartkin felt a fit of prudence and issued an order: stay awake and tremble all night.
On the fifth day we went back to Navoznaya Sloboda and trampled another winter field along the way. They walked all day and only in the evening, tired and hungry, they reached the settlement. But they didn’t find anyone there anymore. The residents, seeing the approaching army from afar, fled, stole all the livestock and dug in in an impregnable position. We had to take this position in battle, but since the gunpowder was not real, no matter how much they fired, they could not do any harm, except for the unbearable stench.
On the sixth day, Wartkin wanted to continue the bombing, but he had already noticed the betrayal. The Amanats were released at night and many real soldiers were fired outright and replaced with tin soldiers. When he began to ask on what basis the hostages were released, they referred him to some kind of regulation, which allegedly said: “Amanat should be flogged, and if he is already flogged, he should not be kept for more than a day, but released home for treatment.” Willy-nilly, Wartkin had to agree that what was done was right, but he immediately remembered his project “on the freedom of city governors from laws” and began to cry bitterly.
And what's that? - he asked, pointing to the tin soldiers.
For ease, your honor! - they answered him, - he doesn’t ask for provisions, but he can do marching!
I had to agree with this too. Wartkin locked himself in the hut and began to hold a military council with himself. He wanted to punish the “dung men” for their insolence, but, on the other hand, he recalled the siege of Troy, which lasted for ten whole years, despite the fact that Achilles and Agamemnon were among the besiegers. It was not deprivation that frightened him, it was not the longing for separation from his dear wife that saddened him, but the fact that during these ten years his absence from Foolov could be noticed, and, moreover, without any particular benefit for him. On this occasion, he remembered a lesson from history that he had heard in childhood, and it greatly excited him. “Despite the good nature of Menelaus,” said the history teacher, “the Spartans were never as happy as during the siege of Troy; for although many papers remained unsigned, many backs remained unquilted, and the second deprivation more than compensated for the first”...
To top it all off, lingering autumn rains began to fall, threatening to spoil communications and stop the supply of food.
And why the hell didn’t I go straight to the archers! - Wartkin exclaimed bitterly, looking out of the window at the puddles that were increasing from minute to minute, - he would have been there in half an hour!
For the first time, he realized that multi-mindedness in some cases is tantamount to bewilderment, and the result of this consciousness was the decision: to call the all-clear and form a reliable reserve from the tin soldiers.
On the seventh day they set out just before dawn, but since the road was washed out at night, the people walked with difficulty, and the guns got stuck in the parted black soil. It was necessary to attack Mount Svistukha on the way; commanded: Attack! - the front ranks bravely rushed forward, but the tin soldiers did not follow them. And since on their linden trees, “for the sake of haste,” the features were drawn only in the form of an outline and, moreover, in great disorder, from a distance it seemed that the soldiers were smiling ironically. And from irony to sedition is one step.
Underpants! - Wartkin muttered through his teeth, but found it difficult to say clearly and was forced to retreat from the mountain with damage.
We took a detour, but here we came across a swamp that no one suspected. Wartkin looked at the geometric plan of the pasture - everywhere there was arable land and mowing in wet places, some small bushes, some stones, but no swamps, and quite a lot.
There is no swamp here! you're lying, scoundrels! march! - Wartkin commanded and stood on a hummock to observe the crossing more closely.
People climbed into the quagmire and immediately sank all the artillery. However, they somehow got out themselves, getting very dirty in the mud. Wartkin also got dirty, but he had no time for that. He looked at the lost artillery and, seeing that the cannons, half submerged, stood with their muzzles turned to the sky and, as if threatening the latter with execution, began to grieve and mourn.
How many years have I been saving, taking care of, caring for! - he grumbled, - what am I going to do now! How can I rule without guns?
The army was completely demoralized. When we got out of the quagmire, a vast plain again opened before our eyes and again without any sign of habitation. Human bones lay scattered here and there and piles of bricks rose; all this indicated that at one time there existed a rather strong and unique civilization here (later it turned out that this civilization, mistaking a drunken state for rebellion, was destroyed by the former mayor Urus-Kugush-Kildibaev), but many years have passed since then, and no one mayor did not bother to restore it. Some strange shadows ran across the field; Mysterious sounds reached my ears. Something magical was happening, like what is depicted in the 3rd act of “Ruslan and Lyudmila”*, when the frightened Farlaf runs onto the stage. Although Wartkin was braver than Farlaf, he also could not help but shudder at the thought that the evil Naina was about to come out to meet him...
Only on the eighth day, around noon, the exhausted team saw the Streltsy heights and joyfully blew their horns. Wartkin remembered that Grand Duke Svyatoslav Igorevich, before defeating enemies, always sent to say: I’m coming to you! - and, guided by this example, he sent his orderly to the archers with the same greeting*.
The next day, as soon as the sun gilded the tops of the thatched roofs, the army, led by Wartkin, entered the settlement. But there was no one there except an ordinary priest, who at that very moment was calculating whether it would be more profitable for him to go into schism. The priest was ancient and more likely to instill despondency than to infuse courage into the soul.
Where are the residents? - asked Wartkin, his eyes sparkling at the priest.
Now they were here! - the priest mumbled his lips.
Like now? where did they run?
Where to run? Why run away from your homes? Tea, they are hiding from you somewhere here!
Wartkin stood in one place and dug the ground with his feet. There was a moment when he began to believe that the energy of inaction must triumph.
It was necessary to announce a campaign in winter! - he repented in his heart, - then they would not have hidden from me.
Hey! Who is there! come out! - he shouted in such a voice that the tin soldiers - and they trembled.
But the settlement was silent, as if it had died out. Sighs escaped from somewhere, but the mystery with which they emerged from invisible organisms irritated the distressed mayor even more.
Where are they, the beasts, sighing? - he raged, hopelessly looking around and apparently losing all intelligence, - find the first beast that is sighing here, and bring it to me!
They rushed to look, but no matter how they searched, they did not find anyone. Wartkin himself walked along the street, looking into all the cracks - there was no one! This puzzled him so much that the most incongruous thoughts suddenly poured into his head in a torrent.
“If I now destroy them with fire... no, I’d rather starve them to death!..” - he thought, moving from one incongruity to another.
And suddenly he stopped, as if amazed, in front of the tin soldiers.
Something completely unusual was happening to them. Gradually, in front of everyone, the soldiers began to fill with blood. Their eyes, hitherto motionless, suddenly began to rotate and express anger; the mustache, drawn at random, fell into place and began to move; the lips, which represented a thin pink line that had almost been washed away from the previous rains, protruded and expressed the intention of saying something. Nostrils appeared, which had never been seen before, and began to flare and indicate impatience.
What do you say, servants? - asked Wartkin.
Huts... huts... break! - the tin soldiers said indistinctly, but somehow gloomily.
The remedy was found.
We started with the last hut. The “tin men” rushed to the roof with a boom and instantly went berserk. Bunches of straw, poles, and wooden knitting needles flew down. Whole clouds of dust rose up.
Quiet! quiet! - Wartkin shouted, suddenly hearing some kind of groan near him.
The whole settlement groaned. It was an unclear, but continuous hum, in which not a single individual sound could be distinguished, but which in its entirety represented a barely restrained pain of the heart.
Who is here? come out! - Wartkin shouted again at the top of his voice.
The settlement fell silent, but no one came out. “The archers hoped,” says the chronicler, “that this new invention (that is, pacification by breaking down houses), like all others, was just a dream, but they did not have to console themselves for long in this sweet hope.”
Ride! - Wartkin said firmly.
There was a crash and a crash; the logs, one by one, were separated from the frame, and as they fell to the ground, the groaning resumed and increased. A few minutes later the last hut was gone, and the “tin men”, having become embittered, were already taking the second one by storm. But when the hidden archers, after a short break, again heard the blows of the ax, which continued its destructive work, their hearts trembled. They all suddenly crawled out, both old and young, male and female, and, raising their hands to the sky, fell to their knees in the middle of the square. Wartkin started to run away at first, but then he remembered the words of the instructions: “when pacifying, do not try so much to exterminate as to bring admonition” - and became quiet. He realized that the hour of triumph had already arrived, and that the triumph would almost certainly be more complete if the result were no bloody noses or curled cheekbones.
Do you take mustard? - he asked clearly, trying, if possible, to eliminate the threatening notes from his voice.
The crowd silently bowed to the ground.
Do you accept, I ask you? - he repeated, starting to boil,
We accept! We accept! - the crowd hummed quietly, as if hissing.
Fine. Now tell me, who among you insulted the memory of my dearest mother in poetry?
The Sagittarius hesitated; It seemed wrong to them to betray the one who had been their comforter in the bitter moments of life; however, after a moment's hesitation, they decided to fulfill this requirement of the authorities.
Come out, Fedka! I suppose! come out! - was heard in the crowd.
A blond fellow came forward and stood in front of the mayor. His lips twitched, as if they wanted to form a smile, but his face was as pale as a sheet, and his teeth were shaking.
So is it you? - Wartkin laughed and, stepping back a little, as if wanting to examine the culprit in all details, repeated: - So it’s you?
Obviously, there was a struggle in Wartkin. He was considering whether to smear Fedka in the face or punish him in some other way. Finally, a punishment was invented, so to speak, mixed.
Listen! - he said, slightly straightening Fedka’s jaw, “since you have dishonored the memory of my dearest parent, then every day from now on you must glorify this precious memory of me in poetry, and bring those poems to me!”
With this word he ordered the all clear.
The riot is over; ignorance was suppressed, and enlightenment was installed in its place. Half an hour later, Wartkin, burdened with booty, rode in triumph into the city, dragging behind him many captives and hostages. And since among them were some military leaders and other persons of the first three classes*, he ordered them to be treated kindly (with his eyes gouged out, however, just to be sure), and the rest to be sent to hard labor.
That same evening, locked in his office, Wartkin wrote the following note in his journal:
“This September 17th, after a difficult but glorious nine-day campaign, the most joyful and most desirable event took place. Mustard was approved everywhere and forever, and not a single drop of blood was wasted.”
“Except for the one,” the chronicler adds ironically, “which was shed at the outskirts of the Dung Settlement and in whose memory a celebration called pandemonium is celebrated to this day”...
It may very well happen that much of what is said above will seem too fantastic to the reader. What was the need for Wartkin to make a nine-day hike when Streletskaya Sloboda was at his side and he could arrive there in half an hour? How could he get lost in the city pasture, which, as the mayor, should be completely known to him? Is it possible to believe the story about the tin soldiers who allegedly not only marched, but in the end even became filled with blood?
Understanding the importance of these questions, the publisher of this chronicle considers it possible to answer them as follows: the history of the city of Foolov, first of all, represents a world of miracles, which can be rejected only when the existence of miracles in general is rejected. But this is not enough. There are miracles in which, upon careful examination, one can notice a fairly clear real basis. We all know the legend about the bone-leg Baba Yaga, who rode in a mortar and drove with a broom, and we consider these trips to be among the miracles created by folk imagination. But no one asks the question: why did folk imagination produce this particular fruit and not another? If the researchers of our antiquity had paid due attention to this subject, then one can be sure in advance that much would have been revealed that had hitherto been hidden under a shroud of secrecy. So, for example, it would probably be discovered that the origin of this legend is purely administrative and that Baba Yaga was none other than the city ruler, or, perhaps, the mayor, who, in order to arouse saving fear in the townsfolk, traveled in this very way around the region entrusted to her , and she picked up Ivanushki who met along the way and, returning home, exclaimed: “I’ll ride, I’ll lie around, I’ll eat Ivanushka’s meat*.”
It seems that this is absolutely enough to convince the reader that the chronicler is on far from fantastic grounds and that everything he tells about Wartkin’s campaigns can be taken as a completely reliable document. Of course, at first glance it may seem strange that Wartkin circles around the pasture for nine days in a row; but we must not forget, firstly, that he had no need to rush, since it was possible to predict in advance that his enterprise would in any case end in success, and, secondly, that every administrator willingly resorts to evolution in order to capture the imagination of ordinary people. If it were possible to imagine the so-called correction on the body without those preliminary rites that precede it, such as taking off clothes, admonitions from the person correcting and asking for forgiveness from the person being corrected, what would be left of it? Just an empty formality, the meaning of which would be understandable only to the one who experiences it! Exactly the same should be said about any campaign, whether it is undertaken for the purpose of conquering kingdoms or simply for the purpose of collecting arrears. Take away “evolution” from it - what remains?
There is, of course, no doubt that Wartkin could have avoided many very important mistakes. So, for example, the episode to which the chronicler assigned the name “blind breed” is extremely bad. But let’s not forget that success never comes without sacrifices and that if we cleanse the skeleton of history from those lies that have been inflicted on it by time and preconceived views, then the result will always be only a larger or smaller portion of the “killed.” Who are these “killed”? Are they right or wrong and how much? How did they end up with the title of “killed”? - all this will be sorted out later. But they are necessary, because without them there would be no one to commemorate.
Therefore, only the question of the tin soldiers remains unresolved; but the chronicler does not leave it without explanation. “Very often we notice,” he says, “that objects, apparently completely inanimate (like stones), begin to feel lust as soon as they come into contact with spectacles that are accessible to inanimateness.” And he cites as an example a neighboring landowner who, having been paralyzed, lay motionless in a chair for ten years, but behind all this he hummed joyfully when they brought him a quitrent...
There were four wars “for enlightenment”. One of them is described above; of the other three, the first had the goal of explaining to the Foolovites the benefits of installing stone foundations under houses; the second arose as a result of the refusal of ordinary people to grow Persian chamomile, and the third, finally, had the reason for the spread of a rumor about the establishment of an academy in Foolov. In general, it is clear that Wartkin was a utopian, and that if he had lived longer, he would probably have ended up either exiled to Siberia for freethinking, or would have built a phalanstery in Foolov*.
There is no need to describe this series of brilliant exploits in detail, but it would be useful to point out their general nature here.
In further campaigns, a very significant step forward is noticed on the part of Wartkin. He prepares materials for disturbances with greater care and suppresses them with greater speed. The most difficult campaign, which was motivated by rumors about the establishment of an academy, lasted only two days; the rest - no more than a few hours. Usually Wartkin, having drunk tea in the morning, called out a cry; The tin soldiers came running, instantly filled with blood and ran at full speed to the place. By lunchtime, Wartkin returned home and sang a song of thanks. Thus, he finally achieved the point that after a few years not a single Foolovite could point to a place on his body that had not been carved.
On the part of the inhabitants, as before, complete misunderstanding reigned. From the chronicler’s stories it is clear that they were determined not to rebel, but they could not arrange it, because they did not know what the rebellion consisted of. And in fact, Wartkin entangled them extremely skillfully. Usually he did not explain anything in detail, but made his wishes known through proclamations that were secretly, at night, stuck on the corner houses of all the streets. The proclamations were written in the spirit of the current announcements from the Kacha store, with completely unimportant words printed in large letters, and everything important was depicted in the smallest font. Moreover, the use of Latin names was allowed; so, for example, the Persian chamomile was not called the Persian chamomile, but “Pyrethrum roseum”, otherwise the salivator, salivator, fireweed, belongs to the family “Compositas”, etc. From this came the following: the literati, who were usually entrusted with reading proclamations, shouted only those words that were printed in capital letters, while others were hidden. As, for example (see the proclamation about the Persian chamomile):
KNOWN
what devastation bedbugs, fleas, etc. produce.
FINALLY FOUND!!!
Enterprising people brought it from the Far East, etc.
Of all these words, the people only understood: “known” and “finally found.” And when the literati shouted these words, the people took off their hats, sighed and were baptized. It is clear that not only was there no rebellion in this, but rather the fulfillment of the plans of the authorities. A people brought to the point of sighing - what other ideal can one demand!
Consequently, the whole matter was a misunderstanding, and this turns out to be all the more reliable since the Foolovites, even to this day, cannot explain the meaning of the word “academy,” although it was precisely this that Wartkin printed in large print (see the complete collection of proclamations No. 1089 ). Moreover: the chronicler proves that the Foolovites even tried hard to get Wartkin to shed light into their dark heads, but they did not receive success, and they did not receive it precisely because of the fault of the mayor himself. They often went with the whole company to the mayor’s courtyard and said to Wartkin:
Untie us, do us a favor! show us the end!
Be gone, brawlers! - Wartkin usually answered.
What brawlers we are! I don't know, you haven't seen what kind of brawlers there are! Do me a favor, tell me!
But Wartkin was silent. Why was he silent? Whether it was because he considered the Foolovites’ misunderstanding to be nothing more than a trick that hid stubborn opposition behind it, or because he wanted to surprise the townsfolk, cannot be reliably determined. But it must be thought that both were partly mixed in here. It never seems to any administrator who clearly understands the benefits of the measure being taken that this benefit could be unclear or doubtful to anyone. On the other hand, every administrator is certainly a fatalist and firmly believes that, continuing his administrative run, he will eventually find himself face to face with the human body. Consequently, if we begin to prevent this inevitable denouement with preliminary harangues, then doesn’t this mean further inciting it and giving it a more bitter character? Finally, every administrator strives to be trusted, and what better way to express this trust than by unquestioning execution of what you do not understand?
Be that as it may, the Foolovites always learned about the subject of the campaign only after it was over.
But no matter how brilliant the results obtained by Wartkin seemed, they were far from beneficial in essence. Obstinacy was destroyed - this is true, but at the same time contentment was also destroyed. The inhabitants hung their heads and seemed to fade away; reluctantly they worked in the fields, reluctantly returned home, reluctantly sat down to a meager meal and wandered from corner to corner as if they were tired of everything.
To top it all off, the Foolovites planted so much mustard and Persian chamomile that the price of these products dropped incredibly. An economic crisis followed, and there was neither Molinari nor Bezobrazov to explain that this was real prosperity.* Not only did the inhabitants not receive precious metals and furs in exchange for their products, but there was nothing to even buy bread with.
However, until 1790, things were still going well. From a full portion, the townsfolk switched to half a portion, but they did not withhold tribute, and even showed some partiality for enlightenment. In 1790, the Foolovites took their products to the main markets, and no one bought anything from them: everyone felt sorry for the bedbugs. Then the residents switched to a quarter portion and delayed the tribute. At the same time, as if out of ridicule, a revolution broke out in France, and it became clear to everyone that “enlightenment” is useful only when it is of an unenlightened nature. Wartkin received a paper in which he was advised: “On the occasion of the incident known to you, please look diligently so that this incorrigible evil can be eradicated without any omission.”
Only then did Wartkin come to his senses and realize that he was walking too quickly and in the wrong direction. Having begun to collect tribute, he saw with surprise and indignation that the courtyards were empty, and that if there were chickens here and there, they were also skinny from lack of food. But, as usual, he discussed this fact not directly, but from his own original point of view, that is, he saw in it a rebellion, produced this time not by ignorance, but by the excess of enlightenment.
They brought a free spirit! got fat! - he shouted without memory, - look at the French!
And now a new series of campaigns began - campaigns against enlightenment. On his first campaign, Wartkin burned down the settlement of Dung, on the second he ruined the Scoundrel, on the third he squandered the Swamp. But the taxes were still delayed. The moment was coming when he had to be left alone in the ruins with his secretary, and he was actively preparing for this moment. But providence did not allow this. In 1798, inflammatory materials had already been collected to burn the entire city, when suddenly Wartkin was gone... “He wasted everyone,” the chronicler says on this occasion, “so that even the priests were not there to guide him. They were forced to call a nearby police captain, who witnessed the departure of his multi-rebellious spirit.”
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