Elizaveta Mertsalova in the story the wonderful doctor Kuprin essay. A socialist priest in Russian literature ("What is to be done?" Chernyshevsky) Mertsalov's description
The Mertsalov family in the story "The Miraculous Doctor" by Kuprin (brief description, description)
The Mertsalov family is a poor family, probably from the middle class. Family members are 6 people:
father Emelyan Mertsalov
mother Elizaveta Ivanovna
eldest son Grisha (10 years old)
youngest son Volodya (age not specified)
daughter Mashutka (7 years old)
infant
Another daughter of the Mertsalovs died 3 months before the events described in the story:
"Three months ago, one girl died, now another is in a fever and unconscious."
About a year ago, a series of misfortunes began in the Mertsalov family. The father of the family lost his job, after which the already not rich Mertsalovs fell into poverty. For more than a year, the Mertsalov family has been living in the basement of an old house in terrible conditions. 7-year-old Mashutka is sick and in a fever, but the Mertsalovs do not know where to find money for medicine:
“In this terrible fateful year, misfortune after misfortune persistently and ruthlessly rained down on Mertsalov and his family. First, he himself fell ill with typhoid fever, and all their meager savings went to his treatment. Then, when he recovered, he found out that his place, the modest position of the house manager for twenty-five rubles a month, was already occupied by another ... A desperate, convulsive pursuit of casual work, correspondence, and nothing place, the pledge and re-pledge of things, the sale of all household rags. And then the children went to get sick."
The father of the family, Emelyan Mertsalov, suffers deeply because he cannot provide for his family. It is hard for him to see how his wife and children are starving and sick due to lack of money:
"... and with me, dear sir, at the present moment my children are dying of hunger at home ... Gifts! ... And my wife's milk is gone, and the baby has not eaten all day ... "
The mother of the family, Elizaveta Ivanovna, does household chores and takes care of four children. Despite her illness (probably a cold), she moonlights as a laundress on the other side of the city:
"Elizaveta Ivanovna had to simultaneously take care of a sick girl, breastfeed a little one and go almost to the other end of the city to the house where she washed clothes every day."
The sons of the Mertsalovs, Volodya and Grisha, are well-mannered, polite, non-capricious boys. The brothers, like the whole family, live from hand to mouth, eat empty cabbage soup, wear old clothes, etc.:
"...both of them hadn't eaten anything since morning, except for empty cabbage soup..."
One day, on the eve of Christmas, a real miracle happens in the unfortunate Mertsalov family: the father of the family meets a kind doctor who decides to help a poor family. The doctor gives the Mertsalovs a large sum of money, writes out a prescription for a sick girl, etc. After that, the life of the unfortunate family is getting better. Apparently, the Mertsalovs feel gratitude for the rest of their lives towards the wonderful doctor Pirogov:
"Doctor, wait! ... Tell me your name, doctor! At least let my children pray for you!" (Mertsalov - to the doctor)
Many years later, when Grisha Mertsalov grows up and becomes a wealthy banker, he helps the poor himself. As an adult, Grisha still remembers the wonderful doctor:
“Now he occupies a fairly large, responsible post in one of the banks, being known as a model of honesty and responsiveness to the needs of poverty. And each time, finishing his story about a wonderful doctor, he adds in a voice trembling from hidden tears ... "(about adult Grisha)
Kuprin's work "The Magic Doctor", based on real events, looks like a good fairy tale. In the story “The Wonderful Doctor”, the characters found themselves in a difficult life situation: the father of the Mertsalov family lost his job, the children fell ill, the youngest girl died. A beautiful well-fed life is in full swing around, and the family is begging. On the eve of the Christmas holiday, despair reaches its limit, Mertsalov thinks about suicide, unable to withstand the trials that befell his family. It was then that the main character meets the "guardian angel".
Characteristics of the heroes "Wonderful Doctor"
Main characters
Emelyan Mertsalov |
The head of the family, who worked as a manager in the house of a certain gentleman for 25 rubles a month. Having lost his job due to a long illness, he is forced to wander around the city in search of help, beg for alms. At the moment of the story, he is on the verge of suicide, lost, does not see the point in further existence. Thin, with sunken cheeks and sunken eyes, he looks like a dead man. In order not to see the despair of his loved ones, he is ready to wander around the city in a summer coat with his hands blue from the cold, no longer even hoping for a miracle. |
Elizaveta Ivanovna Mertsalova |
Mertsalov's wife, a woman with a baby, caring for a sick daughter. He goes to the other end of the city to wash clothes for a penny. Despite the death of a child and complete poverty, he continues to look for a way out of the situation: he writes letters, knocks on all doors, asks for help. Constantly crying, is on the verge of despair. In the work, Kuprin calls her Elizaveta Ivanovna, in contrast to the father of the family (he is simply Mertsalov). A strong, strong-willed woman who does not lose hope. |
Volodya and Grishka |
Children of the spouses, the eldest is about 10 years old. On the eve of Christmas, they wander around the city, delivering letters to their mother. Children look into shop windows, admiringly watching the expensive beautiful life. They are accustomed to need, to hunger. After the appearance of the “magic doctor”, the children miraculously managed to be placed in a government school. At the end of the story, the author mentions that he learned this story from Grigory Emelyanovich Mertsalov (it was then that the name of the boys' father becomes known), who was the same Grishka. Gregory has made a career and holds a good position in the bank. |
mashutka |
The little daughter of the Mertsalovs is ill: she is in a fever, unconscious. He is recovering thanks to the care of the doctor, his treatment and the funds he left for the family along with a prescription for medicine. |
Professor Pirogov, doctor |
His image in the work is the image of a good angel. Meets Mertsalov in the city, where he buys gifts for the kids he knows. He is the only one who listened to the story of the impoverished family and gladly responded to help. In the story, Kuprin is a smart, serious elderly man of short stature. The "wonderful" doctor has an affectionate pleasant voice. He did not disdain the beggarly atmosphere and the disgusting smells of the basement where the family lives. His arrival changes everything: it becomes warm, cozy, satisfying, hope appears. It should be noted that the doctor is dressed in a shabby old-fashioned frock coat, this betrays a simple person in him. |
Minor characters
The main characters of The Miraculous Doctor are ordinary people who, due to circumstances, find themselves in a desperate situation. The names of the characters play the role of characteristics in the work. The description of the life and life of the Mertsalov family at the beginning and at the end of the story are in sharp contrast, which creates the effect of a magical reincarnation. The materials of the article can be useful for compiling a reader's diary or writing creative works based on Kuprin's work.
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The following story is not the fruit of idle fiction. Everything I have described really happened in Kyiv about thirty years ago and is still sacred, down to the smallest detail, preserved in the traditions of the family that will be discussed. For my part, I only changed the names of some of the characters in this touching story and gave the oral story a written form. - Grish, and Grish! Look, a little pig... Laughing... Yeah. And he has something in his mouth! .. Look, look ... weed in his mouth, by God, weed! .. That's something! And the two little boys, standing in front of the huge, solid glass window of the grocery store, began to laugh uncontrollably, pushing each other in the side with their elbows, but involuntarily dancing from the cruel cold. For more than five minutes they had stood in front of this magnificent exhibition, which excited their minds and stomachs in equal measure. Here, illuminated by the bright light of hanging lamps, towered whole mountains of strong red apples and oranges; regular pyramids of tangerines stood, tenderly gilded through the tissue paper wrapping them; stretched out on platters with ugly gaping mouths and bulging eyes, huge smoked and pickled fish; below, surrounded by garlands of sausages, there were juicy cut hams with a thick layer of pinkish bacon... Countless jars and boxes with salted, boiled and smoked snacks completed this spectacular picture, looking at which both boys for a moment forgot about the twelve-degree frost and about the important task entrusted to them by their mother, a task that ended so unexpectedly and so deplorably. The eldest boy was the first to break away from contemplation of the charming spectacle. He pulled his brother's sleeve and said sternly: - Well, Volodya, let's go, let's go ... There's nothing here ... At the same time, suppressing a heavy sigh (the eldest of them was only ten years old, and besides, both of them had not eaten anything since morning, except for empty cabbage soup) and throwing a last loving-greedy glance at the gastronomic exhibition, the boys hurriedly ran down the street. Sometimes, through the misted windows of some house, they saw a Christmas tree, which from a distance seemed like a huge bunch of bright, shining spots, sometimes they even heard the sounds of a cheerful polka ... But they courageously drove away from themselves the tempting thought: to stop for a few seconds and snuggle up to the glass with an eye. As the boys walked, the streets became less crowded and darker. Beautiful shops, shining Christmas trees, trotters rushing under their blue and red nets, the squeal of runners, the festive animation of the crowd, the cheerful rumble of shouts and conversations, the laughing faces of smart ladies flushed with frost - everything was left behind. Wastelands stretched out, crooked, narrow lanes, gloomy, unlit slopes ... At last they reached a rickety dilapidated house that stood apart; its bottom - the actual cellar - was stone, and the top was wooden. Walking around the cramped, icy and dirty yard, which served as a natural garbage pit for all the residents, they went down to the basement, went through the common corridor in the darkness, found their door by feel and opened it. For more than a year the Mertsalovs lived in this dungeon. Both boys had long since become accustomed to these smoky walls weeping from dampness, and to wet rags drying on a rope stretched across the room, and to this terrible smell of kerosene fumes, children's dirty laundry and rats - the real smell of poverty. But today, after everything they saw on the street, after this festive jubilation that they felt everywhere, their little children's hearts sank from acute, unchildish suffering. In the corner, on a dirty wide bed, lay a girl of about seven; her face burned, her breathing was short and difficult, her wide-open shining eyes stared intently and aimlessly. Next to the bed, in a cradle suspended from the ceiling, a baby was crying, grimacing, straining and choking. A tall, thin woman, with a haggard, tired face, as if blackened with grief, knelt beside the sick girl, straightening her pillow and at the same time not forgetting to push the rocking cradle with her elbow. When the boys entered and after them white puffs of frosty air rushed into the basement, the woman turned her anxious face back. - Well? What? she asked abruptly and impatiently. The boys were silent. Only Grisha noisily wiped his nose with the sleeve of his overcoat, remade from an old wadded dressing gown. - Did you take the letter? .. Grisha, I ask you, did you give the letter back? “I gave it away,” Grisha answered in a voice hoarse from the frost. - So what? What did you say to him? Yes, just like you taught. Here, I say, is a letter from Mertsalov, from your former manager. And he scolded us: “Get out of here, you say... You bastards...” — Yes, who is it? Who was talking to you?.. Speak plainly, Grisha! - The porter was talking ... Who else? I told him: "Take, uncle, a letter, pass it on, and I'll wait for an answer here." And he says: “Well, he says, keep your pocket ... The master also has time to read your letters ...”- Well, what about you? - I told him everything, as you taught,: “There is, they say, nothing ... Mother is sick ... Dying ...” I say: “When dad finds a place, he will thank you, Savely Petrovich, by God, he will thank you.” Well, at this time, the bell will ring, how it will ring, and he tells us: “Get the hell out of here as soon as possible! So that your spirit is not here! .. ”And he even hit Volodya on the back of the head. “And he hit me on the back of the head,” said Volodya, who followed his brother’s story with attention, and scratched the back of his head. The older boy suddenly began rummaging preoccupiedly in the deep pockets of his dressing gown. Finally pulling out a crumpled envelope, he laid it on the table and said: Here it is, the letter... The mother didn't ask any more questions. For a long time in the stuffy, dank room, only the frantic cry of the baby and the short, frequent breathing of Mashutka, more like uninterrupted monotonous groans, were heard. Suddenly the mother said, turning back: - There is borscht there, left over from dinner ... Maybe we could eat? Only cold - there is nothing to warm up ... At this time, someone's hesitant steps and the rustling of a hand searching for a door in the darkness were heard in the corridor. The mother and both boys—all three of them even pale with intense anticipation—turned in this direction. Mertsalov entered. He was wearing a summer coat, a summer felt hat, and no galoshes. His hands were swollen and blue from the cold, his eyes sunken in, his cheeks stuck around his gums like a dead man's. He did not say a single word to his wife, she did not ask him a single question. They understood each other by the despair they read in each other's eyes. In this terrible fateful year, misfortune after misfortune persistently and ruthlessly rained down on Mertsalov and his family. First, he himself contracted typhoid fever, and all their meager savings went to his treatment. Later, when he recovered, he learned that his place, the modest position of house manager for twenty-five rubles a month, was already occupied by another .... A desperate, convulsive pursuit began for odd jobs, for correspondence, for an insignificant place, pledging and re-pledging things, selling all kinds of household rags. And then the kids got sick. Three months ago, one girl died, now another is lying in a fever and unconscious. Elizaveta Ivanovna had to simultaneously take care of a sick girl, breastfeed a little one and go almost to the other end of the city to the house where she washed clothes every day. All day today I was busy trying to squeeze out at least a few kopecks from somewhere for Mashutka's medicine through superhuman efforts. To this end, Mertsalov ran around almost half the city, begging and humiliating himself everywhere; Elizaveta Ivanovna went to her mistress, the children were sent with a letter to the gentleman whose house Mertsalov used to manage ... But everyone tried to dissuade him either with festive chores, or lack of money ... Others, like, for example, the doorman of the former patron, simply drove the petitioners from the porch. For ten minutes no one could utter a word. Suddenly Mertsalov quickly got up from the chest on which he had been sitting up until now, and with a decisive movement pushed his tattered hat deeper onto his forehead. - Where are you going? asked Elizaveta Ivanovna anxiously. Mertsalov, who had already taken hold of the doorknob, turned around. "It doesn't matter, sitting won't help," he answered hoarsely. - I'll go again ... At least I'll try to ask for alms. Out on the street, he walked aimlessly forward. He didn't look for anything, didn't hope for anything. He has long gone through that burning time of poverty, when you dream of finding a wallet with money on the street or suddenly receiving an inheritance from an unknown second cousin. Now he was seized by an irresistible desire to run anywhere, to run without looking back, so as not to see the silent despair of a hungry family. Beg for mercy? He has already tried this remedy twice today. But for the first time, some gentleman in a raccoon coat read him an instruction that he had to work, and not beg, and the second time they promised to send him to the police. Unbeknownst to himself, Mertsalov found himself in the center of the city, near the fence of a dense public garden. Since he had to go uphill all the time, he was out of breath and felt tired. Mechanically, he turned into a gate and, passing a long avenue of lindens covered with snow, went down to a low garden bench. It was quiet and solemn. The trees, shrouded in their white robes, slumbered in motionless majesty. Sometimes a piece of snow broke off from the upper branch, and you could hear how it rustled, falling and clinging to other branches. The deep stillness and great calm that guarded the garden suddenly awakened in Mertsalov's tormented soul an unbearable thirst for the same calmness, the same silence. "I wish I could lie down and fall asleep," he thought, "and forget about my wife, about the hungry children, about the sick Mashutka." Putting his hand under his waistcoat, Mertsalov felt for a rather thick rope that served as his belt. The thought of suicide was very clear in his mind. But he was not horrified by this thought, did not shudder for a moment before the darkness of the unknown. “Instead of dying slowly, isn’t it better to take a shorter path?” He was about to get up in order to fulfill his terrible intention, but at that time a creak of footsteps was heard at the end of the alley, distinctly resounding in the frosty air. Mertsalov turned in anger in that direction. Someone was walking down the alley. At first, the light of a flashing, then an extinct cigar was visible. Then, little by little, Mertsalov could make out an old man of small stature, in a warm hat, fur coat and high galoshes. Coming abreast of the bench, the stranger suddenly turned sharply in the direction of Mertsalov and, lightly touching his hat, asked: "Will you allow me to sit here?" Mertsalov deliberately abruptly turned away from the stranger and moved to the edge of the bench. Five minutes passed in mutual silence, during which the stranger smoked a cigar and (Mertsalov sensed this) sideways watched his neighbor. “What a glorious night,” said the stranger suddenly. - It's cold... quiet. What a charm - Russian winter! His voice was soft, gentle, senile. Mertsalov was silent, not turning around. “But I bought presents for the kids I know,” continued the stranger (he had several bundles in his hands). - Yes, I couldn’t resist on the way, I made a circle in order to go through the garden: it’s very good here. Mertsalov was generally a meek and shy person, but at the last words of the stranger he was suddenly seized by a surge of desperate anger. With a sharp movement he turned towards the old man and shouted, absurdly waving his arms and panting: “Gifts!.. Gifts!.. Gifts for the kids I know!.. And I… and with me, dear sir, at the present moment my kids are dying of hunger at home… Gifts!.. And my wife’s milk is gone, and the baby has not eaten all day… Mertsalov expected that after these disorderly, angry cries the old man would get up and leave, but he was mistaken. The old man brought his smart, serious face with gray whiskers closer to him and said in a friendly but serious tone: “Wait…don’t worry!” Tell me everything in order and as briefly as possible. Maybe together we can come up with something for you. There was something so calm and inspiring confidence in the stranger's unusual face that Mertsalov immediately, without the slightest concealment, but terribly excited and in a hurry, conveyed his story. He spoke about his illness, about the loss of his place, about the death of a child, about all his misfortunes, up to this day. The stranger listened without interrupting him with a word, and only looked more inquisitively and intently into his eyes, as if wishing to penetrate into the very depths of this sore, indignant soul. Suddenly, with a quick, quite youthful movement, he jumped up from his seat and grabbed Mertsalov by the arm. Mertsalov involuntarily also stood up. - Let's go! said the stranger, pulling Mertsalov by the hand. - Let's go soon! .. Your happiness that you met with the doctor. Of course, I can't vouch for anything, but ... let's go! Ten minutes later, Mertsalov and the doctor were already entering the basement. Elizaveta Ivanovna was lying on the bed next to her sick daughter, her face buried in dirty, greasy pillows. The boys slurped borscht, sitting in the same places. Frightened by the long absence of their father and the immobility of their mother, they wept, smearing tears down their faces with dirty fists and spilling them profusely into a sooty cast-iron. Entering the room, the doctor threw off his overcoat and, remaining in an old-fashioned, rather shabby coat, went up to Elizaveta Ivanovna. She didn't even raise her head at his approach. “Well, that’s enough, that’s enough, my dear,” the doctor spoke, affectionately stroking the woman’s back. - Get up! Show me your patient. And just as recently in the garden, something tender and convincing sounding in his voice made Elizaveta Ivanovna instantly get out of bed and unquestioningly do everything that the doctor said. Two minutes later, Grishka was already lighting the stove with firewood, for which the wonderful doctor sent to the neighbors, Volodya was fanning the samovar with all his might, Elizaveta Ivanovna was wrapping Mashutka with a warming compress ... A little later, Mertsalov also appeared. For the three rubles received from the doctor, he managed to buy tea, sugar, rolls during this time and get hot food at the nearest tavern. The doctor was sitting at the table and writing something on a piece of paper, which he had torn out of his notebook. Having finished this lesson and depicting some kind of hook below instead of a signature, he got up, covered what was written with a tea saucer and said: - Here with this piece of paper you will go to the pharmacy ... let's have a teaspoon in two hours. This will cause the baby to expectorate ... Continue the warming compress ... Besides, even if your daughter gets better, in any case, invite Dr. Afrosimov tomorrow. He is a good doctor and a good person. I will warn him now. Then farewell, gentlemen! God grant that the coming year treats you a little more condescendingly than this one, and most importantly - never lose heart. After shaking hands with Mertsalov and Elizaveta Ivanovna, who still had not recovered from his astonishment, and casually patting Volodya, who was gaping, on the cheek, the doctor quickly thrust his feet into deep galoshes and put on his overcoat. Mertsalov came to his senses only when the doctor was already in the corridor, and rushed after him. Since it was impossible to make out anything in the darkness, Mertsalov shouted at random: - Doctor! Doctor, wait!.. Tell me your name, doctor! May my children pray for you! And he moved his hands in the air to catch the invisible doctor. But at this time, at the other end of the corridor, a calm old voice said: - E! Here are some more trifles invented! .. Come back home soon! When he returned, a surprise awaited him: under the tea saucer, along with the wonderful doctor's prescription, there were several large credit notes... On the same evening, Mertsalov also learned the name of his unexpected benefactor. On the pharmacy label, attached to the vial of medicine, it was written in the pharmacist's clear hand: "According to the prescription of Professor Pirogov." I heard this story, and more than once, from the lips of Grigory Emelyanovich Mertsalov himself - the same Grishka who, on the Christmas Eve I described, shed tears into a smoky iron with empty borscht. Now he occupies a fairly large, responsible post in one of the banks, reputed to be a model of honesty and responsiveness to the needs of poverty. And each time, finishing his story about the wonderful doctor, he adds in a voice trembling with hidden tears: “From now on, it’s like a beneficent angel descended into our family. Everything has changed. At the beginning of January, my father found a place, my mother got on her feet, and my brother and I were able to get a place at the gymnasium at public expense. Just a miracle performed by this holy man. And we have seen our wonderful doctor only once since then - this is when he was transported dead to his own estate Cherry. And even then they didn’t see him, because that great, powerful and holy thing that lived and burned in the wonderful doctor during his lifetime died out irretrievably.There is such a character in Chernyshevsky's novel - Alexei Petrovich Mertsalov. This is the priest who married Lopukhov with Vera Pavlovna:
"who will marry?" - and everyone had one answer: "no one will marry!" And suddenly, instead of "no one will marry" - the surname "Mertsalov" appeared in his head(Chapter 2, XXI).
Mertsalov is a minor character, and, probably, few of the readers remember him. Meanwhile, for the supporters of Orthodox socialism, he is of great interest.
Just as Rakhmetov was brought out by Chernyshevsky not only in order to convey Lopukhov's letter to Vera Pavlovna, so the significance of Mertsalov's image is not limited to an episodic role in the development of the plot. In the image of Mertsalov, the author sought to show the new that was born among the Russian clergy, and he succeeded to a large extent, despite the difficulties caused by censorship restrictions.
A careful analysis of the text suggests that it was precisely in order not to draw the attention of the censor to this character that Chernyshevsky tried to give him less brightness, less "bulge". Only once the author calls him a priest, and no longer focuses on this: for example, there is no description of Mertsalov's appearance (accordingly, the cassock and beard are not mentioned, which would draw the appearance of a clergyman in the reader's mind), acquaintances address him by his first name and patronymic, and not "father Alexei" or "father".
And, unfortunately, due to censorship, Chernyshevsky could not say everything that he wanted to say about the socialist priest.
Getting acquainted with Mertsalov, the reader finds him reading the book of the atheist Feuerbach, about which the author reports in "Aesopian" language:
Mertsalov, who was sitting at home alone, was reading some new work, either by Louis XIV, or by someone else from the same dynasty.(Chapter 2, XXI).
Apparently, this is "The Essence of Christianity" - the same "German book" that was brought to Vera Pavlovna by Lopukhov and mistakenly taken by Marya Alekseevna and Storeshnikov for the work of Louis XIV:
"Well, what about German?
Mikhail Ivanovich slowly read: "On Religion, an essay by Ludwig." Louis the Fourteenth, Marya Aleksevna, composition of Louis XIV; it was, Marya Aleksevna, the French king, the father of that king, in whose place the present Napoleon sat. "(Ch. 2, VII)
It is difficult to say what meaning Chernyshevsky put into the picture he painted: a young priest reading a book by Feuerbach. Did the arguments of the German philosopher shake the faith of the priest? Did he find them unconvincing? We only know that Mertsalov remains a priest, and we have no reason to suspect him of disgusting hypocrisy.
Mertsalov does not break with either religion or the church, unlike Chernyshevsky himself and his friend Dobrolyubov, former seminarians who became the ideological leaders of the revolutionary democratic movement. Nevertheless, he is from the cohort of "new people", along with Lopukhov and Kirsanov.
Mertsalov takes a serious risk by marrying Lopukhov and Vera Pavlovna without the consent of the bride's parents:
- That's what, and that's what business, Alexei Petrovich! I know that this is a very serious risk for you; it’s good if we make peace with our relatives, but what if they start a case (53)? you may be in trouble, and probably will be; but ... Lopukhov could not find any "but" in his head: how, in fact, to convince a person to put his neck in a noose for us!
Mertsalov thought for a long time, also looking for a "but" to empower himself to take such a risk, and he also could not come up with any "but".
- How to deal with it? After all, I would like ... what you are doing now, I did a year ago, but I became unwilling in myself, just like you will be. And ashamed: we should help you. Yes, when there is a wife, it is scary to go without looking back (54).
- Hello, Alyosha. My people all bow to you, hello, Lopukhov: we haven't seen each other for a long time. What are you saying about your wife? All your wives are to blame, - said a lady of 17 years old, a pretty and lively blonde, who returned from her relatives.
Mertsalov retold the case to his wife. The young lady's eyes sparkled.
- Alyosha, they won't eat you!
- There is a risk, Natasha.
“A very big risk,” Lopukhov confirmed.
- Well, what to do, take a chance, Alyosha, - I ask you.
- When you do not condemn me, Natasha, that I forgot about you, going into danger, then the conversation is over. When do you want to get married, Dmitry Sergeevich?
Mertsalov is interested in socialist ideas and sympathizes with their implementation. This is evidenced by the following conversation between Vera Pavlovna, who planned to organize a sewing workshop on socialist principles, and Lopukhov:
"My friend, you have some kind of fun: why don't you share it with me?
- It seems there is, my dear, but wait a little longer: I will tell you when it is true. We have to wait a few more days. And that will make me very happy. Yes, and you will be glad, I know; and Kirsanov, and Mertsalov will like it.
- But what is it?
- And you forgot, my dear, our agreement: not to ask? I'll tell you when it's right.
Another week has passed.
- My dear, I will tell you my joy. Only you advise me, you know all this. You see, I've wanted to do something for a long time. I came up with the idea that I should start a sewing shop; is that good?
- Well, my friend, we had an agreement that I should not kiss your hands, but that was said in general, but there was no agreement on such a case. Give me your hand, Vera Pavlovna.
- After, my dear, when you can do it.
- When you manage to do it, then you won’t let me kiss your hand, then both Kirsanov and Alexey Petrovich and everyone kisses. And now I'm alone. And the intention is worth it.
Mertsalov agrees to give lectures to the workers of the sewing workshop, and in addition, with his authority as a clergyman, to give the event respectability in the eyes of the authorities:
“Aleksey Petrovich,” said Vera Pavlovna, who once visited the Mertsalovs, “I have a request for you. Natasha is already on my side. My workshop is becoming a lyceum of all kinds of knowledge. Be one of the professors
What am I going to teach them? perhaps Latin and Greek, or logic and rhetoric?
said Alexei Petrovich, laughing.
- After all my specialty is not very interesting, in your opinion and also in the opinion of one person about whom I know who he is (71).
- No, you are needed precisely as a specialist: you will serve as a shield of good morals and excellent direction of our sciences.
- But it's true. I see that without me it would be unkind. Designate a department.
- For example, Russian history, essays from general history.
- Perfect. But I will read this, and it will be assumed that I am an expert. Great. Two positions: professor and shield. Natalya Andreevna, Lopukhov, two or three students, Vera Pavlovna herself were other professors, as they jokingly called themselves.
Finally, Mertsalov's wife takes over the leadership of one of the sewing workshops:
“Mertsalova got on very well with that sewing shop that was set up on Vasilyevsky, and naturally: after all, she and the workshop were already very well acquainted with each other. Vera Pavlovna, returning to St. Petersburg, saw that if she needed to be in this sewing shop, then only occasionally, not for long; that if she continues to go there almost every day, then, in fact, only because her affection draws her there, and that her affection meets her there perhaps for some time her visits are not completely useless, nevertheless Mertsalova still sometimes finds it necessary to consult with her; but it takes so little time and happens less and less; and soon Mertsalova will gain so much experience that she will completely cease to need Vera Pavlovna.(Ch.4, IV)
Mertsalov's relationship with his wife is built on the same principles of mutual respect, friendship and trust as Lopukhov's (there is no hint of the wife's patriarchal subordination to her husband):
"... between another conversation, they said a few words about the Mertsalovs, who had the day before, praised their consensual life, noticed that this was a rarity; everyone said it, including Kirsanov said: "Yes, it's very good in Mertsalov and the fact that the wife can freely reveal her soul to him," Kirsanov only said, each of the three of them thought to say the same thing, but it happened to say the same to Kirsanov, however, why did he say this? What does this mean? This would be praise for Lopukhov, this would be a glorification of Vera Pavlovna's happiness with Lopukhov; of course, this could be said without thinking about anyone but the Mertsalovs, and if we assume that he was thinking about both the Mertsalovs and the Lopukhovs together, then this, then, is said directly for Vera Pavlovna, for what purpose is this said?(Ch.3, XXIII)
The Lopukhovs and Mertsalovs are very friendly and spend a lot of time together, the interests of Mertsalov and Lopukhov are similar: philosophy, politics, science:
“When they arrived home, after a while the guests they were waiting for gathered to them - the usual guests of that time: Alexei Petrovich with Natalya Andreevna, Kirsanov - and the evening passed as it usually passed with them. How doubly gratifying seemed to Vera Pavlovna her new life with pure thoughts, in the company of pure people "! As usual, there was also a cheerful conversation with many memories, there was also a serious conversation about everything in the world: from then historical affairs (the internecine war in Kansas (63), the harbinger of the current great war between the North and the South (64), the harbinger of even greater events not only in America, occupied this small circle: now everyone talks about politics, then very few were interested in it; among the few - Lopukhov, Kirsanov, their to the then dispute about the chemical foundations of agriculture according to the theory of Liebig (65), and about the laws of historical progress, without which not a single conversation in such circles could do then (66), and about the great importance of distinguishing between real desires (67), which seek and find satisfaction, from fantastic ones, which are not found, and which do not even need to find satisfaction for themselves, like false thirst during a fever, which, like it, has only one satisfaction: curing the body, a diseased state about which they are generated through the distortion of real desires, and about the importance of this fundamental distinction, then exposed by anthropological philosophy, and about everything like and not like, but related. Ladies from time to time listened to these learnings, which were spoken so simply, as if they were not learning, and intervened in them with their questions, but more - more, of course, they did not listen, they even sprinkled Lopukhov and Alexei Petrovich with water when they already greatly admired the great importance of mineral fertilizer; but Aleksey Petrovich and Lopukhov spoke unshakably about their learning.(Ch.3, II)
In "Vera Pavlovna's second dream", it is Mertsalov who speaks of the great role of labor in shaping the human personality (no doubt, these are echoes of what she heard from Mertsalov's lips the day before):
“Yes, movement is reality,” says Alexei Petrovich, “because movement is life, and reality and life are one and the same. But life has labor as its main element, and therefore the main element of reality is labor, and the surest sign of reality is efficiency”
"... labor is represented in anthropological analysis as the root form of movement, which gives the basis and content to all other forms: entertainment, relaxation, fun, fun; they have no reality without previous work. And without movement there is no life, that is, reality"
In the same place, in the “second dream”, Mertsalov talks about the poor and working life in the parental family:
“My father was a sexton in a provincial town and was engaged in bookbinding, and my mother let seminarians into the apartment. From morning till night, my father and mother kept busy and talked about a piece of bread. My father drank, but only when the need came unbearable - this is real grief, or when the income was decent; here he gave his mother all the money and said: “Well, mother, now, thank God, you won’t see need for two months; and I left a fifty kopeck piece for myself, I'll drink it for joy "- this is a real joy. My mother often got angry, sometimes beat me, but then, when, as she said, her lower back was taken away from dragging pots and cast iron, from washing linen for five of us and five seminarians, and washing the floors, polluted by our twenty legs that did not wear galoshes, and caring for a cow; this is a real irritation of the nerves by excessive work without rest; and when, with all this, "the ends did not meet," as she said, that is, there was not enough money to buy boots for one of us brothers, or for shoes for sisters - then she beat us. She caressed us when we, even silly children, volunteered to help her in her work, or when we did something else clever, or when she had a rare minute to rest, and her "lower back let go," as she said - these are all real joys ... "
It is interesting that Mertsalov disappears from the pages of the novel after the return of Lopukhov-Beaumont - this can be seen as a hint that the priest did not approve of the way the young people he once married arranged their family life.
So, the great Russian revolutionary-democrat Chernyshevsky testifies in defense of the Russian clergy of the 19th century: there were among the Orthodox priests those who realized the incompatibility of Christian teaching and the exploitation of man by man.
