Evenings on a Farm Near Dikanka. N.V.

One of the days of hot August shone with such luxury one thousand eight hundred... eight hundred... Yes, thirty years ago, when the road, about ten miles to the town of Sorochinets, was seething with people hurrying from all the surrounding and distant farmsteads to the fair. In the morning, there was still an endless line of Chumaks with salt and fish. The mountains of pots, wrapped in hay, moved slowly, seemingly bored by their confinement and darkness; in some places only some brightly painted bowl or makitra showed boastfully from a fence perched high on a cart and attracted the tender glances of admirers of luxury. Many passers-by looked with envy at the tall potter, the owner of these jewels, who with slow steps went for his goods, carefully wrapping his clay dandies and coquettes in hated hay.

Lonely to the side was a cart, heaped with sacks, hemp, linen and various household luggage, dragged along by exhausted oxen, followed by its owner, in a clean linen shirt and soiled linen trousers. With a lazy hand he wiped away the sweat that was rolling down from his dark face and even dripping from his long mustache, powdered by that inexorable hairdresser who, without being called, appears to both the beauty and the ugly and has been forcibly powdering the entire human race for several thousand years. Next to him walked a mare tied to a cart, whose humble appearance revealed her advanced years. Many people we met, and especially young guys, grabbed their hats when they caught up with our man. However, it was not his gray mustache and his unimportant gait that forced him to do this; you only had to raise your eyes a little upward to see the reason for such respect: sitting on the cart was a pretty daughter with a round face, with black eyebrows rising in even arches above her light ones. brown eyes, with carelessly smiling pink lips, with red and blue ribbons tied on his head, which, together with long braids and a bunch of wildflowers, a rich crown, rested on her charming head. Everything seemed to occupy her; everything was wonderful and new to her... and her pretty eyes constantly ran from one object to another. How not to get scattered! first time at the fair! An eighteen-year-old girl at the fair for the first time!.. But not a single one of the passers-by knew what it cost her to beg her father to take with her, who would have been glad with his soul to do this before, if not evil stepmother, who had learned to hold it in her hands as deftly as he held the reins of his old mare, who had been dragging along for a long service, now for sale. A restless wife... but we forgot that she was sitting right there at the height of the cart, in an elegant green woolen jacket, on which, as if on ermine fur, there were tails sewn on, only red in color, in a rich plakhta, colorful as Chess board, and in a colored chintz jacket, which gave some special importance to her red, full face, through which slipped something so unpleasant, so wild, that everyone immediately hurried to transfer their alarmed gaze to the cheerful face of their daughter.

Psel has already begun to open to the eyes of our travelers; From a distance there was already a breath of coolness, which seemed more noticeable after the languid, destructive heat. Through the dark and light green leaves of sedge, birch and poplar carelessly scattered across the meadow, fiery sparks, dressed in cold, sparkled, and the beautiful river brilliantly exposed its silver chest, onto which the green curls of the trees luxuriously fell. Willful, as she is in those ecstatic hours when the faithful mirror so enviably captures her forehead, full of pride and dazzling brilliance, her lily-colored shoulders and marble neck, overshadowed by a dark wave that has fallen from her fair-haired head, when with contempt she throws away only her jewelry to replace them others, and there is no end to her whims - she changed her surroundings almost every year, choosing for herself new way and surrounding ourselves with new, diverse landscapes. Rows of mills lifted their heavy wheels wide waves and threw them powerfully, smashing them into splashes, covering them with dust and filling the surrounding area with noise. The cart with the passengers we knew drove onto the bridge at that time, and the river in all its beauty and grandeur, like solid glass, spread out in front of them. The sky, green and blue forests, people, carts with pots, mills - everything overturned, stood and walked upside down, without falling into the beautiful blue abyss. Our beauty became lost in thought, looking at the splendor of the view, and even forgot to peel her sunflower, which she had been regularly doing throughout the entire journey, when suddenly the words: “Oh, what a maiden!” - amazed her ears. Looking around, she saw a crowd of boys standing on the bridge, one of whom, dressed more dapper than the others, in a white scroll and a gray hat of Reshetilovsky smushkas, propped up on his sides, valiantly glanced at the passers-by. The beauty could not help but notice his tanned, but full of pleasant face and fiery eyes, which seemed to strive to see right through her, and lowered her eyes at the thought that perhaps the spoken word belonged to him.

Nice girl! - continued the boy in the white scroll, not taking his eyes off her. - I would give my entire household to kiss her. But the devil sits ahead!

Laughter arose from all sides; but the dressed-up cohabitant of the slowly speaking husband did not much like such a greeting: her red cheeks turned fiery, and the crackle of choice words rained down on the head of the revelry young man

May you choke, you worthless barge hauler! May your father get hit in the head with a pot! May he slip on the ice, damned Antichrist! May the devil burn his beard in the next world!

Look how he swears! - said the boy, widening his eyes at her, as if puzzled by such a strong volley of unexpected greetings, - and her tongue, a hundred-year-old witch, will not hurt to utter these words.

Centennial! - picked up the elderly beauty. - Wicked man! go wash yourself first! Worthless tomboy! I haven’t seen your mother, but I know it’s rubbish! and the father is rubbish! and your aunt is rubbish! Centennial! that he still has milk on his lips...

Then the cart began to descend from the bridge, and last words it was no longer possible to hear; but the boy didn’t seem to want to end it with this: without thinking for long, he grabbed a lump of dirt and threw it after her. The blow was more successful than one might have expected: the entire new calico otchik was splashed with mud, and the laughter of the riotous rakes doubled with renewed vigor. The portly dandy seethed with anger; but the cart had driven quite far at that time, and her revenge turned on her innocent stepdaughter and her slow partner, who, having long been accustomed to such phenomena, maintained stubborn silence and calmly accepted the rebellious speeches of her angry wife. However, despite this, her tireless tongue crackled and dangled in her mouth until they arrived in the suburbs to an old friend and godfather, the Cossack Tsybula. The meeting with the godfathers, who had not seen each other for a long time, temporarily drove this unpleasant incident out of our heads, forcing our travelers to talk about the fair and rest a little after the long journey.

II

What, my God, my Lord! Why is there nothing at that fair! Wheels, sklo, diogot, tyutyun, belt, tsibulya, kramari all sorts of things... so, if you wanted thirty rubles in Kisheni, then you wouldn’t have bought it at the fair.
From a Little Russian comedy

He approached one cart, felt another, applied to the prices; and meanwhile his thoughts were tossing and turning non-stop about the ten sacks of wheat and the old mare he had brought for sale. It was noticeable from his daughter’s face that she was not too pleased to rub around the carts with flour and wheat. She would like to go there, where red ribbons, earrings, tin and copper crosses and ducats are elegantly hung under the linen yats. But even here, however, she found many things to observe: she was extremely amused by the way the gypsy and the peasant beat each other on the hands, crying out in pain; how a drunken Jew gave jelly to a woman; how quarreling buyers exchanged curses and crayfish; like a Muscovite, stroking his goat beard with one hand, with the other... But then she felt someone tug her by the embroidered sleeve of her shirt. She looked around - and a boy in a white scroll, with bright eyes, stood in front of her. Her veins trembled, and her heart beat as never before, with any joy or sorrow: it seemed wonderful and loving to her, and she herself could not explain what was happening to her.

"Evenings on a farm near Dikanka - 02 Sorochinskaya Fair"

I'm bored of living in a house.

Oh, take me from home,

There's a lot of thunder, thunder,

Dear all the wonders,

The boys are walking!

From an ancient legend

How delightful, how luxurious a summer day in Little Russia! How languidly hot are those hours when midday shines in silence and heat and the blue immeasurable ocean, bent over the earth like a voluptuous dome, seems to have fallen asleep, completely drowned in bliss, hugging and squeezing the beautiful one in its airy embrace! There's not a cloud on it. No speech in the field. Everything seemed to have died; only above, in the depths of heaven, a lark trembles, and silver songs fly along the airy steps to the loving earth, and occasionally the cry of a seagull or ringing voice quail is given over to the steppe. Lazily and thoughtlessly, as if walking without a goal, the oak trees stand under the clouds, and the dazzling blows sun rays they light up whole picturesque masses of leaves, casting over others a shadow dark as night, along which only when strong wind gold is spitting. Emeralds, topazes, and jahonts of ethereal insects rain down over the colorful vegetable gardens, overshadowed by stately sunflowers. Gray haystacks and golden sheaves of bread are encamped in the field and wander through its immensity. Wide branches of cherries, plums, apple trees, and pears bent over from the weight of fruit; the sky, its pure mirror - the river in green, proudly raised frames... how full of voluptuousness and bliss the Little Russian summer is!

One of the hot August days of one thousand eight hundred... eight hundred... Yes, it would be thirty years ago, when the road, about ten miles to the town of Sorochinets, shone with such luxury with people hurrying from all the surrounding and distant farmsteads to the fair. In the morning, there was still an endless line of Chumaks with salt and fish. The mountains of pots, wrapped in hay, moved slowly, seemingly bored by their confinement and darkness; in some places only some brightly painted bowl or makitra showed boastfully from a fence perched high on a cart and attracted the tender glances of admirers of luxury. Many passers-by looked with envy at the tall potter, the owner of these jewels, who walked with slow steps behind his wares, carefully wrapping his clay dandies and coquettes in hated hay.

Lonely to the side was a cart, heaped with sacks, hemp, linen and various household luggage, dragged along by exhausted oxen, followed by its owner, in a clean linen shirt and soiled linen trousers. With a lazy hand he wiped away the sweat that was rolling down from his dark face and even dripping from his long mustache, powdered by that inexorable hairdresser who, without being called, appears to both the beauty and the ugly and has been forcibly powdering the entire human race for several thousand years. Next to him walked a mare tied to a cart, whose humble appearance revealed her advanced years. Many people we met, and especially young guys, grabbed their hats when they caught up with our man. However, it was not his gray mustache and his unimportant gait that forced him to do this; you only had to raise your eyes a little upward to see the reason for such respect: sitting on the cart was a pretty daughter with a round face, with black eyebrows, even arches rising above her light brown eyes, with carelessly smiling pink lips, with red and blue ribbons tied on her head, which , together with long braids and a bunch of wild flowers, a rich crown rested on her charming head. Everything seemed to occupy her; everything was wonderful and new to her... and her pretty eyes constantly ran from one object to another. How not to get scattered! first time at the fair! An eighteen-year-old girl at the fair for the first time!.. But not a single one of the passers-by knew what it cost her to beg her father to take with her, who would have been glad to do it with his soul before, if not for the evil stepmother, who learned to hold him in his hands as deftly as he holds the reins of his old mare, which, after a long service, was now being dragged for sale. A restless wife... but we forgot that she was sitting right there at the height of the cart, in an elegant green woolen jacket, on which, as if on ermine fur, there were tails sewn on, only red in color, in a rich plakhta, colorful, like a chessboard board, and in a colored calico print, which gave some special importance to her red, plump face, across which slipped something so unpleasant, so wild, that everyone immediately hurried to transfer his anxious gaze to the cheerful face of his daughter.

Psel has already begun to open to the eyes of our travelers; From a distance there was already a breath of coolness, which seemed more noticeable after the languid, destructive heat. Through the dark and light green leaves of sedge, birch and poplar carelessly scattered across the meadow, fiery sparks, dressed in cold, sparkled, and the beautiful river brilliantly exposed its silver chest, onto which the green curls of the trees luxuriously fell. Willful, as she is in those ecstatic hours when the faithful mirror so enviably captures her forehead, full of pride and dazzling brilliance, her lily-colored shoulders and marble neck, overshadowed by a dark wave that has fallen from her fair-haired head, when with contempt she throws away only her jewelry to replace them others, and there was no end to her whims - she changed her surroundings almost every year, choosing a new path for herself and surrounding herself with new, varied landscapes. Rows of mills lifted their wide waves onto heavy wheels and threw them powerfully, breaking them into splashes, sprinkling dust and filling the surrounding area with noise. The cart with the passengers we knew drove onto the bridge at that time, and the river in all its beauty and grandeur, like solid glass, spread out in front of them. The sky, green and blue forests, people, carts with pots, mills - everything overturned, stood and walked upside down, without falling into the beautiful blue abyss. Our beauty became lost in thought, looking at the splendor of the view, and even forgot to peel her sunflower, which she had been regularly doing throughout the entire journey, when suddenly the words: “Oh, what a maiden!” - amazed her ears. Looking around, she saw a crowd of boys standing on the bridge, one of whom, dressed more dapper than the others, in a white scroll and a gray hat of Reshetilovsky smushkas, propped up on his sides, bravely glanced at the passers-by. The beauty could not help but notice his tanned, but full of pleasant face and fiery eyes, which seemed to strive to see right through her, and lowered her eyes at the thought that perhaps the spoken word belonged to him.

Nice girl! - continued the boy in the white scroll, not taking his eyes off her. - I would give my entire household to kiss her. But the devil sits ahead!

May you choke, you worthless barge hauler! May your father get hit in the head with a pot! May he slip on the ice, damned Antichrist! May the devil burn his beard in the next world!

Then the cart began to descend from the bridge, and the last words could no longer be heard; but the boy didn’t seem to want to end it with this: without thinking for long, he grabbed a lump of dirt and threw it after her. The blow was more successful than one might have expected: the entire new calico otchik was splashed with mud, and the laughter of the riotous rakes doubled with renewed vigor. The portly dandy seethed with anger; but the cart had driven quite far at that time, and her revenge turned on her innocent stepdaughter and her slow partner, who, having long been accustomed to such phenomena, maintained stubborn silence and calmly accepted the rebellious speeches of her angry wife. However, despite this, her tireless tongue crackled and dangled in her mouth until they arrived in the suburbs to an old friend and godfather, the Cossack Tsybula. The meeting with the godfathers, who had not seen each other for a long time, temporarily drove this unpleasant incident out of our heads, forcing our travelers to talk about the fair and rest a little after the long journey.

What, my God, my Lord! Why is there nothing at that fair! Wheels, sklo, diogot, tyutyun, belt, tsibulya, kramari all sorts of things... so, if you wanted thirty rubles in Kisheni, then you wouldn’t have bought it at the fair.

From a Little Russian comedy

You've probably heard a distant waterfall lying somewhere, when the alarmed surroundings are full of roar and a chaos of wonderful, unclear sounds rushes like a whirlwind in front of you. Isn’t it true, isn’t it the same feelings that will instantly seize you in the whirlwind of a rural fair, when all the people merge into one huge monster and move their whole body in the square and along the narrow streets, screaming, cackling, thundering? Noise, swearing, mooing, bleating, roaring - everything merges into one discordant conversation. Oxen, sacks, hay, gypsies, pots, women, gingerbread, hats - everything is bright, colorful, discordant; rushes about in heaps and scurries before your eyes. Discordant speeches drown each other, and not a single word can be snatched out or saved from this flood; not a single cry will be spoken clearly. Only the clapping of traders' hands can be heard from all sides of the fair. The cart breaks, the iron clinks, the boards thrown to the ground rattle, and the dizzy one wonders where to turn. Our visiting man with his black-browed daughter had been jostling among the people for a long time. He approached one cart, felt another, applied to the prices; and meanwhile his thoughts were tossing and turning non-stop about the ten sacks of wheat and the old mare he had brought for sale. It was noticeable from his daughter’s face that she was not too pleased to rub around the carts with flour and wheat. She would like to go there, where red ribbons, earrings, tin and copper crosses and ducats are elegantly hung under the linen yats. But even here, however, she found many things to observe: she was extremely amused by the way the gypsy and the peasant beat each other on the hands, crying out in pain; how a drunken Jew gave jelly to a woman; how quarreling buyers exchanged curses and crayfish; like a Muscovite, stroking his goat beard with one hand, with the other... But then she felt someone tug her by the embroidered sleeve of her shirt. She looked around - and a boy in a white scroll, with bright eyes, stood in front of her. Her veins trembled, and her heart beat as never before, with any joy or sorrow: it seemed wonderful and loving to her, and she herself could not explain what was happening to her.

Don't be afraid, dear ones, don't be afraid! - he said to her in an undertone, taking her hand, - I won’t say anything bad to you!

“Perhaps it’s true that you won’t say anything bad,” the beauty thought to herself, “but it’s strange to me... it’s true, it’s the evil one! You yourself seem to know that it’s not right... but I don’t have the strength to take it hand from him."

The man looked around and wanted to say something to his daughter, but the word “wheat” was heard from the side. This magic word forced him at that very moment to join two merchants who were talking loudly, and nothing could entertain the attention that was riveted to them. This is what the merchants said about wheat.

Chi bachish, what kind of guy?

There are only a few of these in the world.

Sivukhu so, mov mash, klishche!

Kotlyarevsky, "Aeneid"

So do you think, fellow countryman, that our wheat will do poorly? - said a man who looked like a visiting tradesman, an inhabitant of some small town, in motley trousers, stained with tar and greasy, to another, in blue, already patched in places, a scroll and with a huge bump on his forehead.

There’s nothing to think about here; I’m ready to throw a noose over myself and hang on this tree like a sausage before Christmas in the hut if we sell at least one measure.

Who are you, fellow countryman, fooling? “I don’t bring anything except ours,” objected the man in colorful trousers.

“Yes, tell yourself what you want,” our beauty’s father thought to himself, not missing a single word from the conversation between the two merchants, “but I have ten bags in stock.”

That’s just it: if there is devilry involved, then expect as much benefit as from a hungry Muscovite,” the man with a bump on his forehead said significantly.

What the hell? - picked up a man in colorful trousers.

Have you heard what people say? - he continued with a bump on his forehead, looking sideways at him with his gloomy eyes.

Well, that's it! The assessor, so that he wouldn’t have to wipe his lips after the master’s plum, set aside a damned place for the fair, where, even if you crack it, you won’t lose a grain. Do you see that old, crumbling barn that stands over there under the mountain? (Here our beauty’s curious father moved even closer and seemed to turn his entire attention.) In that barn, every now and then there are devilish tricks; and not a single fair in this place took place without disaster. Yesterday, the volost clerk passed by late in the evening, just lo and behold, a pig’s snout stuck out through the dormer window and grunted so hard that it sent a chill down his spine; Just wait for the red scroll to appear again!

What is this red scroll?

Here our attentive listener's hair stood on end; With fear, he turned back and saw that his daughter and the boy were standing calmly, hugging each other and singing some love stories to each other, having forgotten about all the scrolls in the world. This dispelled his fear and forced him to return to his former carelessness.

Ege-ge-ge, fellow countryman! Yes, you are a master, as I see, of hugging! And only on the fourth day after the wedding I learned to hug my late Khveska, and even then thanks to my godfather: having been a friend, I already advised her.

The boy noticed at that very moment that his beloved’s father was not too far away, and in his thoughts he began to formulate a plan how to persuade him in his favor.

You are probably a good man, you don’t know me, but I recognized you immediately.

Maybe he did find out.

If you want, I’ll tell you your name, your nickname, and all sorts of other things: your name is Solopiy Cherevik.

So, Solopiy Cherevik.

But take a good look: don’t you recognize me?

No, I don't know. Don’t say it out of anger, I’ve seen so many different faces throughout my life that the devil can remember them all!

It’s a pity that you don’t remember Golopupenkov’s son!

Are you Okhrimov’s son?

And who? Is there only one bald Didko, if not him.

Here the friends grabbed their hats, and kissing began; Our Golopupenkov son, however, without wasting any time, decided at that very moment to besiege his new acquaintance.

Well, Solopy, as you see, your daughter and I fell in love with each other so much that we could live together forever.

Well, Paraska,” said Cherevik, turning and laughing to his daughter, “perhaps, in fact, so that, as they say, together... so that they can graze on the same grass! What? deal? Come on, newly recruited son-in-law, give it to Magarych!

And all three found themselves in a well-known fair restaurant - under a Jewish woman’s yatka, strewn with a numerous flotilla of sulli, bottles, flasks of all kinds and ages.

Oh, grab! I love it for this! - said Cherevik, having walked a little and seeing how his betrothed son-in-law filled a mug the size of half a quart and, without wincing at all, drank to the bottom, then snatching it to pieces. - What do you say, Paraska? What a groom I got for you! Look, look how bravely he pulls the foam!..

And, laughing and swaying, he walked with her to his cart, and our boy went along the rows with red goods, in which there were merchants even from Gadyach and Mirgorod - two famous cities of the Poltava province - to look out for the best wooden cradle in a dandy copper frame, a flowery scarf and a hat on a red field wedding gifts father-in-law and everyone who should.

Even though the people don’t have it,

That if you live, bachish, tee,

So you need to please...

Kotlyarevsky

Well, girl! and I found a groom for my daughter!

Now is the time to start looking for suitors! Fool, fool! It’s true that you were destined to remain like this! Where did you see, where did you hear that a kind person running after suitors now? You would better think about how to sell the wheat from your hands; The groom must be good too! I think he is the most ragged of all the hunger workers.

Eh, no matter how it is, you should see what kind of guy there is! One scroll is worth more than your green jacket and red boots. And how important the barn owl blows!.. Damn me along with you, if in my lifetime I saw a boy pull out half a quart in spirit without wincing.

Well, so: if he is a drunkard and a tramp, then so is he. I bet it's not the same brat who followed us on the bridge. It’s a pity that I haven’t come across him yet: I would let him know.

Well, Khivrya, even if it’s the same one; Why is he a tomboy?

Eh! why is he a tomboy? Oh, you brainless head! do you hear! why is he a tomboy? Where did you hide your stupid eyes when we passed the mills; Even if his dishonor had been inflicted on the woman right there, in front of his tobacco-stained nose, he wouldn’t have needed it.

Still, I don’t see anything bad in him; guy anywhere! Only for a moment I covered your image with manure.

Hey! Yes, as I see, you won’t let me say a word! What does it mean? When has this happened to you? That’s right, I’ve already managed to take a sip without selling anything...

Here our Cherevik himself noticed that he was talking too much, and in an instant covered his head with his hands, assuming, without a doubt, that the angry cohabitant would not hesitate to grab his hair with her marital claws.

“To hell with it! Here’s your wedding!” he thought to himself, dodging his strongly advancing wife. “I’ll have to refuse a good man for nothing, for nothing, my God, why such an attack on us sinners! and so many other things.” rubbish in the world, and you also gave birth to zhinok!"

Don't be sick, little lark,

The brush is green;

Don't scold me, little Cossack,

You're so young!

Maloross. song

The boy in the white scroll, sitting by his cart, looked absentmindedly at the people murmuring around him. The tired sun departed from the world, having calmly blazed through its afternoon and morning; and the fading day blushed captivatingly and brightly. The tops of the white tents and yats shone dazzlingly, illuminated by some barely noticeable fiery pink light. The glass of the windows piled up in heaps was burning; the green flasks and glasses on the tables near the taverns turned into fiery ones; the mountains of melons, watermelons and pumpkins seemed cast from gold and dark copper. The conversation noticeably became less frequent and muffled, and the tired tongues of the bargaining chippers, peasants and gypsies turned lazier and slower. Here and there a light began to sparkle, and the fragrant steam from the boiling dumplings wafted through the quiet streets.

What are you upset about, Gritsko? - cried the tall, tanned gypsy, hitting our boy on the shoulder. - Well, give the oxen for twenty!

All you need is oxen and oxen. For your tribe, everything would be for self-interest only. To trick and deceive a good man.

Ugh, devil! Yes, you were seriously taken away. Was it out of annoyance that he forced his bride on himself?

No, it’s not my way: I keep my word; what you have done once will remain forever. But Cherevik, the bastard, has no conscience, apparently, even half a slack: he said, and back... Well, there’s nothing to blame him for, he’s a stump, and that’s it. All these are the tricks of the old witch, whom today the boys and I scolded on all sides on the bridge! Eh, if I were a tsar or a great lord, I would be the first to hang all those fools who allow themselves to be saddled by women...

Will you let the oxen go for twenty if we force Cherevik to give us Paraska?

Gritsko looked at him in bewilderment. In the swarthy features of the gypsy there was something evil, caustic, low and at the same time arrogant: the person who looked at him was ready to admit that great virtues were seething in this wonderful soul, but for which there was only one reward on earth - the gallows. A mouth completely sunk between the nose and sharp chin, always overshadowed by a caustic smile, small but lively eyes like fire, and the lightning of enterprises and intentions constantly changing on the face - all this seemed to require a special costume, just as strange for itself as it was. then on it. This dark brown caftan, the touch of which seemed to turn it into dust; long black hair falling in flakes over the shoulders; shoes worn on bare tanned feet - all this seemed to have grown to him and made up his nature.

Not for twenty, but for fifteen, if you don’t lie! - the boy answered, not taking his searching eyes off him.

Over fifteen? OK! Look, don’t forget: for fifteen! Here's a tit for you!

Well, what if you lie?

I'll lie - your deposit!

OK! Well, let's shake hands!

From bida, Roman ide, from now

just how to plant me bebekhiv,

Thank you, Mr. Homo, not without dashing

From Little Russians. comedy

Here, Afanasy Ivanovich! Here is a lower fence, raise your leg, but don’t be afraid: my fool went with his godfather under the carts all night, so that the Muscovites wouldn’t catch something in case.

So Cherevik’s formidable partner affectionately encouraged the priest, who was cowardly clinging near the fence, who soon climbed up the fence and stood there for a long time in bewilderment, like a long scary ghost, measuring with his eye where it would be better to jump, and finally fell noisily into the weeds.

What a disaster! Haven't you hurt yourself, haven't you, God forbid, broken your necks? - caring Khivrya babbled.

Shh! nothing, nothing, dear Khavronya Nikiforovna! - the popovich said painfully and in a whisper, rising to his feet, - turning off only the stings from nettles, this snake-like grass, in the words of the late father of the archpriest.

Let's go to the hut now; there is nobody there. And I was already thinking, Afanasy Ivanovich, that a sore or a sore throat was sticking to you: no, yes and no. How are you doing? I heard that my father has now received a lot of all sorts of things!

A complete trifle, Khavronya Nikiforovna; During the entire Lent, the priest received a total of fifteen sacks of spring grain, four sacks of millet, about a hundred knishes, and if you count the chickens, there won’t be even fifty pieces, but eggs for the most part rotten. But truly sweet offerings, roughly speaking, are the only ones to be received from you, Khavronya Nikiforovna! - Popovich continued, looking at her tenderly and leaning closer.

Here are the offerings for you, Afanasy Ivanovich! - she said, putting the bowls on the table and coyly buttoning up her jacket, which seemed to be unbuttoned accidentally, - dumplings, wheat dumplings, dumplings, tovchenichki!

I bet if this was not done by the most cunning hands of all Evin’s family! - said the priest, starting to eat the tovchenichki and moving the dumplings with his other hand. - However, Khavronya Nikiforovna, my heart yearns from you for food sweeter than all the donuts and dumplings.

Now I don’t even know what other food you want, Afanasy Ivanovich! - answered the portly beauty, pretending not to understand.

Of course, your love, incomparable Khavronya Nikiforovna! - the priest said in a whisper, holding a dumpling in one hand, and hugging her wide figure with the other.

God knows what you are making up, Afanasy Ivanovich! - said Khivrya, shyly lowering her eyes. - What good! Perhaps you will start kissing again!

“I’ll tell you about this, even if only to myself,” Popovich continued, “when I was, roughly speaking, still in the bursa, that’s how I remember now...

Then I heard barking in the yard and knocking on the gate. Khivrya hurriedly ran out and returned all pale.

Well, Afanasy Ivanovich! we got caught with you; A bunch of people were knocking, and I thought I heard a godfather’s voice...

The dumpling stopped in the popovich's throat... His eyes bulged out, as if some person from the other world had just paid him a visit.

Get in here! - shouted the frightened Khivrya, pointing to the boards placed near the ceiling on two crossbeams, on which various household rubbish were littered.

Danger gave spirit to our hero. Having come to his senses a little, he jumped onto the bench and carefully climbed out onto the boards; and Khivrya ran unconsciously to the gate, because the knocking was repeated at them with greater force and impatience.

There are miracles here, Mospans!

From Little Russians. comedy

A strange incident happened at the fair: everyone was filled with rumors that a red scroll had appeared somewhere between the goods. The old woman selling bagels seemed to see Satan in the image of a pig, who was constantly bending over the carts, as if he was looking for something. This quickly spread to all corners of the already quiet camp; and everyone considered it a crime not to believe, despite the fact that the bagel seller, whose mobile stand was next to the tavern, bowed all day unnecessarily and wrote with her feet a perfect likeness of her tasty product. To this were added even more news about a miracle seen by the volost clerk in a collapsed barn, so that by night they huddled closer and closer to each other; the calm was destroyed, and fear prevented everyone from closing their eyes; and those who were not quite brave and had reserved accommodation for the night in huts, went home. Among the latter were Cherevik, his godfather and his daughter, who, together with the guests who asked to come to their house, made a strong knock that so frightened our Khivrya. Kuma is already a little confused. This could be seen from the fact that he drove his cart through the yard twice until he found the hut. The guests were also in a cheerful mood and entered without ceremony before the host himself. Our Cherevik’s wife sat on pins and needles when they began to rummage around in all corners of the hut.

“What, godfather,” cried the godfather who entered, “are you still shaking with fever?”

“Yes, I’m not feeling well,” Khivrya answered, looking restlessly at the boards placed under the ceiling.

Come on, wife, get the eggplant out of the cart! - the godfather said to his wife who came with him, - we will get it with good people; the damned women scared us so much that it’s embarrassing to say. After all, by God, brothers, we drove here for nothing! - he continued, sipping from a clay mug. - I immediately put on a new hat if the women don’t think of laughing at us. Yes, even if it really is Satan: what is Satan? Spit on his head! If only this very minute he would take it into his head to stand here, for example, in front of me: if I were a son of a dog, if I didn’t put the blow right under his nose!

Why did you suddenly turn completely pale? - shouted one of the guests, who was taller than everyone else and always tried to show himself as brave.

Me?.. The Lord is with you! did you dream?

The guests chuckled. A satisfied smile appeared on the face of the eloquent brave man.

Where should he turn pale now! - picked up another, - his cheeks blossomed like a poppy; Now he is not Tsybulya, but a Buryak - or, better, the red scroll itself, which frightened people so much.

The eggplant rolled across the table and made the guests even more cheerful than before. Here our Cherevik, who had long been tormented by the red scroll and had not given his curious spirit any peace for a minute, approached his godfather:

Say, be kind, godfather! I’m asking, but I won’t ask for the story about this damned scroll.

Eh, godfather! it would not be appropriate to tell it at night, but perhaps in order to please you and good people (at this he turned to the guests), who, I note, want to know about this wonder just as much as you do. Well, be it so. Listen!

Here he scratched his shoulders, wiped himself with his hollow, put both hands on the table and began:

Once upon a time, for what guilt, by God, I don’t even know anymore, they just kicked one devil out of hell.

How about it, godfather? - interrupted Cherevik, - how could it happen that the devil was kicked out of the heat?

What should we do, godfather? kicked out, and kicked out, like a man kicks a dog out of the hut. Maybe he was inspired to do some good deed, and the door was shown to him. The poor devil became so bored, so bored with the hell that he was even close to a noose. What to do? Let's get drunk out of grief. He nestled in that very barn, which, you saw, had fallen apart under the mountain and which not a single good person would pass by now without protecting himself with the Holy Cross in advance, and the devil became such a reveler as you will not find among the boys. From morning to evening, every now and then he sits in the tavern!..

Here again the stern Cherevik interrupted our narrator:

God knows what you're saying, godfather! How is it possible for someone to let the devil into a tavern? After all, he has, thank God, claws on his paws and horns on his head.

That's the thing, he was wearing a hat and mittens. Who will recognize him? I walked and walked - finally I got to the point where I drank everything I had with me. Shinkar believed for a long time, then he stopped. The devil had to pawn his red scroll, at almost a third of the price, to a Jew who was chopping at the Sorochinsky fair; pawned it and said to him: “Look, Jew, I will come to you for the scroll in exactly a year: take care of it!” - and disappeared, as if into water. The Jew took a good look at the scroll: the cloth is such that you couldn’t get it in Mirgorod! and the red color burns like fire, so I couldn’t see enough of it! The Jew found it boring to wait for the deadline. He scratched his sidelocks and tore off at least five ducats from some visiting gentleman. The Jew had completely forgotten about the deadline. One day, in the evening, a man comes: “Well, Jew, give me my scroll!” At first the Jew didn’t recognize it, but after he saw it, he pretended that he hadn’t even seen it. “What scroll? I don’t have any scroll! I don’t know your scroll!” He, lo and behold, left; Only in the evening, when the Jew, having locked his kennel and counted the money in his chests, threw a sheet over himself and began to pray to God like a Jew, he heard a rustling... lo and behold, pigs' snouts were exposed in all the windows...

Here, in fact, some vague sound was heard, very similar to the grunting of a pig; everyone turned pale... Sweat appeared on the narrator's face.

What? - Cherevik said in fright.

Nothing!.. - answered the godfather, shaking his whole body.

Hey! - one of the guests responded.

You said?..

Who grunted that?

God knows why we were alarmed! Nobody here!

Everyone timidly began to look around and began to rummage in the corners. Khivrya was neither alive nor dead.

Oh you women! women! - she said loudly. - Should you become a Cossack and be a husband! You should have a spindle in your hands and put it behind the comb! Someone, maybe, God forgive me... Under someone, the bench creaked, and everyone rushed around like crazy.

This put our brave men to shame and made them take heart; the godfather took a sip from the mug and began to talk further:

The Jew froze; however, the pigs, on legs as long as stilts, climbed into the windows and instantly revived the Jew with their braided three-pieces, forcing him to dance higher than this bastard. The Jew - at his feet, confessed everything... Only the scrolls could not be returned soon. Pana was robbed on the road by some gypsy and sold the scroll to a reseller; she brought her again to the Sorochinsky fair, but since then no one has bought anything from her. The repurchase was surprised and amazed and finally realized: it’s true that the red scroll is to blame. No wonder, when putting it on, she felt that something was pressing on her. Without thinking, without wondering for a long time, I threw it into the fire - the demonic clothes do not burn! "Eh, it's a damn gift!" She managed to outbid and slipped it into the cart of one guy who took it out to sell the oil. The fool was happy; But no one wants to ask for oil. “Eh, unkind hands planted the scroll!” He grabbed an ax and chopped her into pieces; lo and behold, one piece fits into another, and again there is a whole scroll. Having crossed himself, he grabbed the ax another time, scattered the pieces all over the place and left. Only since then, every year, and just during the fair, a devil with a pig's face walks around all the squares, grunting and picking up pieces of his scroll. Now, they say, only his left sleeve is missing. Since then, people have been disowning that place, and it will be about ten years since there was a fair there. Yes, the difficult thing now pulled the assessor away from...

The other half of the word froze on the narrator’s lips...

The window rattled with noise; The glass, ringing, flew out, and a terrible pig's face stuck out, moving its eyes, as if asking: “What are you doing here, good people?”

Jacket tail, mov dog,

Mov Cain, having become fearful;

Tobacco began to flow from my nose.

Kotlyarevsky, "Aeneid"

Horror gripped everyone in the house. The godfather with his mouth open turned into stone; his eyes bulged, as if they wanted to shoot; the open fingers remained motionless in the air. The tall brave man, in invincible fear, jumped up to the ceiling and hit his head on the crossbar; the boards leaned in, and Popovich flew to the ground with a thunder and crash. "Ah ah ah!" - one shouted desperately, falling onto the bench in horror and dangling his arms and legs on it. "Save!" - bawled another, covering himself with a sheepskin coat. The godfather, brought out of his petrification by secondary fright, crawled in convulsions under the hem of his wife. The tall brave man climbed into the oven, despite the narrow opening, and closed himself with the damper. And Cherevik, as if doused with hot boiling water, grabbed a pot on his head instead of a hat, rushed to the door and, like a madman, ran through the streets, not seeing the ground beneath him; Fatigue alone only forced him to slow down his running speed a little. His heart was beating like a mill mortar, and his sweat was pouring out like hail. Exhausted, he was about to fall to the ground, when suddenly he heard that someone was chasing him from behind... His spirit sank... “Damn! damn!” - he shouted without memory, tripling his strength, and a minute later he fell unconscious to the ground. "Damn! damn!" - they shouted after him, and he only heard how something noisily rushed at him. Then his memory fled from him, and he, like a terrible inhabitant of a cramped coffin, remained mute and motionless in the middle of the road.

Still in front i like this, i like that;

And in the back, to hell with it!

From a folk tale

Do you hear, Vlas,” one of the crowd of people sleeping on the street said, getting up at night, “near us someone mentioned the devil!”

What do I care? - the gypsy lying next to him grumbled, stretching, - if only he remembered all his relatives.

But he screamed as if he was being crushed!

You never know what a person won’t lie when he’s asleep!

It’s your choice, at least you need to look; turn out the fire!

Another gypsy, grumbling to himself, rose to his feet, illuminated himself twice with sparks, as if lightning, fanned the tinder with his lips and, with a kagan in his hands, an ordinary Little Russian lamp, consisting of a broken shard filled with lamb fat, set off, illuminating the road.

Stop! there is something lying here; shine here!

Several more people were sent to them.

What lies there, Vlas?

So, as if there were two people: one above, the other below; I can’t even tell which one is the devil anymore!

Who's at the top?

Well, this is what the devil is!

General laughter woke up almost the entire street.

Baba climbed onto the man; well, that's right, this woman knows how to drive! - said one of the surrounding crowd.

Look, brothers! - said another, lifting a shard from a pot, of which only the surviving half was held on Cherevik’s head, “what a hat this good fellow put on himself!”

The increased noise and laughter forced our dead, Solopy and his wife, to wake up, who, full of past fright, looked for a long time in horror with motionless eyes at the dark faces of the gypsies: illuminated by the light, faithfully and tremulously burning, they seemed like a wild host of gnomes, surrounded by heavy underground steam, in the darkness of the night.

Tsur tobi, bake tobi, satanic

obsession!

From a Little Russian comedy

The freshness of the morning blew over the awakened Sorochintsy. Clouds of smoke from all the chimneys rushed towards the emerging sun. The fair was noisy. The sheep bleated, the horses neighed; the cry of the geese and merchant women rushed again throughout the camp - and the terrible rumors about the red scroll, which brought such timidity to the people in the mysterious hours of twilight, disappeared with the advent of morning.

Yawning and stretching, Cherevik dozed at the godfather's, under a thatched barn, between oxen, sacks of flour and wheat, and, it seems, had no desire to part with his dreams, when suddenly he heard a voice as familiar as the shelter of laziness - the blessed oven his hut or the tavern of a distant relative, located no more than ten steps from his threshold.

Get up, get up! - the gentle wife rattled in his ear, pulling his hand with all her might.

Instead of answering, Cherevik puffed out his cheeks and began to dangle his hands, imitating the beating of a drum.

Crazy! - she screamed, dodging the wave of his hand, with which he almost hit her in the face.

Cherevik stood up, rubbed his eyes a little and looked around.

Enemy take me, if I, my dear, did not imagine your face as a drum, on which I was forced to beat out the dawn, like a Muscovite, those same pig faces, from which, as my godfather says...

Enough, enough of your nonsense! Go and quickly bring the mare for sale. Laughter, really, for the people: they came to the fair and at least sold a handful of hemp...

“Why, Zhinka,” Solopy picked up, “they’ll laugh at us now.”

Go! go! They're laughing at you already!

You see that I haven’t washed my face yet,” Cherevik continued, yawning and scratching his back and trying, among other things, to gain time for his laziness.

It’s inopportune that the whim of being clean has come! When did this happen to you? Here's a towel, wipe off your mask...

Then she grabbed something rolled up into a ball and threw it away from her in horror: it was the red cuff of a scroll!

Go do your job,” she repeated, gathering her courage, to her husband, seeing that fear had taken away his legs and his teeth were chattering against each other.

There will be a sale now! - he grumbled to himself, untying the mare and leading her to the square. “It’s not for nothing that when I was getting ready for this damned fair, my soul felt so heavy, as if someone had dumped a dead cow on you, and the oxen turned home twice on their own.” And almost, as I remember now, we didn’t leave on Monday. Well, that’s all evil!.. The damned devil is restless: he would already wear a scroll without one sleeve; But no, you don’t need to give good people peace. If, for example, I were the devil - why, God forbid - would I begin to trudge around at night for damned rags?

Here our Cherevik’s philosophizing was interrupted by a thick and harsh voice. A tall gypsy stood in front of him.

What are you selling, good man?

The seller paused, looked at him from head to toe and said with a calm look, without stopping and without letting go of the reins:

You can see for yourself what I'm selling!

Straps? - asked the gypsy, looking at the bridle in his hands.

Yes, straps, as long as the mare looks like straps.

However, damn it, fellow countryman, you apparently fed her straw!

Straw?

Here Cherevik wanted to pull the reins to lead his mare and expose the shameless slanderer in a lie, but his hand extraordinary lightness hit me on the chin. I looked - there was a cut bridle in it and tied to the bridle - oh, horror! his hair stood up like a mountain! - a piece of a red sleeve scroll!.. Spitting, crossing himself and waving his hands, he ran away from the unexpected gift and, faster than the young boy, disappeared into the crowd.

I was beaten for my life.

Proverb

Catch! catch him! - several boys shouted at the cramped end of the street, and Cherevik felt that he was suddenly grabbed by strong arms.

Knit it! this is the same one who stole a mare from a good man!

The Lord is with you! Why are you tying me up?

He's asking! Why did you steal a mare from a visiting man, Cherevik?

You guys are crazy! Where have you ever seen a person steal something from himself?

Old things! old things! Why did you run at full speed, as if Satan himself was hot on your heels?

You will inevitably run when the satanic clothes...

Eh, darling! deceive others with this; There will be more for you from the assessor for not frightening people with devilry.

Catch! catch him! - a scream was heard from the other end of the street. - Here he is, here is the fugitive!

And our Cherevik’s eyes met the godfather, in the most pitiful position, with his hands folded back, led by several lads.

“Miracles began,” said one of them. - You should listen to what this swindler is telling, who only has to look into the face to see the thief; when they began to ask why he was running like crazy, he reached into his pocket, he said, to take a sniff of tobacco and instead of a tavlinka he pulled out a piece of a damn scroll, from which a red fire flared up, and God bless his legs!

Ege-ge-ge! Yes, these are both birds from the same nest! Knit them both together!

“What, good people, what have I done wrong?

Why are you glaring? - said our non-brother. -

Why are you so concerned about me?

For what, for what?" - saying, and letting go of the patoka,

Patyokas of rich mucus, clinging to the sides.

Artemovsky-Gulak, "Pan that dog"

Maybe, godfather, you actually picked up something? - Cherevik asked, lying tied up with his godfather under a straw yatka.

And you too, godfather! So that my arms and legs could rest if I ever stole anything, except dumplings with sour cream from my mother, and even then when I was ten years old.

Why is this, godfather, attacking us like this? Nothing for you yet; you are blamed, at least for what you stole from someone else; but why should I, an unfortunate man, receive such an unkind slander: as if I stole a mare from myself? Apparently, we, godfather, were already destined not to have happiness!

Woe to us, poor orphans!

Here both godfathers began to sob bitterly.

What's wrong with you, Solopy? - said Gritsko, who entered at that time. - Who tied you up?

A! Golopupenko, Golopupenko! - Solopy shouted, delighted. - Here, godfather, this is the same one I told you about. Oh, grab! God kill me on this spot if I didn’t dry off a kukhol not nearly as big as your head in front of me, and at least once wince.

Why didn’t you, godfather, respect such a nice guy?

“So, as you see,” Cherevik continued, turning to Gritsko, “God punished you, apparently, for having offended you. Sorry, good man! By God, I would be glad to do everything for you... But what do you order? The devil is in the old woman!

I'm not vindictive, Solopy. If you want, I will free you! - Then he blinked at the boys, and the same ones who were guarding him rushed to untie him. - For that, do what you need to do: the wedding! - yes, and let’s feast so that whole year My legs hurt from the hopak.

Good! from good! - said Solopy, clapping his hands. - Yes, I feel so happy now, as if the Muscovites had taken my old woman away. But what to think: whether it’s suitable or not - there’s a wedding today, and the end is in the water!

Look, Solopy, in an hour I will be with you; and now go home: the buyers of your mare and wheat are waiting for you there!

How! was the mare found?

Found!

Cherevik became motionless with joy, looking after Gritsko as he left.

What, Gritsko, have we done our job badly? - said the tall gypsy to the hurrying boy. - The oxen are mine now?

Yours! yours!

Don't fight, motinko, don't fight,

Put on the red shoes.

Trample the enemies

Let's get your kicks

They rattled!

Your enemies

Wedding song

Resting her pretty chin on her elbow, Paraska thought, alone, sitting in the hut. Many dreams were wrapped around the fair-haired head. Sometimes suddenly a light smile touched her scarlet lips and some kind of joyful feeling raised her dark eyebrows, and sometimes again a cloud of thoughtfulness lowered them onto her bright brown eyes. “Well, what if what he said doesn’t come true?” she whispered with some expression of doubt. “Well, what if they don’t hand me over? If... No, no; that won’t happen! The stepmother does everything she wants.” whatever he wants; can’t I do what I want? I have enough stubbornness too. How good he is! how wonderfully his black eyes glow! How lovingly he says: Parasyu, my dear! how the white scroll stuck to him "If only the belt were brighter!.. I'll tell him, though, when we move to a new house. I won't think about it without joy," she continued, taking out a small mirror covered with paper from her bosom. red paper, bought by her at the fair, and looking at it with secret pleasure - when I meet her somewhere then - I will never bow to her, even if she cracks herself. No, stepmother, stop beating your stepdaughter! The sand will sooner rise on the stone and the oak tree will bend into the water like a willow, than I will bend down before you! Yes, I forgot... let me try on the otchik, even my stepmother’s, somehow I’ll have to!” Then she stood up, holding a mirror in her hands, and, bending her head towards it, tremblingly walked around the hut, as if afraid of falling, seeing under her, instead of a floor, there was a ceiling with boards placed under it, from which the popovich had recently fallen, and shelves lined with pots. “What am I, really, like a child,” she cried out, laughing, “I’m afraid to step my foot.” And she began to stamp her feet , all the further, bolder; finally left hand she sank and rested on her side, and she went to dance, rattling her horseshoes, holding a mirror in front of her and singing her favorite song:

Green periwinkle,

Stay low!

And you, dear, black-browed,

Get close!

Green periwinkle,

Spread the cabbage soup lower!

And those, dear, black-browed,

Get closer!

Cherevik looked at the door at that time and, seeing his daughter dancing in front of the mirror, stopped. He looked for a long time, laughing at the unprecedented whim of the girl, who, lost in thought, did not seem to notice anything; but when he heard the familiar sounds of the song, the veins in him began to stir; proudly putting his hands on his hips, he stepped forward and began to squat down, forgetting about all his business. The loud laughter of the godfather made both of them shudder.

It’s good, dad and daughter started their wedding here themselves! Go quickly: the groom has come!

At the last word, Paraska flashed brighter than the scarlet ribbon tying her head, and her careless father remembered why he had come.

Well, daughter! let's go quickly! “Getting excited that I sold the mare, she ran,” he said, looking around timidly, “she ran to buy some planks and sackcloth of all sorts, so she needs to finish everything before she arrives!”

Before Paraska had time to cross the threshold of the hut, she felt herself in the arms of a young man in a white scroll, who was waiting for her on the street with a bunch of people.

God bless! - Cherevik said, folding their hands. - Let them live like wreaths!

Then a noise was heard among the people:

I'd rather crack than let that happen! - shouted the cohabitant Solopia, who, however, was pushed away with laughter by the crowd of people.

Don't be mad, don't be mad, little girl! - Cherevik said coolly, seeing that a pair of hefty gypsies had taken possession of her hands, “what’s done is done; I don't like change!

No! No! this won't happen! - Khivrya shouted, but no one listened to her; several couples surrounded new pair and formed an impenetrable dancing wall around her.

A strange, inexplicable feeling would have taken possession of the viewer at the sight of how, with one blow of the bow of a musician, in a homespun scroll, with a long curled mustache, everything turned, willy-nilly, to unity and passed into agreement. People, on whose gloomy faces it seemed that a smile had not slipped for centuries, stamped their feet and trembled their shoulders. Everything was rushing. Everyone was dancing. But an even stranger, even more inexplicable feeling would awaken in the depths of the soul when looking at the old women, on whose decrepit faces one could smell the indifference of the grave, jostling between a new, laughing, living person. Carefree! even without childish joy, without a spark of sympathy, which drunkenness alone, like the mechanic of his lifeless machine, forces them to do something similar to a human one, they quietly shook their drunken heads, dancing along with the merry people, not even paying attention to the young couple.

Thunder, laughter, songs were heard quieter and quieter. The bow was dying, weakening and losing unclear sounds in the emptiness of the air. There was also a sound of stamping somewhere, something similar to the murmur of a distant sea, and soon everything became empty and dull.

Isn’t it also true that joy, a beautiful and fickle guest, flies away from us, and in vain does a lonely sound think to express joy? In his own echo he already hears sadness and desert and dimly heeds it. Isn’t it so that the playful friends of their stormy and free youth, one by one, one after another, get lost around the world and finally leave behind one of their old brothers? Bored left! And the heart becomes heavy and sad, and there is nothing to help it.

Nikolai Gogol - Evenings on a farm near Dikanka - 02 Sorochinskaya fair , read the text

See also Gogol Nikolai - Prose (stories, poems, novels...):

Evenings on a farm near Dikanka - 03 Evening on the eve of Ivan Kupala
A true story told by the sexton of the church Foma Grigorievich was haunted...

Evenings on a farm near Dikanka - 04 May Night, or the Drowned Woman
You know the enemy, dad! if you start to shy away from people getting baptized, then mur...

I

I'm bored of living in a house.
Oh, take me from home,
There's a lot of thunder, thunder
Dear all the wonders,
The boys are walking!

From an ancient legend

How delightful, how luxurious a summer day in Little Russia! How languidly hot are those hours when the afternoon shines in silence and heat and the blue immeasurable ocean, bent over the earth like a voluptuous dome, seems to have fallen asleep, the weight, drowned in bliss, hugging and squeezing the beautiful one in its airy embrace! There's not a cloud on it. There is no speech in the field. Everything seems to have died; only above, in the heavenly depths, a lark trembles, and silver songs fly along the airy steps to the loving land, and occasionally the cry of a seagull or the ringing voice of a quail echoes in the steppe. Lazily and thoughtlessly, as if walking without a goal, the cloud-covered oaks stand, and the dazzling blows of the sun's rays light up whole picturesque masses of leaves, casting over others a shadow dark as night, along which gold flecks only in a strong wind. Emeralds, topazes, and jahonts of ethereal insects rain down over the colorful vegetable gardens, overshadowed by stately sunflowers. Gray haystacks and golden sheaves of bread are encamped in the field and wander through its immensity. Wide branches of cherries, plums, apple trees, and pears bent over from the weight of fruit; the sky, its pure mirror - the river in green, proudly raised frames... how full of voluptuousness and bliss the Little Russian summer is! One of the hot August days of one thousand eight hundred... eight hundred... Yes, it would be thirty years ago, when the road, about ten miles to the town of Sorochinets, shone with such luxury with people hurrying from all the surrounding and distant farmsteads to the fair. In the morning, there was still an endless line of Chumaks with salt and fish. The mountains of pots, wrapped in hay, moved slowly, seemingly bored by their confinement and darkness; in some places only some brightly painted bowl or makitra showed boastfully from a fence perched high on a cart and attracted the tender glances of admirers of luxury. Many passers-by looked with envy at the tall potter, the owner of these jewels, who walked with slow steps behind his wares, carefully wrapping his clay dandies and coquettes in hated hay. Lonely to the side was a cart, heaped with sacks, hemp, linen and various household luggage, dragged along by exhausted oxen, followed by its owner, in a clean linen shirt and soiled linen trousers. With a lazy hand he wiped away the sweat that was rolling down from his dark face and even dripping from his long mustache, powdered by that inexorable hairdresser who, without being called, appears to both the beauty and the ugly and has been forcibly powdering the entire human race for several thousand years. Next to him walked a mare tied to a cart, whose humble appearance revealed her advanced years. Many people we met, and especially young guys, grabbed their hats when they caught up with our man. However, it was not his gray mustache and his unimportant gait that forced him to do this; you only had to raise your eyes a little upward to see the reason for such respect: sitting on the cart was a pretty daughter with a round face, with black eyebrows, even arches rising above her light brown eyes, with carelessly smiling pink lips, with red and blue ribbons tied on her head, which , together with long braids and a bunch of wild flowers, a rich crown rested on her charming head. Everything seemed to occupy her; everything was wonderful and new to her... and her pretty eyes constantly ran from one object to another. How not to get scattered! first time at the fair! An eighteen-year-old girl at the fair for the first time!.. But not a single one of the passers-by knew what it cost her to beg her father to take with her, who would have been glad to do it with his soul before, if not for the evil stepmother, who learned to hold him in his hands as deftly as he holds the reins of his old mare, which, after a long service, was now being dragged for sale. A restless wife... but we forgot that she was sitting right there at the height of the cart, in an elegant green woolen jacket, on which, as if on ermine fur, there were tails sewn on, only red in color, in a rich plakhta, colorful, like a chessboard board, and in a colored calico print, which gave some special importance to her red, plump face, across which slipped something so unpleasant, so wild, that everyone immediately hurried to transfer his anxious gaze to the cheerful face of his daughter. Psel has already begun to open to the eyes of our travelers; From a distance there was already a breath of coolness, which seemed more noticeable after the languid, destructive heat. Through the dark and light green leaves of sedge, birch and poplar carelessly scattered across the meadow, fiery sparks, dressed in cold, sparkled, and the beautiful river brilliantly exposed its silver chest, onto which the green curls of the trees luxuriously fell. Willful, as she is in those ecstatic hours when the faithful mirror so enviably captures her forehead, full of pride and dazzling brilliance, her lily-colored shoulders and marble neck, overshadowed by a dark wave that has fallen from her fair-haired head, when with contempt she throws away only her jewelry to replace them others, and there was no end to her whims - she changed her surroundings almost every year, choosing a new path for herself and surrounding herself with new, varied landscapes. Rows of mills lifted their wide waves onto heavy wheels and threw them powerfully, breaking them into splashes, sprinkling dust and filling the surrounding area with noise. The cart with the passengers we knew drove onto the bridge at that time, and the river in all its beauty and grandeur, like solid glass, spread out in front of them. The sky, green and blue forests, people, carts with pots, mills - everything overturned, stood and walked upside down, without falling into the beautiful blue abyss. Our beauty became lost in thought, looking at the splendor of the view, and even forgot to peel her sunflower, which she had been regularly doing throughout the entire journey, when suddenly the words: “Oh, what a maiden!” - amazed her ears. Looking around, she saw a crowd of boys standing on the bridge, one of whom, dressed more dapper than the others, in a white scroll and a gray hat of Reshetilovsky smushkas, propped up on his sides, valiantly glanced at the passers-by. The beauty could not help but notice his tanned, but full of pleasant face and fiery eyes, which seemed to strive to see right through her, and lowered her eyes at the thought that perhaps the spoken word belonged to him. - Nice girl! - continued the boy in the white scroll, not taking his eyes off her. “I would give my entire household to kiss her.” But the devil sits ahead! Laughter arose from all sides; but the dressed-up cohabitant of the slowly advancing husband did not much appreciate such a greeting: her red cheeks turned fiery, and the crackle of choice words rained down on the head of the revelry couple. - May you choke, you worthless barge hauler! May your father get hit in the head with a pot! May he slip on the ice, damned Antichrist! May the devil burn his beard in the next world! - Look how he swears! - said the boy, widening his eyes at her, as if puzzled by such a strong volley of unexpected greetings, - and her tongue, a hundred-year-old witch, would not hurt to utter these words. - A hundred years old! - picked up the elderly beauty. - Wicked man! go wash yourself first! Worthless tomboy! I haven’t seen your mother, but I know it’s rubbish! and the father is rubbish! and your aunt is rubbish! Centennial! that he still has milk on his lips... Then the cart began to descend from the bridge, and the last words could no longer be heard; but the boy didn’t seem to want to end it with this: without thinking for long, he grabbed a lump of dirt and threw it after her. The blow was more successful than one might have expected: the entire new calico otchik was splashed with mud, and the laughter of the riotous rakes doubled with renewed vigor. The portly dandy seethed with anger; but the cart had driven quite far at that time, and her revenge turned on her innocent stepdaughter and her slow partner, who, having long been accustomed to such phenomena, maintained stubborn silence and calmly accepted the rebellious speeches of her angry wife. However, despite this, her tireless tongue crackled and dangled in her mouth until they arrived in the suburbs to an old friend and godfather, the Cossack Tsybula. The meeting with the godfathers, who had not seen each other for a long time, temporarily drove this unpleasant incident out of our heads, forcing our travelers to talk about the fair and rest a little after the long journey.

One of the days of hot August shone with such luxury one thousand eight hundred... eight hundred... Yes, thirty years ago, when the road, about ten miles to the town of Sorochinets, was seething with people hurrying from all the surrounding and distant farmsteads to the fair. In the morning, there was still an endless line of Chumaks with salt and fish. The mountains of pots, wrapped in hay, moved slowly, seemingly bored by their confinement and darkness; in some places only some brightly painted bowl or makitra showed boastfully from a fence perched high on a cart and attracted the tender glances of admirers of luxury. Many passers-by looked with envy at the tall potter, the owner of these jewels, who walked with slow steps behind his wares, carefully wrapping his clay dandies and coquettes in hated hay.

Lonely to the side was a cart, heaped with sacks, hemp, linen and various household luggage, dragged along by exhausted oxen, followed by its owner, in a clean linen shirt and soiled linen trousers. With a lazy hand he wiped away the sweat that was rolling down from his dark face and even dripping from his long mustache, powdered by that inexorable hairdresser who, without being called, appears to both the beauty and the ugly, and has been forcibly powdering the entire human race for several thousand years. Next to him walked a mare tied to a cart, whose humble appearance revealed her advanced years. Many people we met, especially young guys, grabbed their hats when they caught up with our man. However, it was not his gray mustache and his unimportant gait that forced him to do this; you only had to raise your eyes a little upward to see the reason for such respect: sitting on the cart was a pretty daughter with a round face, with black eyebrows, even arches rising above her light brown eyes, with carelessly smiling pink lips, with red and blue ribbons tied on her head, which , together with long braids and a bunch of wild flowers, a rich crown rested on her charming head. Everything seemed to occupy her; everything was wonderful and new to her... and her pretty eyes constantly ran from one object to another. How not to get scattered! first time at the fair! A girl of eighteen years old at the fair for the first time !.. But not a single one of the passersby and travelers knew what it took for her to beg her father to take with her, who would have been glad with his soul to do this before, if not for the evil stepmother, who learned to hold him in her hands as deftly as he holds the reins of his old mare , dragged along for a long service, is now for sale. The restless wife... But we forgot that she too was sitting at the height of the cart in an elegant green woolen jacket, on which, as if on ermine fur, there were red tails sewn on, in a rich plakhta, colorful as a chessboard, and in a chintz a colored eyeliner that gave some special importance to her red, plump face, across which something so unpleasant, so wild slipped, that everyone immediately hurried to transfer their anxious gaze to the cheerful face of their daughter.

Psel has already begun to open to the eyes of our travelers; From a distance there was already a breath of coolness, which seemed more noticeable after the languid, destructive heat. Through the dark and light green leaves of sedge, birch and poplar carelessly scattered across the meadow, fiery sparks, dressed in cold, sparkled, and the beautiful river brilliantly exposed its silver chest, onto which the green curls of the trees luxuriously fell. Willful, as she is in those ecstatic hours when the faithful mirror so enviably contains her forehead full of pride and dazzling brilliance, lily shoulders and marble neck, overshadowed by a dark wave that has fallen from her fair-haired head, when with contempt she throws away only jewelry to replace they were different, and there was no end to her whims - she changed her surroundings almost every year, choosing a new path for herself and surrounding herself with new, varied landscapes. Rows of mills lifted their wide waves onto heavy wheels and threw them powerfully, breaking them into splashes, sprinkling dust and filling the surrounding area with noise. The cart with the passengers we knew drove onto the bridge at that time, and the river in all its beauty and grandeur, like solid glass, spread out in front of them. The sky, green and blue forests, people, carts with pots, mills - everything overturned, stood and walked upside down, without falling into the blue, beautiful abyss. Our beauty became lost in thought, looking at the splendor of the view, and even forgot to peel her sunflower, which she had been regularly doing throughout the entire journey, when suddenly the words: “Oh, what a maiden!” struck her ears. Looking around, she saw a crowd of boys standing on the bridge, one of whom, dressed more dapper than the others, in a white scroll and a gray hat of Reshetilovsky smushkas, propped up on his sides, valiantly glanced at the passers-by. The beauty could not help but notice his tanned, but full of pleasant face and fiery eyes, which seemed to strive to see right through her, and lowered her eyes at the thought that perhaps the spoken word belonged to him. “Nice maiden!” continued the boy in the white scroll, not taking his eyes off her. “I would give my entire household to kiss her. But the devil sits in front!” Laughter arose from all sides; but the dressed-up cohabitant of the slowly advancing husband did not much appreciate such a greeting: her red cheeks turned fiery, and the crackle of choice words rained down on the head of the riotous young man:

“May you choke, you worthless barge hauler!” May your father get hit in the head with a pot! May he slip on the ice, damned Antichrist! May the devil burn his beard in the next world!”

“Look, how he swears!” said the boy, widening his eyes at her, as if puzzled by such a strong volley of unexpected greetings: “and her tongue, a hundred-year-old witch, won’t hurt to utter these words.”

“A hundred years old!” the elderly beauty picked up. "Wicked man!" go wash yourself first! Worthless tomboy! I haven’t seen your mother, but I know it’s rubbish! and the father is rubbish! and your aunt is rubbish! Centennial! that he still has milk on his lips...” Then the cart began to descend from the bridge, and it was no longer possible to hear the last words; but the boy didn’t seem to want to end it with this: without thinking for long, he grabbed a lump of dirt and threw it after her. The blow was more successful than one might have expected: the entire new calico otchik was splashed with mud, and the laughter of the riotous rakes doubled with renewed vigor. The portly dandy seethed with anger; but the cart had driven quite far at that time, and her revenge turned on her innocent stepdaughter and her slow partner, who, having long been accustomed to such phenomena, maintained stubborn silence and calmly accepted the rebellious speeches of her angry wife. However, despite this, her tireless tongue crackled and dangled in her mouth until they arrived in the suburbs to an old friend and godfather, the Cossack Tsybula. The meeting with the godfathers, who had not seen each other for a long time, temporarily drove this unpleasant incident out of our heads, forcing our travelers to talk about the fair and rest a little after the long journey.

Oh my God, my goodness! Why isn’t there at this fair! wheels, sklo, tar, tyutyun, belt, tsybulya, kramari of all sorts... so, even if there were rubles in the kishen and with thirty, then even then I would not have purchased the goods of the fair.

From a Little Russian comedy.

You probably have heard a distant waterfall lying somewhere, when the alarmed surroundings are full of roar, and a chaos of wonderful, unclear sounds rushes like a whirlwind in front of you. Isn’t it true, isn’t it the same feelings that will instantly seize you in the whirlwind of a rural fair, when all the people merge into one huge monster and move their whole body in the square and along the narrow streets, screaming, cackling, thundering? Noise, swearing, mooing, bleating, roaring - everything merges into one discordant conversation. Oxen, sacks, hay, gypsies, pots, women, gingerbread, hats - everything is bright, colorful, discordant; rushes about in heaps and scurries before your eyes. Discordant speeches drown each other, and not a single word can be snatched out or saved from this flood; not a single cry will be spoken clearly. Only the clapping of traders' hands can be heard from all sides of the fair. The cart breaks, the iron clinks, the boards thrown to the ground rattle, and the dizzy one wonders where to turn. Our visiting man with his black-browed daughter had been jostling among the people for a long time. He approached one cart, felt another, applied to the prices; and meanwhile his thoughts were tossing and turning non-stop about the ten sacks of wheat and the old mare he had brought for sale. It was noticeable from his daughter’s face that she was not too pleased to rub around the carts with flour and wheat. She would like to go where red ribbons, tin earrings, copper crosses and ducats are elegantly hung under the linen yats. But even here, however, she found many objects for herself to observe: she was extremely amused by how the gypsy and the peasant beat each other on the hands, crying out in pain; how a drunken Jew gave jelly to a woman; how quarreling buyers exchanged curses and crayfish; like a Muscovite, stroking his goat beard with one hand, with the other... But then she felt someone tug her by the embroidered sleeve of her shirt. She looked around - and the boy, in a white scroll, with bright eyes, stood in front of her. Her veins trembled, and her heart beat as never before, with no joy, no sorrow: it seemed both wonderful and delightful to her, and she herself could not explain what was happening to her. “Don’t be afraid, dearly, don’t be afraid!” he said to her in an undertone, taking her hand: “I won’t say anything bad to you!” - “Maybe it’s true that you won’t say anything bad,” the beauty thought to herself: “Only it’s strange to me... surely it’s the evil one!” You yourself seem to know that this is not good... but you don’t have the strength to take your hand from him.” - The man looked around and wanted to say something to his daughter, but the word was heard from the side: wheat. This magic word forced him, at that very moment, to join two merchants talking loudly, and nothing could entertain the attention that was riveted to them. Here's what the merchants said about wheat:

What kind of guy are you talking about?

There are a few of these in the retinue.

Sivukhu so mov mash whip!

Kotlyarevsky. Envida.

“So you think, fellow countryman, that our wheat will do poorly?” said a man who looked like a visiting tradesman, an inhabitant of some small town, in motley trousers, stained with tar and greasy, to another in a blue scroll, already patched in places, and with a huge bump on his forehead.

“There’s nothing to think about here; I’m ready to throw a noose over myself and hang on this tree like a sausage before Christmas in the hut if we sell even one measure.”

“Who are you, fellow countryman, fooling? “I don’t bring anything except ours,” objected the man in colorful trousers. “Yes, tell yourself what you want,” our beauty’s father thought to himself, not missing a single word from the conversation between the two merchants: “And I have ten bags in stock.”

“That’s just it, if devilry is involved somewhere, then expect as much benefit as from a hungry Muscovite,” the man with a bump on his forehead said significantly.

“What the hell?” said the man in the colorful trousers.

“Have you heard what they say among the people?” he continued with a bump on his forehead, looking sideways at him with his gloomy eyes.

“Well, that’s it!” The assessor, so that he wouldn’t have to wipe his lips after the master’s plum, set aside a damned place for the fair, where, even if you crack it, you won’t lose a grain. Do you see that old, crumbling barn that stands over there under the mountain?” (Here our beauty’s curious father moved even closer and seemed to turn his entire attention). “In that barn every now and then there are devilish tricks; and not a single fair in this place took place without disaster. Yesterday, the volost clerk passed by late in the evening, just lo and behold, a pig’s snout stuck out through the dormer window and grunted so hard that it sent a chill down his spine; just wait for it to appear again red scroll!“

"What is this red scroll?“

“Hey, hey, hey, fellow countryman!” Yes, you are a master, as I see, of hugging! And only on the fourth day after the wedding I learned to hug my late Khveska, and even then thanks to my godfather: the former friend, I’ve already made up my mind.”

The boy noticed at that very moment that his beloved’s father was not too far away, and in his thoughts he began to formulate a plan how to persuade him in his favor. “You are probably a good man, you don’t know me, but I recognized you immediately.”

“Maybe I found out.”

“If you want, I’ll tell you your name, your nickname, and all sorts of other things: your name is Solopiy Cherevik.”

“Yes, Solopiy Cherevik.”

“Take a good look: don’t you recognize me?”

“No, I don’t know. Don’t say it out of anger, I’ve seen so many different faces throughout my life that the devil can remember them all!”

“It’s a pity that you don’t remember Golopupenkov’s son!”

“Are you like Okhrimov’s son?”

“And who? Is there only one bald didko, if not him."

Here the friends grabbed their hats, and kissing began; Our Golopupenkov son, however, without wasting any time, decided at that very moment to besiege his new acquaintance.

“Well, Solopy, as you see, your daughter and I fell in love with each other so much that we could live together forever.”

“Well, Paraska,” said Cherevik, turning and laughing to his daughter: “maybe, in fact, so that, as they say, together... so that they can graze on the same grass!” What? deal? “Come on, newly recruited son-in-law, let’s go to the Mogarych!” - and all three found themselves in a famous fair restaurant - under the yatka of a Jewish woman, strewn with a numerous flotilla of sulli, bottles, flasks of all kinds and ages. “Oh, grab it!” “I love you for that!” said Cherevik, having walked a little and seeing how his betrothed son-in-law filled a mug the size of half a quart and, without wincing at all, drank to the bottom, then breaking it into pieces. “What do you say, Paraska? What a groom I got for you! Look, look: how bravely he pulls the foam !.. “And, laughing and swaying, he wandered with her to his cart, and our boy went along the rows with red goods, in which there were merchants even from Gadyach and Mirgorod - two famous cities of the Poltava province - to look out for the best wooden cradle in a copper, smart frame, a flowery scarf on a red field and a hat for wedding gifts to the father-in-law and to everyone who should.

Even though the people don’t have it,

Yes, if you zhintsi, bach, tee,

So please please...

Kotlyarevsky.

“Well, girl!” and I found a groom for my daughter!“

“Now it’s time to look for suitors.” Fool, fool! It’s true that you were destined to remain like this! Where have you seen, where have you heard that a good man is now running after suitors? You would better think about how to sell the wheat from your hands; The groom must be good too! I think he’s the most ragged of all the hunger slaves.”

“Eh, no matter what, you should see what kind of guy there is!” One scroll is worth more than your green jacket and red boots. How about a sea lion important it’s blowing... Damn me along with you, if in my lifetime I’ve seen a boy pull out half a quart in spirit without wincing.”

“Well, so: if he’s a drunkard or a tramp, then so be his suit.” I bet it's not the same brat who followed us on the bridge. It’s a pity that I still haven’t come across him: I would let him know.”

“Well, Khivrya, even if it’s the same one; Why is he a tomboy?”

“Eh!” why is he a tomboy? Oh, you brainless head! do you hear! why is he a tomboy? Where did you hide your stupid eyes when we passed the mills; Even if they had dishonored the Zhinka right there, in front of his tobacco-stained nose, he wouldn’t have needed it.”

“Still, I don’t see anything bad in him; guy anywhere! Only maybe I covered your image with manure for a moment.”

“Hey!” Yes, as I see, you won’t let me utter a word! What does it mean? When has this happened to you? That’s right, I’ve already managed to take a sip without selling anything...”

Here our Cherevik himself noticed that he was talking too much, and in an instant covered his head with his hands, assuming without a doubt that the angry cohabitant would not hesitate to grab his hair with her marital claws. “To hell with it!” Here's your wedding!“ he thought to himself, dodging his wife who was advancing strongly. “You’ll have to refuse a good person for no reason, no matter what. Lord, my God, why such an attack on us sinners! and so much all sorts of rubbish in the world, and you’ve also given birth to little women!”

Don't fret the skylark,

You are still green;

Don’t scold the little Cossack,

You are still young!

Maloross. song.

“All you need are oxen, yes oxen.” Your tribe would only have self-interest. To trick and deceive a good man."

“Ugh, devil!” Yes, you were seriously taken away. Was it out of annoyance that he forced a bride on himself?”

“No, it’s not my opinion; I keep my word; what you have done once will remain forever. But the bastard Cherevik has no conscience, apparently, and is half a scamp: he said, and back... Well, there’s nothing to blame him for, he’s a stump, and that’s it. All these are the tricks of the old witch, whom today the boys and I scolded on all sides on the bridge! Eh, if I were a king, or a great lord, I would be the first to hang all those fools who allow themselves to be saddled by women...”

“Will you let the oxen go for twenty if we force Cherevik to give us Paraska?”

Gritsko looked at him in bewilderment. In the swarthy features of the gypsy there was something evil, caustic, low and at the same time arrogant: the person who looked at him was ready to admit that great virtues were seething in this wonderful soul, but for which there was only one reward on earth - the gallows. A mouth completely sunken between the nose and sharp chin, always overshadowed by a caustic smile, small but lively eyes like fire, and the lightning of enterprises and intentions constantly changing on the face, all this seemed to require a special costume, just as strange for itself as it was. then on it. This dark brown caftan, the touch of which seemed to turn it into dust; long black hair falling in flakes over the shoulders; shoes worn on bare, tanned feet - all this seemed to have grown to him and made up his nature. “I’ll give you not for twenty, but for fifteen, if you don’t lie!” answered the boy, not taking his searching eyes off him.

“For fifteen? OK! Look, don’t forget: for fifteen! Here’s a tit for you!”

“Well, what if you lie?”

“I’ll lie - your deposit!”

"OK! Well, let’s shake hands!”

"Let's!"

From the bida, Roman is coming, from now on, just to annoy me bebekhiv, and you, Mr. Homo, will not be without trouble.

From Little Russians. comedies.

“Here, Afanasy Ivanovich!” Here is a lower fence, raise your leg, but don’t be afraid: my fool went with his godfather under the carts all night, so that the Muscovites wouldn’t catch something in case.” So Cherevik’s formidable roommate affectionately encouraged the popovich, who was cowardly clinging to the fence, who soon climbed up the fence and stood there for a long time in bewilderment, like a long, scary ghost, measuring with his eye where it would be best to jump, and finally fell noisily into the weeds.

“What a problem!” Haven’t you hurt yourself, haven’t you broken your necks yet, God forbid?” the caring Khivrya babbled.

“Shh!” “Nothing, nothing, my dear Khavronya Nikiforovna!” the priest said painfully and in a whisper, rising to his feet: “excluding only the stings from nettles, this snake-like grass, in the words of the late father of the archpriest.”

“Let’s go to the hut now; there is nobody there. And I was already thinking, Afanasy Ivanovich, what about you? sore or sleepyhead stuck. No, yes and no. How are you doing? I heard that Pan-father has now received a lot of all sorts of things!”

“A complete trifle, Khavronya Nikiforovna; During the entire post, the priest received in total fifteen bags of spring grain, four bags of millet, about a hundred knishes, and if you count the chickens, there won’t be even fifty of them, and the eggs are mostly rotten. But truly sweet offerings, roughly speaking, are the only ones to be received from you, Khavronya Nikiforovna!” continued the priest, looking at her tenderly and leaning closer.

“Here are the offerings for you, Afanasy Ivanovich!” she said, putting the bowls on the table and coyly buttoning up her jacket, as if accidentally unbuttoned: “dumplings, wheat dumplings, donuts, tovchenichki!”

“I bet if this was not done by the most cunning hands of all Evin’s family!” said the priest, starting to work on the tovchenichki and pushing the dumplings with his other hand. “However, Khavronya Nikiforovna, my heart yearns from you for food sweeter than all the donuts and dumplings.”

“I don’t even know what other food you want, Afanasy Ivanovich!” answered the portly beauty, pretending not to understand.

“Of course, your love, incomparable Khavronya Nikiforovna!” the priest said in a whisper, holding a dumpling in one hand and hugging her wide figure with the other.

“God knows what you’re making up, Afanasy Ivanovich!” said Khivrya, lowering her eyes in shame. “What good!” Perhaps you will start kissing again!“

“I’ll tell you about this, even if only to myself,” Popovich continued: “back when I was, roughly speaking, still in the bursa, that’s how I remember now...” Then I heard barking in the yard and knocking on the gate. Khivrya hurriedly ran out and returned all pale. “Well, Afanasy Ivanovich!” we got caught with you; a bunch of people were knocking, and I thought I thought the godfather’s voice... “Dumpling stopped in the popovich’s throat... His eyes bulged out, as if some person from the other world had just paid him a visit before this. “Climb here!” the frightened Khivrya shouted, pointing to the boards placed near the ceiling on two rungs, on which various household rubbish were piled. Danger gave spirit to our hero. Having come to his senses a little, he jumped onto the bench and carefully climbed out onto the boards; and Khivrya ran unconsciously to the gate, because the knocking was repeated at them with greater force and impatience.

Yes, there are miracles here, mospans!

From Little Russians. comedies.

A strange incident happened at the fair: everything was filled with rumors that somewhere between the goods there appeared red scroll. The old woman selling bagels seemed to imagine Satan, in the form of a pig, who was constantly bending over the carts, as if looking for something. This quickly spread to all corners of the already quiet camp; and everyone considered it a crime not to believe, despite the fact that the bagel seller, whose mobile stand was next to the tavern, bowed all day unnecessarily and wrote with her feet a perfect likeness of her tasty product. To this were added even more news about the miracle seen by the volost clerk in a collapsed barn, so that by night they huddled closer and closer to each other; the calm was destroyed, and fear prevented everyone from closing their eyes; and those who were not quite brave and had reserved accommodation for the night in huts, went home. Among the latter were Cherevik, his godfather and his daughter, who, together with the guests who asked to come to their house, made a strong knock that so frightened our Khivrya. Kuma is already a little confused. This could be seen from the fact that he drove his cart through the yard twice, until he found a hut. The guests were also in a cheerful mood and entered without ceremony before the host himself. Our Cherevik’s wife sat as if on pins and needles when they began to rummage around in all corners of the hut. “What, godfather!” cried the godfather who came in: “Are you still shaking with fever?” “Yes, you’re not feeling well,” answered Khivrya, looking restlessly at the boards placed under the ceiling. “Come on, wife, get the eggplant from the cart!” said the godfather to his wife who came with him: “We will scoop it up with good people; the damned women scared us so much that it’s embarrassing to say. After all, by God, brothers, we came here for nothing!” he continued, sipping from a clay mug. “I immediately put on a new hat if the women don’t think of laughing at us.” Yes, even if it really is Satan: what is Satan? Spit on his head! If only this very minute he would have decided to stand here, for example, in front of me: if I were a dog’s son, if I hadn’t put the blow right under his nose! “ - “Why did you suddenly turn all pale?” shouted one of the guests, who was taller than everyone else in his head! and always tried to show himself to be brave. “I... The Lord is with you!” I had a dream!’ The guests grinned. A satisfied smile appeared on the face of the eloquent brave man. “Why should he turn pale now!” another picked up: “his cheeks blossomed like a poppy; now he is not Tsybulya, but a Buryak - or better, herself red scroll, which scared people so much.” The eggplant rolled across the table and made the guests even more cheerful than before. Here is our Cherevik, whom I have been tormenting for a long time red scroll and did not give rest for a minute to his curious spirit, he approached his godfather. “Say, be kind, godfather!” I beg you, but I won’t ask you for a story about this damned scroll“.

“Eh, godfather!” it would not be suitable to tell at night; Yes, perhaps in order to please you and good people (he turned to the guests), who, I notice, want to know about this wonder just as much as you do. Well, be it so. “Listen!” Then he scratched his shoulders, wiped himself with his hollow, put both hands on the table and began:

“Once upon a time, for what guilt, by God, I don’t even know anymore, they just kicked one devil out of hell.”

“Why, godfather!” interrupted Cherevik: “how could it happen that the devil would be kicked out of the heat?”

“What should we do, godfather? kicked out, and kicked out, like a man kicks a dog out of the hut. Maybe he was inspired to do some good deed, and the door was shown to him. Look, the poor devil has become so bored, so bored of the heat that he’s almost to death. What to do? Let's get drunk out of grief. He nestled in that very barn that you saw collapsed under the mountain, and which not a single good person would pass by now without protecting himself with the Holy Cross in advance, and the devil became such a reveler that you will not find among the boys. From morning to evening, every now and then he sits in the tavern !.. “

Here again the stern Cherevik interrupted our narrator: “God knows what you’re saying, godfather!” How is it possible for someone to let the devil into a tavern? After all, thank God, he has claws on his paws and horns on his head.”

“That’s the thing, he was wearing a hat and mittens. Who will recognize him? I walked and walked - finally I got to the point where I drank everything I had with me. Shinkar believed for a long time, then he stopped. The devil had to pawn his red scroll, at almost a third of the price, to a Jew who was chopping at the Sorochinsky fair; pawned it and said to him: “Look, Jew, I will come to you for the scroll in exactly a year: take care of it!” and disappeared as if into water. The Jew took a good look at the scroll: the cloth is such that you couldn’t get it in Mirgorod! and the red color burns like fire, so I couldn’t see enough of it! The Jew found it boring to wait for the deadline. He scratched his little dogs, and tore off at least five ducats from some visiting gentleman. The Jew had completely forgotten about the deadline. One day, in the evening, a man comes: “Well, Jew, give me my scroll!” At first the Jew didn’t even know, but after he saw it, he pretended as if he had never seen it: “What scroll?” I don't have any scroll! I don’t know your scrolls!” Lo and behold, he left; Only in the evening, when the Jew, having locked his kennel and counted the money in his chests, threw a sheet over himself and began to pray to God like a Jew, he heard a rustling sound... lo and behold, pigs’ snouts were exposed in all the windows...”

Half-tabe, silk fabric.

Pu "shaking, food, a kind of porridge.

Rushni"k, wiper.

Sweater, a kind of half-caftan.

Sindy chicks, narrow ribbons.

Sweets, donuts.

Svo"lok, crossbar under the ceiling.

Slivyanka, plum liqueur.

Smokka, mutton fur.

Sore throat, abdominal pain.

Sopi"lka, a type of flute.

Stus"n, fist.

Haircuts, ribbons.

Troycha weave, triple lash.

Damn it, guy.

Khutor, a small village.

Hu"stka, handkerchief.

Tsibu'la, onion.

Chumaks", transporters traveling to Crimea for salt and fish.

Chupri"na, forelock, a long tuft of hair on the head.

Shi"shka, a small bread made at weddings.

Yushka, sauce, slurry.

Yatka, a type of tent or tent.

Sorochinskaya fair

I'm bored of living in a house.

Oh, take me from home,

There's a lot of thunder, thunder,

Dear all the wonders,

The boys are walking!

From an ancient legend

How delightful, how luxurious a summer day in Little Russia! How languidly hot are those hours when midday shines in silence and heat and the blue immeasurable ocean, bent over the earth like a voluptuous dome, seems to have fallen asleep, completely drowned in bliss, hugging and squeezing the beautiful one in its airy embrace! There's not a cloud on it. No speech in the field. Everything seemed to have died; only above, in the heavenly depths, the lark trembles, and silver songs fly along the airy steps to the loving land, and occasionally the cry of a seagull or the ringing voice of a quail echoes in the steppe. Lazily and thoughtlessly, as if walking without a goal, the cloud-covered oaks stand, and the dazzling blows of the sun's rays light up whole picturesque masses of leaves, casting over others a shadow dark as night, along which gold flecks only in a strong wind. Emeralds, topazes, and jahonts of ethereal insects rain down over the colorful vegetable gardens, overshadowed by stately sunflowers. Gray haystacks and golden sheaves of bread are encamped in the field and wander through its immensity. Wide branches of cherries, plums, apple trees, and pears bent over from the weight of fruit; the sky, its pure mirror - the river in green, proudly raised frames... how full of voluptuousness and bliss the Little Russian summer is!

One of the days of hot August shone with such luxury one thousand eight hundred... eight hundred... Yes, thirty years ago, when the road, about ten miles to the town of Sorochinets, was seething with people hurrying from all the surrounding and distant farmsteads to the fair. In the morning, there was still an endless line of Chumaks with salt and fish. The mountains of pots, wrapped in hay, moved slowly, seemingly bored by their confinement and darkness; in some places only some brightly painted bowl or makitra showed boastfully from a fence perched high on a cart and attracted the tender glances of admirers of luxury. Many passers-by looked with envy at the tall potter, the owner of these jewels, who walked with slow steps behind his wares, carefully wrapping his clay dandies and coquettes in hated hay.