Vasilisk Semenovich wartkin historical analogies. The history of one city: Wars for enlightenment. Some interesting essays

Saltykov-Shchedrin: The history of one city

Chapter Summary: Enlightenment Wars

Vasilisk Semenovich Borodavkin, the new mayor of Glupov, studied the history of the city, and decided that the only previous ruler worth emulating was Dvoekurov, and he was struck not even by the fact that his predecessor had paved the streets of the city and collected arrears, but by the fact that he was sowing mustard. Unfortunately, the people have already forgotten it and even stopped planting this culture. Wartkin decided to remember the old days, to resume sowing mustard and eating it. But the inhabitants stubbornly did not want to return to the past. The Foolovites rebelled on their knees. They were afraid that in the event that they obeyed Wartkin, in the future he would force them "whatever else there is an abomination." The mayor undertook a military campaign against Streletskaya Sloboda, "the source of all evil," in order to suppress the rebellion. The campaign lasted nine days and it is difficult to call it completely successful. In absolute darkness, their own fought with their own. The mayor suffered a betrayal by his supporters: one morning he discovered that a larger number of soldiers were fired, they were replaced by tin soldiers, referring to a certain resolution. However, the mayor managed to survive by organizing a reserve of tin soldiers. He reached the settlement, but found no one there. Wartkin began to dismantle the houses by logs, 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 for explaining to the inhabitants of the city the benefits of stone foundations for houses, the second - because of the refusal of the inhabitants to grow Persian chamomile, and the third - against the establishment of an academy in the city.

The result of Borodavkin's rule was the impoverishment of the city. The mayor died at the moment when he once again decided to burn the city.

History of one city

Complete Chapter Content: Enlightenment Wars

Vasilisk Semenovich Borodavkin, who replaced the foreman Ferdyshchenko, was the complete opposite of his predecessor. As much as the latter was dissolute and loose, just as striking was the former's quickness and some kind of unheard-of administrative causticity, which manifested itself with particular energy in matters relating to the eaten egg. Constantly buttoned up and having his cap and gloves at the ready, he was the type of city governor whose legs are ready to run at any time, no one knows where. During the day, like a fly, he flitted around the city, observing that the townsfolk had a cheerful and cheerful look; at night - he put out fires, made false alarms and generally took him by surprise.

He shouted at all times, and shouted unusually. “He contained so much cry in himself,” the chronicler says on this occasion, “that from this many Foolovites, both for themselves and for their children, were forever afraid.” This is remarkable evidence and is confirmed by the fact that subsequently the authorities were forced to give the Foolovites various benefits, precisely "for the sake of scaring them." He had a good appetite, but he ate with haste and grumbled at the same time. He even slept with only one eye, which greatly embarrassed his wife, who, despite twenty-five years of cohabitation, could not see without a shudder his other, awake, completely round and curiously fixed on her eye. When there was absolutely nothing to do, that is, there was no need to either flicker or take by surprise (in the life of the most efficient administrators there are such difficult moments), then he either issued laws, or marched around the office, watching the game of a shoe toe, or resumed in his memory of military signals.

There was another peculiarity behind Borodavkin: he was a writer. Ten years before his arrival in Foolov, he began to write a project “about the great army and fleets spreading all over the face, so that through that return (sic) of ancient Byzantium under the shadow of the Russian state, hopefully commit *”, and every day added one line to it. Thus, a rather voluminous notebook was compiled, containing three thousand six hundred and fifty-two lines (two years were leap years), to which he pointed out to visitors, not without pride, adding:

Behold, my lord, how far I stretch my sights!

In general, political daydreaming was in full swing at that time, and therefore Wartkin did not escape the general trends of the time. The Foolovites very often saw how, sitting on the balcony of the mayor's house, he looked 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 mingled with those of Foolov, and ceaseless bickering resulted from this. It seemed as though all he had to do was call out the call... And Wartkin waited for that call, waited with passion, with impatience that almost reached the point of indignation.

First, let's put an end to Byzantium, sir, he dreamed, sir, and then, sir ...

To the Drava, Morava, to the distant Sava, *

On 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. Arseniev*: : Constantinople, the former Byzantium, and now the provincial city of Ekaterinograd, stands at the outpouring of the Black Sea into the ancient Propontis and under the shadow of the Russian state acquired in 17 .., with the extension of the unity of cash desks (this unity lies in the fact that Byzantine money in the capital the city of St. Petersburg should find use for themselves). In terms of its vastness, this city, administratively, is under the jurisdiction of four city governors, who are in continuous strife among themselves. Produces trade 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, cavalry troops passed.

Where, doves? 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 like a pillar, and everything passed, everything passed.

The shaft brings down the soldier! - said the Foolovites, and it seemed to them that these people were somehow special, 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, they cross one bridge in order to cross another bridge thereafter. And another bridge, and another flat hill, and another, and another...

In this extreme, Borodavkin 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, of course, occupied by civilization *, or, as he himself defined this word, "the science of how much each Russian Empire, the valiant son of the fatherland, must be firm in disasters."

Full of these vague dreams, he appeared at Foolov and, above all, subjected to a strict examination of the intentions and deeds of his predecessors. But when he looked at the tablets, he gasped. Clementy, and Velikanov, and Lamvrokakis, and Baklan, and the Marquis de Sanglot, and Ferdyshchenko, passed in a file before him, but what these people were doing, what they were thinking, what tasks they were pursuing - it was precisely this that could not be determined by anyone. under what guise. It seemed that this whole row was nothing but a sleepy dream, in which images without faces flicker, in which some vague cries ring, similar to the distant din of a drunken crowd ... Then one shadow came out of the darkness, clapped: one-one ! - and disappeared to no one knows where; you look, another shadow appears in its place, and also claps at random, and disappears... is heard from all sides, and what I will destroy, what I will not tolerate - it is impossible to make out. I would be glad to step aside, to snuggle up to the corner, but it’s impossible to either step aside or snuggle up, because from every corner the same “I’ll rip!” is heard, which drives the hiding person 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, in spite of his quickness, somewhat doubted its dignity. Only the civilian adviser Dvoekurov stood out with advantage from this motley crowd of administrators, showed a subtle and penetrating 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 him, of course, that Wartkin took for himself as a model.

Dvokurov did 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 leaf. This last action struck Wartkin so much that he immediately had the daring idea of doing exactly the same thing with Provence oil. Inquiries began about what measures Dvoekourov had taken to achieve success in the undertaking, but since archival files, as usual, turned out to be burned down (and perhaps deliberately destroyed), we had to be content with oral traditions and stories.

We had a lot of noise! - the old-timers said, - and through the soldiers they flogged, and easily flogged ... Many even left for Siberia through this very case!

So there were riots? asked Wartkin.

There were few riots! We, sir, have such a sign about this: if they whip you, you already know that it’s a riot!

From further questioning, it turned out that Dvoekourov was a persistent man and, once having conceived some kind of undertaking, he brought it to the end. He always acted in large masses, that is, he pacified and squandered without a trace; but at the same time he understood that this means alone was not enough. Therefore, regardless of general measures, for several years in a row, he continuously and tirelessly made separate raids on philistine homes 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 them all to the last, and tomorrow, you see, the Foolovites will again appear and even, according to custom, the so-called “old men” (probably, “from the young and early"). How they grew was a mystery, but Dvoekurov perfectly comprehended this mystery, and therefore the rod did not burn. As a true administrator, he distinguished between two types of section: section without examination and section with examination, and was proud that he was the first among the city governors to introduce section with examination, while all the predecessors flogged at random, and often not even those who should have been flogged. Indeed, acting intelligently and continuously, he achieved the most brilliant results. During his entire tenure as governor, the Foolovites not only did not sit down to the table without mustard, but even planted rather extensive mustard plantations in order to meet the requirements of foreign trade. “And it flourished all over, like a flower, sending this bitter product to the most remote places of the Russian state, and receiving precious metals and furs in return.”

But in 1770, Dvoekurov died, and the two mayors who followed him not only did not support his reforms, but even, so to speak, dirtied them. And what is most remarkable of all, the Foolovites were ungrateful. They were not in the least saddened by the abolition of the ruling civilization, and even seemed to rejoice. They stopped eating mustard altogether, and the plantations were plowed up, planted with cabbage and sown with 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 (Dvoekurov) was building this ingenious building, but he didn’t guess that he was building on a fox.” But the chronicler, obviously, and in turn, forgets that this is precisely the intricacy human action in order to build one building on the “sand” today, and tomorrow, when it collapses, to start a new building on the same “sand” to erect.

Thus, it turned out that Borodavkin arrived just in time to save a perishing civilization. The passion to build on the "arctic fox" was brought in him almost to a frenzy. Days and nights he invented everything to build something so that it would suddenly, along the alignment, crash and fill the universe with dust and garbage. And so he thought, and that way, but still he could not think of it in a real manner. Finally, due to a lack of original thoughts, he settled on the fact that he literally followed in the footsteps of his famous predecessor.

My hands are tied,” he complained bitterly to the Foolovites, “otherwise you would have found out from me where the crayfish hibernate!

Right there, by the way, he found out that the Foolovites, by omission, had completely lagged behind the use of mustard, and therefore for the first time limited himself to declaring this use obligatory; as a punishment for disobedience, he added more olive oil. And at the same time, he put it in his heart: until then, do not lay down weapons, as long as at least one perplexed remains in the city.

But the Foolovites were also on their own minds. With great resourcefulness they countered the energy of action with the energy of inaction.

What do you want with us! - said some, - he likes - cut into pieces; he likes - eat with porridge, but we do not agree!

From us, brother, you will not take anything! - others said, - we are not like the others who have acquired a body! us, brother, and there is nowhere to stab!

And stubbornly stood at the same time on their knees.

Obviously, when these two energies meet, something very curious always comes out of it. There is no rebellion, but there is no true humility either. There is something in between, of which we have seen examples under serfdom. It used to happen that the lady would come across a cockroach in the soup, she would call the cook and order that cockroach to be eaten. The cook will take the cockroach in his mouth, apparently chewing it, but not swallowing it. It was exactly the same with the Foolovites: they chewed enough, but did not swallow.

I will break this energy! said Wartkin, and slowly, without haste, pondered his plan.

And the Foolovites knelt down and waited. They knew that they were rebelling, but they could not help but kneel. God! what have they not changed their minds at this time! They think: they will now eat mustard, as if in the future they would not force them to eat any other abomination; they won’t - no matter how much they have to taste the whispers. It seemed that the knees in this case represented the middle way, which could appease both sides.

And suddenly a trumpet blew, and a drum beat. Wartkin, buttoned up and full of courage, rode out on a white horse. It was followed by cannon and rifle shells. 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 title of "wars for enlightenment."

The first war "for enlightenment" had, as already mentioned above, mustard, and began in 1780, that is, almost immediately after Borodavkin's arrival in Foolov.

Nevertheless, Wartkin did not immediately dare to fire; he was too pedantic to fall into such an obvious administrative error. He began to act gradually, and for this purpose he first called 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 of mustard as an aid, in particular; but whether it was because in his words there was more personal faith in the rightness of the defended case than real 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 fell on their knees as a whole.

“There was something to be afraid of the Foolovites,” the chronicler says on this occasion, “a man of small stature is standing in front of them, he is not portly, he does not speak words, but only shouts with a cry.”

Got it, old people? - he turned to the unconscious townsfolk.

The crowd bowed low and remained silent. Naturally, this blew him up more.

What am I ... to death, or something, I'm leading you ... merrrzavtsy!

But as soon as a new rumble was heard from his lips, the Foolovites swiftly jumped up from their knees and fled in all directions.

I'll rip you apart! he shouted after them.

All that day Wartkin mourned. Silently, he paced the halls of the mayor's house and only occasionally quietly said: "Scoundrels!"

Most of all, he was concerned about the Streltsy Sloboda *, which, even under his predecessors, was distinguished by the most irresistible stubbornness. Sagittarians have brought the energy of inaction almost to the point of refinement. They not only did not appear at the meetings at the invitation of Borodavkin, but, seeing him approaching, they disappeared somewhere, as if falling through the ground. There was no one to convince, no one to ask anything. It was heard that someone was trembling somewhere, but it was impossible to find out where it was trembling and how it was trembling.

Meanwhile, there could be no doubt that in the Streltsy Sloboda lies the source of all evil. The most cheerless rumors reached Wartkin about this seditious nest. A preacher appeared, who shifted the name "Wartkin" into numbers and argued that if you release the letter r, then 666, that is, the prince of darkness, would come out. harlot, nicknamed bitter for her debauchery, - that's why “mustard” went into the world. Even poems were composed in which the author got to the mother of the mayor and spoke very disapprovingly of her behavior. Listening to these chants and interpretations, the archers reached an almost enthusiastic state. Clutching their arms, they wandered in a file along the street and, in order to forever expel the spirit of timidity from their midst, they shouted at the top of their lungs.

Wartkin felt his heart, drop by drop, overflow with bitterness. He did not eat, did not drink, but only uttered foul language, as if nourishing his cheerfulness with them. The idea of mustard seemed so simple and clear that the rejection of it could not be interpreted by anything other than malice. This consciousness was all the more painful, the more Wartkin had to use efforts 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 hibernate!

But he thought, not without reason, that the natural outcome of any collision is, after all, a cross-section, and this consciousness reinforced him. In anticipation of this outcome, he went about his business and secretly wrote a charter "on the non-restriction of city governors by laws." The first and only paragraph of this statute read as follows: “If you feel that the law places an obstacle on you, then, having removed it from the table, put it under you*. And then all this, having become invisible, will greatly facilitate you in action.

However, as long as the charter had not yet been approved, and consequently, it was impossible to avoid embarrassment. A month later, Wartkin again called the townsfolk and shouted again. But as soon as he had time to utter the first two syllables of his greeting (“about these, for the sake of shame, I am silent,” the chronicler makes a reservation), when the Foolovites again scattered, without even having time to kneel. Then only Wartkin decided to set in motion a real civilization.

Early in the morning he set out on a campaign and gave the case such a look as if he were making a simple military promenade. The morning was clear, fresh, slightly frosty (it happened in mid-September). The sun played on the helmets and guns of the soldiers; roofs of houses and streets were covered with a light layer of frost; stoves were burning everywhere, and cheerful flames could be seen from the windows of every house.

Although the main goal of the campaign was the Streltsy Sloboda, Wartkin was cunning. He did not go straight, or to the right, or to the left, but began to maneuver. The Foolovites poured out of their houses into the street and with loud approval encouraged the evolution of a skilled leader.

Glory to the Lord! I think I forgot about the mustard! they said, taking off their hats and piously crossing themselves at the bell tower.

But Wartkin kept maneuvering and maneuvering, and at about noon he reached the settlement of the Scoundrel, 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 took prisoner one petty-bourgeois girl who had gone too far from the gates of her house.

The next day, waking up early, they began to look for "language". They did it all seriously, without blinking. They brought in some Jew and at first they wanted to hang him, but then they remembered that he was not required at all for that, and they forgave him. The Jew, putting his hand under the stegno, testified that one should first go to the Navoznaya settlement, and then circle around the field until the tract called "Dunkin's enemy" appeared. From there, after passing three checks, go wherever your eyes look.

So Wartkin did. But before people had gone even a quarter of a mile, they felt that they had lost their way. No land, no water, no sky - nothing was visible. Borodavkin demanded that the treacherous Jew come to him in order to hang him, but he was already gone (later it turned out that he fled to Petersburg, where at that time he managed to get a concession for the railway *). They strayed in this way in broad daylight for quite a long time, and it became like an eclipse with people, because the Dung Settlement stood awake before everyone’s eyes, and no one saw it. At last the real twilight came down to earth, and someone shouted: Robbery! A drunken soldier shouted, but the people became confused and, thinking that archers were coming, began to fight. They fought hard all night, fought without looking, but at random. There were many wounded, many dead. Only when it was already completely dawn did they see that they were fighting their own with their own, and that the scene of this misunderstanding was taking place at the very outskirts of the Navoznaya Sloboda. They decided: after burying the dead, laying a monument on the site of the battle, and honoring the very day on which it took place with the name “blind breed” and in remembrance of it to establish an annual festival with a pandemonium*.

On the third day they made a halt in the Navoznaya settlement; but here, taught by experience, they already demanded hostages. Then, having caught the philistine chickens, they held a commemoration for the dead. This last circumstance seemed strange to the Slobozhans, that here a man is playing a game, and at the same time he is catching chickens; but since Borodavkin did not divulge his secret, they thought that it should be so "according to the game", and calmed down *.

But when Wartkin, after the commemoration, ordered the soldiers to trample down the winter field adjacent to the settlement, then the townsfolk became thoughtful.

Really, brothers, is there really such a game? they said among themselves, but so quietly that even Borodavkin, who vigilantly followed the direction of the minds, did not hear anything.

On the fourth day, before dawn, we set off for Dunkin's Enemy, fearing to be late, because the transition was long and tiring. They walked for a long time, and on the road they constantly asked the hostages: soon? Great was the general astonishment, 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; a bare place stretched far, far away, and only in the distance a deep pit deepened, into which, according to legend, the once Pushkar girl Dunka, who was in a hurry, in a state of intoxication, on a love date, slid down.

Where is freedom? - Wartkin asked the amanats.

There is no freedom here! - the amanats answered, - there was a settlement, everywhere before there were settlements, but the soldiers destroyed everything!

But they did not believe these words, and decided: to flog the amanats until they indicate where the settlement is. But strange thing! the more flogged, the weaker became the confidence to find the desired settlement! It was so unexpected that Wartkin tore at his uniform and, raising his right hand to heaven, 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 up all night and tremble.

On the fifth day we set off back to Navozhnaya Sloboda and trampled down another winter field along the way. We walked all day and only towards evening, tired and hungry, we reached the settlement. But no one was found there. The inhabitants, seeing the approaching army from a distance, fled, drove away all the cattle and dug in in an impregnable position. I had to take this position from the battle, but since the gunpowder was not real, no matter how they fired, they could not do any harm, except for an unbearable stench.

On the sixth day, Borodavkin wanted to continue the bombardment, but he already noticed the betrayal. 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 to some kind of regulation, which allegedly said: “Amanat will be whipped, but he will be whipped, and this should not be kept for more than a day, but released home to be cured.” Willy-nilly, Borodavkin had to agree that he had done the right thing, but he immediately remembered his project "about not restricting city governors by laws" and wept bitterly.

And what's that? he asked, pointing to the tin soldiers.

For ease, your honor! - they answered him, - he does not ask for food, but he can perform marching!

I had to agree with this. Wartkin locked himself in the hut and began to keep the military council with him. He wanted to punish the "dung" for their impudence, 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 the deprivations 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 to him. He remembered on this occasion a lesson from history, heard in childhood, and 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, but on the other hand, many backs remained unquilted, and the second deprivation more than compensated for the first "...

To top it off, long autumn rains poured down, threatening to ruin communications and cut off food supplies.

And why the hell did I not go straight to the archers! Wartkin exclaimed bitterly, looking out of the window at the puddles that were growing from minute to minute, “I would have been there in half an hour!”

For the first time, he realized that in some cases polygamy is tantamount to bewilderment, and the result of this consciousness was a decision: to beat the retreat, and form a trustworthy reserve out of tin soldiers.

On the seventh day, it was a little light, but since the road was washed out at night, people walked with difficulty, and the guns got stuck in the parted black earth. It was necessary to attack Mount Svistukha on the way; ordered: Attack! - the front ranks bravely rushed forward, but the tin soldiers did not follow them. And since on their lindens, “for the sake of haste”, the features were applied only in the form of an outline and, moreover, in great disorder, it seemed from a distance that the soldiers were smiling ironically. And from irony to sedition - one step.

Underpants! - Barodavkin gritted through his teeth, but he clearly found it difficult to say and was forced to retreat from the mountain with damage.

We went around, but here we stumbled upon a swamp, which no one suspected. Wartkin looked at the geometric plan of the pasture - everywhere everything is arable land and mowing in a wet place, and a small part of the bush, and a part of the stone, but there is no swamp, and it is full.

There is no swamp here! you lie, scoundrels! march! - Wartkin ordered and stood on a hummock in order to observe the crossing more closely.

People climbed into the quagmire and immediately sank all the artillery. However, they themselves somehow got out, getting dirty heavily in the mud. Wartkin also got dirty, but he was no longer up to it. He looked at the dead artillery and, seeing that the cannons, half loaded, were standing with their muzzles turned to the sky and, as if threatening the last shot, began to grieve and mourn.

How many years have you been saving, saving, grooming! - he murmured, - what am I going to do now! How can I rule without guns!

The army was completely demoralized. When they got out of the quagmire, a vast plain again opened up before their eyes, and again without any sign of habitation. Lying in places human bones and heaps of bricks towered; all this testified that at one time a rather strong and peculiar civilization existed here (later it turned out that this civilization, mistaking it for a riot while drunk, was destroyed by the former mayor of Urus-Kugush-Kildibaev), but many years have passed since then, and no one mayor did not take care of restoring it. Some strange shadows ran across the field; mysterious sounds reached my ears. Something magical was happening, like that depicted in the 3rd act of "Ruslan and Lyudmila" *, when a frightened Farlaf runs onto the stage. Although Wartkin was braver than Farlaf, he, too, 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, at about noon, the exhausted team saw the archery heights and joyfully blew their horns. Wartkin remembered that the 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, the sun had barely gilded the tops of thatched roofs, when the army, led by Wartkin, entered the settlement. But there was no one there, except for a supernumerary priest, who at that very moment was considering whether it would be more profitable for him to go into schism. The priest was ancient and more likely to settle despondency than to infuse courage into the soul.

Where are the residents? asked Wartkin, glaring at the priest with his eyes.

Now they were here! pop mumbled his lips.

Like now? where did they run?

Where to run? Why run away from your homes? Chai, here somewhere from you were buried!

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 the winter! - he repented in his heart, - then they would not have hidden from me.

Hey! who is here! 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 mysteriousness with which they emerged from invisible organisms irritated the distressed mayor even more.

Where are they, the beasts, sigh? - he raged, hopelessly looking around and apparently losing all intelligence, - to find the first beast that sighs here, and bring it to me!

They rushed to look, but no matter how they rummaged, they did not find anyone. Wartkin himself walked along the street, looking into all the cracks - there was nobody! This puzzled him so much that the most incongruous thoughts suddenly flooded into his head in a flood.

“If I now tear them apart with fire… no, I’d rather starve to death!” he thought, moving from one inconsistency to another.

And suddenly he stopped, as if struck, in front of the tin soldiers.

Something very unusual happened to them. Gradually, in front of everyone, the soldiers began to bleed. Their eyes, hitherto motionless, suddenly began to roll and express anger; the mustache, drawn at random, fell into place and began to move; lips, representing a thin pink line, which had almost been washed away from the former rains, protruded and expressed the intention to say something. Nostrils appeared, which had never existed before, and began to swell and testify to impatience.

What say you, servants? asked Wartkin.

Huts ... huts ... break! - indistinctly, but somehow gloomily uttered the tin soldiers.

The remedy has been found.

We started with an extreme hut. With a boom, the "tin" ones rushed to the roof and instantly went berserk. Bunches of straw, poles, wooden knitting needles flew down. Whole clouds of dust rose up.

Quiet! quiet! shouted Wartkin, suddenly hearing some kind of groan beside him.

All freedom groaned. It was an indistinct, but continuous rumble, in which not a single sound could be distinguished, but which, with its whole mass, represented a barely contained pain of the heart.

Who is here? come out! wartkin shouted at the top of his lungs again.

The place was silent, but no one came out. “The archers hoped,” says the chronicler, “that this new invention (that is, pacification by breaking houses), like all others, represents one dream, but they did not have to comfort themselves in this sweet hope for a long time.”

Roll! said Wartkin firmly.

There was a crack and a rumble; logs, one after another, were separated from the frame, and as they fell to the ground, the groan resumed and increased. A few minutes later the last hut was gone, and the "tin huts", hardened, were already taking the second hut 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 small, both male and female, and, raising their hands to the sky, fell on their knees in the middle of the square. Wartkin at first was about to run away, but then he remembered the words of the instruction: “when pacifying, not so much try to exterminate as to bring to reason” - and fell silent. He realized that the hour of triumph had already come, and that the triumph would hardly be complete if the result was neither bloody noses nor cheekbones twisted to the side.

Do you take mustard? he asked distinctly, trying, as far as possible, to eliminate the menacing notes from his voice.

The crowd silently bowed to the ground.

Do you accept, I ask you? - he repeated, starting to boil,

We accept! accept! - the crowd hummed softly, as if hissing.

Good. Now tell me, who among you insulted the memory of my dearest mother in verse?

The archers hesitated; it seemed wrong to them to betray the one who in the bitter moments of life was their comforter; however, after a moment's hesitation, they decided to comply with this requirement of the authorities.

Come out, Fedka! probably! come out! - resounded in the crowd.

A blond fellow stepped forward and stood in front of the mayor. His lips twitched as if they were trying to form into a smile, but his face was pale as a sheet and his teeth were trembling.

So is that you? laughed Wartkin, and stepping back a little, as if wishing to examine the guilty man in every detail, he repeated: "So it's you?"

Obviously, there was a struggle going on in Borodavkino. He considered whether to smack Fedka in the face or punish him in some other way. Finally, a punishment was invented, so to speak, mixed.

Listen! - he said, slightly adjusting Fedka's jaw, - since you dishonored the memory of my dearest parent, then every day you must henceforth glorify this precious memory to me in verse, and bring those verses to me!

With this word, he ordered to hang up.

The riot is over; ignorance was crushed, and enlightenment was installed in its place. Half an hour later, Wartkin, burdened with booty, entered the city in triumph, dragging many captives and hostages behind him. And since among them were some military commanders and others of the first three classes of the person *, he ordered them to be treated kindly (however, to be sure, they gouged out their eyes), and the rest to be exiled to hard labor.

That same evening, having locked himself in his office, Wartkin wrote the following note in his journal:

“On this September 17th, after a difficult but glorious nine-day campaign, a most joyful and most longed-for event took place. Mustard has been approved everywhere and forever, and not a single drop of blood has been produced for consumption.

“Except for the one,” the chronicler adds ironically, “which was shed near the outskirts of the Dung Sloboda and in whose memory a celebration called pandemonium is being celebrated to this day” ...

It may very well turn out that much of what has been said above will seem too fantastic to the reader. What was the need for Borodavkin to make a nine-day campaign, when the Streltsy settlement was at his side and he could arrive there in half an hour? How could he get lost in the city pasture, which he, as the mayor, should be fully aware of? Is it possible to believe the stories about the tin soldiers who allegedly not only marched, but even bled in the end?

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 Glupov is primarily 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 rather vivid real basis. We all know the legend about Baba Yaga, the bone leg, who rode in a mortar and drove a broomstick, and we attribute these trips to the number of miracles created by folk fantasy. But no one asks the question: why did folk fantasy produce this particular fruit and not another? If the researchers of our antiquity paid due attention to this subject, then one can be sure in advance that much would be revealed that has hitherto been under a bushel of mystery. So, for example, it would probably have been discovered that the origin of this legend is purely administrative and that Baba Yaga was none other than the city ruler, or, perhaps, the posadnitsa, who, in order to arouse saving fear in the townsfolk, traveled in this way along the land entrusted to her. , moreover, she took away Ivanushki whom she met along the way and, returning home, exclaimed: “I’ll ride, I’ll lie down, having eaten Ivanushka’s meat *”.

It seems that this is quite enough to convince the reader that the chronicler is on far from fantastic ground and that everything he told about Wartkin's campaigns can be taken as a completely reliable document. Of course, at first glance it may seem strange that Wartkin has been circling the pasture for nine consecutive days; but we must not forget, firstly, that there was no need for him to hurry, since it could be predicted in advance that his enterprise would in any case end in success, and, secondly, that every administrator willingly resorts to evolution in order to strike the imagination of the townsfolk. 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, exhortations from the person who corrects and asking for forgiveness from the person who is being corrected, what would be left of him? One empty formality, the meaning of which would be clear only to those who experience 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 appropriated the name "blind breed" is very bad. But let's not forget that success never comes without sacrifice, and that if we clean the skeleton of history from the 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 by 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 create a commemoration for.

Consequently, only the question of the tin soldiers remains unresolved; but the chronicler does not leave him without explanation. “Very often we notice,” he says, “that objects, apparently completely inanimate (like stone), begin to feel lust as soon as they come into contact with spectacles, their inanimateness is accessible.” And as an example, he cites some neighbor landowner who, having been stricken with paralysis, lay motionless in an armchair for ten years, but behind all that he mumbled joyfully when they brought him quitrent...

There were four wars "for enlightenment". One of them is described above; of the remaining three, the first was intended to explain to the Foolovites the benefits of building stone foundations under the houses; the second arose as a result of the refusal of the townsfolk to breed Persian chamomile, and the third, finally, had a reason to spread a rumor about the establishment of an academy in Foolov. In general, it is clear that Borodavkin was a utopian, and that if he had lived longer, he would probably have ended up either exiled to Siberia for freethinking, or built a phalanstery in Foolov.

There is no need to describe in detail this series of brilliant exploits, but it would be useful to indicate here their general character.

In further campaigns on the part of Borodavkin, a very significant step forward is noticed. He prepares materials for disturbances with greater care and suppresses them with greater speed. The most difficult campaign, which was based on a rumor about the establishment of an academy, lasted only two days; the rest - no more than a few hours. Usually Wartkin, after drinking tea in the morning, called out a cry; tin soldiers ran, instantly filled with blood and ran at full speed to the place. By dinnertime, Wartkin returned home and sang a song of thanksgiving. In this way, he finally reached the point that after a few years not a single Foolovite could indicate a place on his body that would not have been carved.

On the part of the townsfolk, as before, a complete misunderstanding reigned. From the stories of the chronicler it is clear that they did not rebel for the sake of it, but they could not arrange it in any way, because they did not know what the rebellion was. And in fact, Wartkin entangled them extremely cleverly. As a rule, he did not explain anything in order, but made known his desires by means of proclamations, which, secretly, at night, were pasted on the corner houses of all streets. The proclamations were written in the spirit of today's announcements from Kach's store, with words completely insignificant printed in large letters, and everything essential was depicted in the smallest type. Moreover, the use of Latin names was allowed; so, for example, Persian chamomile was called not Persian chamomile, but “Pyrethrum roseum”, otherwise saliva, saliva, burnt, belongs to the Compositas family, etc. the words that were printed capital letters while others hid. Like, for example (see the Persian Chamomile proclamation):

KNOWN
what kind of havoc do bedbugs, fleas, etc.

FINALLY FOUND!!!

Entrepreneurial people took out Far East, etc.

Of all these words, the people understood only: "known" and "finally found." And when the literate people shouted out these words, the people took off their hats, sighed and crossed themselves. It is clear that this was not only not a rebellion, but rather the fulfillment of the plans of the authorities. The people, brought to a sigh - what more ideal can be demanded!

Consequently, the whole thing consisted in a misunderstanding, and this turns out to be all the more reliable because even to this day the Foolovites cannot explain the meaning of the word "academy", although it was precisely it that Borodavkin printed in large print (see in the complete collection of proclamations No. 1089 ). Not only that: the chronicler proves that the Foolovites even strenuously tried to get Wartkin to shed light on their dark heads, but they did not succeed, and did not get it precisely through the fault of the mayor himself. They often went with the whole society to the mayor's yard and said to Borodavkin:

Untie us, do us a favor! show us the end!

Away, bullies! - Wartkin usually answered.

What bullies we are! know, you have not seen what riots are! Do me a favor, tell me!

But Wartkin was silent. Why was he silent? whether because he considered the incomprehension of the Foolovites nothing more than a trick that concealed stubborn opposition behind it, or because he wanted to surprise the townsfolk, it is impossible to reliably determine. But one must think that some of both were mixed in here. It never seems to any administrator who clearly understands the benefits of the measure being taken that this benefit could be obscure or doubtful for anyone. On the other hand, every administrator is necessarily a fatalist and firmly believes that, continuing his administrative run, he will eventually find himself face to face with the human body. Therefore, if we begin to prevent this inevitable denouement by preliminary rhetoric, then does this not mean to provoke it even more and give it a more bitter character? Finally, every administrator strives to be trusted, and what is the best way to express this trust, if not the 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 acquired by Wartkin seemed, in essence they were far from beneficial. Rebellion was destroyed, it is true, but at the same time contentment was also destroyed. The inhabitants drooped their heads and, as it were, fell into disrepair; 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 sick of everything.

To top it off, the Foolovites sowed so much mustard and Persian chamomile that the price of these products dropped to an incredible level. An economic crisis followed, and there was neither Molinari nor Bezobrazov to explain that this is what real prosperity is. * Not only did the townsfolk not receive precious metals and furs in exchange for their products, but there was nothing to buy even bread.

However, until 1790, things were still somehow going on. From a full portion, the townsfolk switched to half a portion, but they did not delay the tribute, and even showed some predilection 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 bugs. Then the inhabitants switched to a quarter portion and delayed the tribute. At the same time, as if in laughter, a revolution broke out in France, and it became clear to everyone that "enlightenment" is useful only when it has an unenlightened character. Wartkin received a paper in which he was advised: "On the occasion of the incident known to you, if you please, diligently watch so that this irreparable evil is eradicated without any omission."

Only then Wartkin caught himself and realized that he was walking too fast and not at all in the direction where he should go. Starting to collect tribute, he saw with surprise and indignation that the yards were empty, and that if there were chickens here and there, then they were skinny from starvation. But, as usual, he did not discuss this fact directly, but from his own original point of view, that is, he saw in it a rebellion, produced this time no longer by ignorance, but by the excess of enlightenment.

Free spirit brought! got fat! - he shouted without memory, - look at the French!

And so a new series of campaigns began - campaigns already against enlightenment. On the first campaign, Borodavkin burned down the Navoznaya settlement, on the second he ruined the Scoundrel, on the third he squandered the Swamp. But the tributes were delayed. The moment was coming when he was to be left alone in the ruins with his secretary, and he was actively preparing for that moment. But providence did not allow it. In 1798, rapidly inflammatory materials had already been collected for burning the entire city, when suddenly Wartkin was gone ... “He squandered everyone,” the chronicler says on this occasion, “so that there were not even priests for parting words. They were forced to call the neighboring police captain, who witnessed the exodus of his many-rebellious spirit.

You read the summary (chapters) and the full text of the work: The history of one city: Saltykov-Shchedrin M E (Mikhail Evgrafovich).
The whole work is complete and summaries(by chapter) you can read, by content on the right.

Classics of literature (satire) from the collection of works for reading (stories, novels) of the best, famous satirical writers: Mikhail Evgrafovich Saltykov-Shchedrin. .................

Saltykov-Shchedrin's novel "The History of a City" shows the authorities of a fictitious town. One of the mayors was Vasilisk Semyonovich Borodavkin.

Basilisk Borodavkin replaces the former mayor named Ferdyshchenko. Initially, he may seem like a good-natured, 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, restless, so he expresses his thoughts very quickly, raising his voice. Vasilisk Semenovich often gesticulates, hurries up with every action.

The main feature in the appearance of Basilisk Wartkin is a non-closing, defective eye. In the work, people consider this a sign of Wartkin's observation and thoughtful nature. Basilisk wants to improve the lives of citizens and return the old laws related to enlightenment, which were during the time of the previous mayor, Dvoekurov. But his struggle was only for such ridiculous things as the approval of mustard and the recognition of the usefulness of stone foundations. The goals of the Basilisk were sincere and carried only positive intentions, but, unfortunately, they only led the population to ruin. When Borodavkin saw this, he decided to start a reverse process aimed against the enlightenment of the city.

One fantastic element is Wartkin's way of fighting enlightenment. They are tin soldiers, capable of pouring blood and destroying the foundations of the city. Basilisk also decided to fight the protests that should have formed, 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 person who wants to create change in the city, but at the same time does not know the purpose of their creation. His senseless laws did not bring any real benefit, only reduced the budget of the city and worsened the life of the townspeople. The senseless war for enlightenment was only a mistake caused by the great ambitions of Basilisk Wartkin, which did not bring any positive changes for the locals.

Composition on the topic Wartkin

Borodavkin Vasilisk Semenovich became the mayor in the town of Glupov. Previously, Brigadier Ferdyshchenko was in his post. The main feature that frightens all Foolovists is a passion for leadership and command. He was always ready to do something, he was always running somewhere.

The appearance of Borodavkin is that of a typical mayor, his suit was always buttoned up, in his hands he wears a cap and gloves. Vasilisk Semyonovich was always serious and resolute, 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 alarm and bewilderment among the locals.

During communication with the Foolovites, he turned to shouting, he never spoke to them calmly and judiciously. They said about Borodavkin that even in a dream 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 Glupov. In fact, he could not properly manage and lead, making a large number of mistakes.

At first, he tries to fight his war for enlightenment. But at the moment when the French Revolution took place, he abruptly changes his mind. Now his struggle, on the contrary, is against any kind of enlightenment. Wartkin constantly comes up with various punishments and floggings, which scares his residents. He believes that the solution to the conflict is the rod. In fact, no one needs all these proclamations, and there is no need to punish the local Foolovites.

The reign of Borodavkin 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, in which he really understood nothing. At the very end, he orders to flog all the rebellious Foolovites. After Vasilisk Semenovich left the mayor, an economic crisis and famine came to the city. He completely ruined the yards, introduced unknown orders that baffled the local residents.

To the very end of his power, Wartkin did not come up with anything better than how to burn all of Foolov. But this was not destined to come true, as he was suddenly overtaken by death.

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June 21 2011

Vasilisk Semenovich Borodavkin replaced Brigadier Ferdyshchenko as mayor of the city. Wartkin was distinguished by a thirst for activity, which frightened the Foolovites. He “amazed me with his quickness and some kind of unheard-of corrosiveness, which manifested itself with particular energy in matters relating to the eaten egg. Constantly fastened with all buttons and having a cap and gloves at the ready, he was a type of mayor, whose legs are ready to run at any time, no one knows where ... ". It is also known about Wartkin, he constantly shouted, had a good appetite and ate with haste. In general, all his actions are accompanied by some kind of haste, absolutely unreasonable. And the unsleeping eye! It's just proof of the eternal work of the brain. If you do not take into account all the comedy and the situation, then an active mayor may well form in the mind of the reader, who takes care of his wards, trying with all his might to improve their situation.

In 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, his approximate actions as mayor included the capture of Byzantium, the enlightenment of the people and, as a result, universal respect and honor.

Having achieved that they recognized both 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 made the valiant mayor doubt, and then completely become disillusioned with the wars for enlightenment and begin the reverse process - against enlightenment.

It is not difficult to guess that the life of the people was not easy because of the changing whims of Wartkin. The most terrible phenomenon for the Foolovites was the fantastic tin soldiers, pouring blood and destroying the economy of the city. Other methods were also used, namely: flogging (“not a single Foolovite could indicate a place on his body that would not be carved”), proclamations hung in the streets and caused complete bewilderment, and others for riots, which, in essence, did not have. "The Foolovites even strenuously tried to get Borodavkin to shed light on their dark heads, but they did not succeed, and they did not get it precisely through the fault of the mayor." For law-abiding citizens Borodavkin's reign ended with the ruin of the courtyards and a complete misunderstanding of the true goals of the "enlightener" ...

In the image of the mayor, it is impossible not to note the satirical techniques. First of all, this is typification: he even emphasizes that Borodavkin was a special “type” of the mayor - quick and corrosive. Then, the grotesque: Saltykov-Shchedrin gives the hero fantastic features (an eye that never closes), and also exaggerates the capabilities of the tin Soldiers (they poured 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.

Need a cheat sheet? Then save it - "Characteristics of Basilisk Semenovich Borodavkin. Literary writings!

Vasilisk Semenovich Borodavkin replaced Brigadier Ferdyshchenko as the mayor of the city of Glupov. Wartkin was distinguished by a thirst for activity, which frightened the Foolovites. He “amazed me with his quickness and some kind of unheard-of corrosiveness, which manifested itself with particular energy in matters relating to the eaten egg. Constantly fastened with all buttons and having a cap and gloves at the ready, he was a type of mayor, whose legs are ready to run at any time, no one knows where ... ". It is also known about Wartkin, he constantly shouted, had a good appetite and ate with haste. In general, all his actions are accompanied by some kind of haste, absolutely unreasonable. And the unsleeping eye! It's just proof of the eternal work of the brain. If we do not take into account all the comicality of the image and the situation, then the image of an active mayor who takes care of his wards, trying with all his might to improve their situation, may well form in the mind of the reader.

In dreams, Wartkin captured Byzantium, and then went

To the Drava, Morava, to the distant Sava,

On the quiet and blue Danube,

like a great general.

Thus, the approximate plan of his actions as mayor included the capture of Byzantium, the enlightenment of the people and, as a result, universal respect and honor.

Having achieved that the Foolovites recognized both 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 made the valiant mayor doubt, and then completely become disillusioned with the wars for enlightenment and begin the reverse process - wars against enlightenment.

It is not difficult to guess that the life of the people was not easy because of the changing whims of Wartkin. The most terrible phenomenon for the Foolovites was the fantastic tin soldiers, pouring blood and destroying the economy of the city. Other methods were also used, namely: flogging (“not a single Foolovite could indicate a place on his body that would not be carved”), proclamations hung in the streets and caused complete bewilderment and other punishments for riots, which, in essence, something and was not. "The Foolovites even strenuously tried to get Borodavkin to shed light on their dark heads, but they did not succeed, and they did not get it precisely through the fault of the mayor." For law-abiding citizens, Borodavkin's rule ended in the ruin of the courtyards and a complete misunderstanding of the true goals of the "enlightener" ...

In the image of the mayor, it is impossible not to note the satirical techniques. First of all, this is typification: the author even emphasizes that Borodavkin was a special "type" of the mayor - quick and corrosive. Then, the grotesque: Saltykov-Shchedrin gives the hero fantastic features (an eye that never closes), and also exaggerates the capabilities of the tin Soldiers (they poured 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 part of the "War for Enlightenment" Saltykov-Shchedrin opened up to the reader another type of mayor, hiding behind noble goals.

The reign of Wartkin is called the era of the wars for enlightenment. The mayor sought to revive the order, appointed by the only worthy, in his opinion, predecessor - Dvoekurov. Under a quite serious name lies a series of stupid "battles" that had mustard, the use of stone foundations, Persian chamomile and a 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 found out about this too late).
In dreams, Wartkin captured Byzantium, and then went
To the Drava, Morava, to the distant Sava,
On the quiet and blue Danube,
like a great general.
Thus, the approximate plan of his actions as mayor included the capture of Byzantium, the enlightenment of the people and, as a result, universal respect and honor.
Having achieved that the Foolovites recognized both 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 made the valiant mayor doubt, and then completely become disillusioned with the wars for enlightenment and begin the reverse process - wars against enlightenment.
It is not difficult to guess that the life of the people was not easy because of the changing whims of Wartkin. The most terrible phenomenon for the Foolovites was the fantastic tin soldiers, pouring blood and destroying the economy of the city. Other methods were also used, namely: flogging (“not a single Foolovite could indicate a place on his body that would not be carved”), proclamations hung in the streets and caused complete bewilderment and other punishments for riots, which, in essence, something and was not. "The Foolovites even strenuously tried to get Borodavkin to shed light on their dark heads, but they did not succeed, and they did not get it precisely through the fault of the mayor." For law-abiding citizens, Borodavkin's rule ended in the ruin of the courtyards and a complete misunderstanding of the true goals of the "enlightener" ...
In the image of the mayor, it is impossible not to note the satirical techniques. First of all, this is typification: the author even emphasizes that Borodavkin was a special "type" of the mayor - quick and corrosive. Then, the grotesque: Saltykov-Shchedrin gives the hero fantastic features (an eye that never closes), and also exaggerates the capabilities of the tin Soldiers (they poured 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 part of the "War for Enlightenment" Saltykov-Shchedrin opened up to the reader another type of mayor, hiding behind noble goals.