In general, it is not surprising that Gogol did not listen to doctors. Of course, we do not know for sure what happened to him, but treating a person with bouillon baths and bleeding is strong. It seems that adults are all educated, they were abroad, they read books. Well, your comrade lies in front of you, he didn’t drink or eat for a month, didn’t get out of bed, he sucks, some of you even assume that he has catarrh of intestines. How can I help? What to do? Well, of course, let's stick leeches to his nose, put at the same time mustard plasters, flies, and boil the broth from the honeycomb in his mouth, and then we will be surprised, but why is he yelling, does he feel any pain? And this is not a bunch of schoolchildren, it is a consultation of graduates. “Gentlemen, a man is dying, let's wrap him in wet sheets and apply ice.” Yes, so that they themselves are so treated ...
By the way, what is the name of this disease, when it will certainly burn everything? Gogol, after all, not only burned the second volume, he sent a bunch of things to the furnace, and he did it regularly, just remember, as usual, something most strange. It's a shame, but fame leaves no chance. For some time the first to enter the room "Inspector". You want a simple human relationship, so that everything is as before, as before, but no, they are already tiptoeing around, making dumplings on an industrial scale and asking about the second volume.
The bread balls that Gogol happened to roll on the table in moments of intense thought, were carefully picked up behind him and stored as a jewel. Nobody wrote a normal portrait of him, where he even looked a little like himself (that he was blond, everyone remembers, right?), Nobody asked, for example, about the botanist who interested him so much, no, he was not “Weirdness”, they say, and the master, we have a freak, you know, jumps out of the tarantass after a lousy buttercup, rejoices at a simple blade of grass.
Words he collected almost like Dahl. Leaving the house and hearing something curious, he ran back to the room and wrote down what he heard in a special notebook. Over the years, he has accumulated a lot of such notebooks. He worked on the manuscripts diligently, rewrote eight times, and read to someone who does not understand a damn thing. In fact, it’s not for fans to read. They will like anything. Once he got to read Gogol some of his works, only the lazy did not notice the rarest acting talent.
Everything came to life: heroes, landscapes. As if you yourself lived there, in its pages, listening to him. He alone was dying. When it started, no one really knows. The servants rightly said: "What kind of a disease does he have? ... No, no, just like that ... He does not eat, does not drink, does not sleep and everything lies, well, how can one not die here?"