This brown horse was very cunning. Dead souls. Horse breeding guidelines for studying the discipline and assignments for the test

04.11.2019

And Chichikov sat in a contented mood in his chaise, which had been rolling along the main road for a long time. From the previous chapter it is already clear what main subject his taste and inclinations, and therefore it is not surprising that he soon immersed himself entirely in it, body and soul. The assumptions, estimates and considerations that wandered across his face were apparently very pleasant, for every minute they left behind traces of a satisfied smile. Busy with them, he did not pay any attention to how his coachman, pleased with the reception of Manilov’s servants, made very sensible comments to the brown-haired harness horse harnessed on the right side. This brown-haired horse was very cunning and showed only for the sake of appearance that he was lucky, while the root bay and brown horse, called Assessor, because he was acquired from some assessor, worked with all his heart, so that even in their eyes there was the pleasure they get from it is noticeable. “Cunning, cunning! I'll outsmart you! - Selifan said, standing up and lashing the sloth with his whip. - Know your business, you German trouser! The bay is a respectable horse, he does his duty, I will gladly give him an extra measure, because he is a respectable horse, and the Assessor is also a good horse... Well, well! Why are you shaking your ears? You fool, listen when they say! I, ignoramus, will not teach you anything bad. Look where it’s crawling!” Here he again lashed him with a whip, saying: “Uh, barbarian! Damn you Bonaparte! Then he shouted at everyone: “Hey, my dears!” - and lashed all three of them, not as a form of punishment, but to show that he was pleased with them. Having given such pleasure, he again turned his speech to the dark-haired man: “You think you can hide your behavior. No, you live in truth when you want to be respected. Here at the landowner's place we were, good people. I'll be happy to talk if the person is good; with a good person we are always our friends, subtle buddies: whether to drink tea or have a snack - with pleasure, if the person is good. Everyone will pay respect to a good person. Everyone respects our master, because, do you hear, he performed state service, he is a Skole councilor ... "

Thus reasoning, Selifan finally climbed into the most remote abstractions. If Chichikov had listened, he would have learned many details that pertained to him personally; but his thoughts were so occupied with his subject that only swipe the thunder made him wake up and look around him; the whole sky was completely covered with clouds, and the dusty post road was sprinkled with drops of rain. Finally, the thunderclap sounded louder and closer again, and rain suddenly poured out of a bucket. First, taking an oblique direction, he lashed at one side of the cart body, then at the other, then, changing the pattern of attack and becoming completely straight, he drummed directly on the top of its body; the spray finally began to hit his face. This made him draw leather curtains with two round windows, designated for viewing. road views, and order Selifan to go quickly. Selifan, who was also interrupted in the very middle of his speech, realized that there was definitely no need to hesitate, immediately pulled out some rubbish from gray cloth from under the box, put it on his sleeves, grabbed the reins in his hands and shouted at his troika, which She moved her feet a little, because she felt a pleasant relaxation from the instructive speeches. But Selifan could not remember whether he drove two or three turns. Having realized and remembered the road a little, he guessed that there were many turns that he had missed. Since a Russian man, in decisive moments, will find something to do without going into long-term reasoning, then, turning right onto the first cross road, he shouted: “Hey, you, dear friends!” - and set off at a gallop, thinking little about where the road he had taken would lead.

The rain, however, seemed to persist for a long time. The dust lying on the road quickly mixed into mud, and every minute it became harder for the horses to pull the chaise. Chichikov was already beginning to get very worried, having not seen Sobakevich’s village for so long. According to his calculations, it would have been time to come long ago. He looked around, but the darkness was so pitch-deep.

- Selifan! - he said finally, leaning out of the chaise.

- What, master? - Selifan answered.

- Look, can’t you see the village?

- No, master, I can’t see it anywhere! - After which Selifan, waving his whip, began to sing, not a song, but something so long that there was no end. Everything was included there: all the encouraging and motivating cries with which horses are regaled throughout Russia from one end to the other; adjectives of all kinds without further analysis, as if the first one came to mind. Thus it came to the point that he finally began to call them secretaries.

Meanwhile, Chichikov began to notice that the chaise was rocking on all sides and giving him very strong jolts; this made him feel that they had turned off the road and were probably dragging along a furrowed field. Selifan seemed to realize it himself, but did not say a word.

- What, swindler, which road are you going on? - said Chichikov.

- Well, master, what should we do? It’s time; You can’t see the whip, it’s so dark! - Having said this, he tilted the chaise so much that Chichikov was forced to hold on with both hands. It was only then that he noticed that Selifan had been playing around.

- Hold it, hold it, you’ll knock it over! - he shouted to him.

“No, master, how can I knock it over,” Selifan said. “It’s not good to overturn this, I know it myself; There’s no way I’ll knock it over. “Then he began to slightly turn the chaise, turned it, turned it, and finally turned it completely on its side. Chichikov fell into the mud with his hands and feet. Selifan stopped the horses, however, they would have stopped themselves, because they were very exhausted. This unforeseen event completely amazed him. Getting off the box, he stood in front of the chaise, propped himself up on his sides with both hands, while the master floundered in the mud, trying to get out of there, and said after some thought: “Look, it’s over!”

- You're drunk as a cobbler! - said Chichikov.

- No, master, how can I be drunk! I know it's not a good thing to be drunk. I talked to a friend because good person we can talk, there is no harm in that; and had a snack together. Snacks are not offensive; You can have a meal with a good person.

- What did I tell you? last time when did you get drunk? A? forgot? - said Chichikov.

- No, your honor, how can I forget? I already know my stuff. I know it's not good to be drunk. I talked to a good person because...

“As soon as I whip you, you’ll know how to talk to a good person!”

“As your mercy wishes,” Selifan answered, agreeing to everything, “if you flog, then flog; I'm not at all averse to it. Why not flog, if it’s for the cause, that’s the will of the Lord. It needs to be flogged, because the guy is playing around, order needs to be observed. If it's for the job, then flog it; why not flog?

Chapter Three
And Chichikov sat in a contented mood in his chaise, which had been rolling along the main road for a long time. From the previous chapter it is already clear what the main subject of his taste and inclinations was, and therefore it is not surprising that he soon became completely immersed in it, body and soul. The assumptions, estimates and considerations that wandered across his face were apparently very pleasant, for every minute they left behind traces of a satisfied smile. Busy with them, he did not pay any attention to how his coachman, pleased with the reception of Manilov’s servants, made very sensible comments to the brown-haired harness horse harnessed on the right side. This brown-haired horse was very cunning and showed only for the sake of appearance that he was lucky, while the root bay and brown horse, called Assessor, because he was acquired from some assessor, worked with all his heart, so that even in their eyes there was the pleasure they get from it is noticeable. “Cunning, being cunning! Now I’ll outwit you!” said Selifan, standing up and lashing the sloth with his whip. “You know your business, you German trouser! The bay is a respectable horse, he fulfills his duty, I will gladly give him an extra measure, because he’s a respectable horse, and the Assessor is also a good horse... Well, why are you shaking your ears? Listen, if they tell you, I’m ignorant! Here he again lashed him with a whip, keeping him silent; "Uh, barbarian! Damn you Bonaparte!" Then he shouted at everyone: “Hey, my dears!” - and lashed all three of them, no longer as a form of punishment, but to show that he was pleased with them. Having given such pleasure, he again turned his speech to the dark-haired man: “You think that you will hide your behavior. No, you live in truth when you want to be shown respect. The landowner that we were were good people. I’ll be happy to talk.” , if a good person; with a good person, we are always our friends, fine friends; whether to drink tea or have a snack - if a good person everyone respects. state service, he is Skole's adviser..."
Thus reasoning, Selifan finally climbed into the most remote abstractions. If Chichikov had listened, he would have learned many details that pertained to him personally; but his thoughts were so occupied with his subject that only one strong clap of thunder made him wake up and look around him; the whole sky was completely covered with clouds, and the dusty post road was sprinkled with drops of rain. Finally, the thunderclap sounded louder and closer again, and rain suddenly poured out of a bucket. First, taking an oblique direction, he lashed at one side of the body of the wagon, then to the other, then, changing the image of the attack and becoming completely straight, he drummed directly on the top of its body; the spray finally began to hit his face. This made him draw the leather curtains with two round windows designated for viewing road views, and order Selifan to drive faster. Selifan, who was also interrupted in the very middle of his speech, realized that there was definitely no need to hesitate, immediately pulled out some rubbish from gray cloth from under the box, put it on his sleeves, grabbed the reins in his hands and shouted at his troika, which She moved her feet a little, because she felt a pleasant relaxation from the instructive speeches. But Selifan could not remember whether he drove two or three turns. Having realized and remembered the road a little, he guessed that there were many turns that he had missed. Since a Russian man, in decisive moments, will find something to do without going into long-term reasoning, turning right onto the first cross road, he shouted: “Hey, you, respectable friends!” - and set off at a gallop, thinking little about where the road taken would lead.
The rain, however, seemed to persist for a long time. The dust lying on the road quickly mixed into mud, and every minute it became harder for the horses to pull the chaise. Chichikov was already beginning to get very worried, having not seen Sobakevich’s village for so long. According to his calculations, it would have been time to come long ago. He looked around, but the darkness was so pitch-deep.
- Selifan! - he said finally, leaning out of the chaise.
- What, master? - Selifan answered.
- Look, can’t you see the village?
- No, master, I can’t see it anywhere! - After which Selifan, waving his whip, began to sing, not a song, but something so long that there was no end. Everything was included there: all the encouraging and motivating cries with which horses are regaled throughout Russia from one end to the other; adjectives of all kinds without further analysis, as if the first one came to mind. Thus it came to the point that he finally began to call them secretaries.
Meanwhile, Chichikov began to notice that the chaise was rocking on all sides and giving him very strong jolts; this made him feel that they had turned off the road and were probably dragging along a furrowed field. Selifan seemed to realize it himself, but did not say a word.
- What, swindler, what road are you going on? - said Chichikov.
- Well, master, what to do, it’s time; You can’t see the whip, it’s so dark! - Having said this, he tilted the chaise so much that Chichikov was forced to hold on with both hands. It was only then that he noticed that Selifan had been playing around.
- Hold it, hold it, you’ll knock it over! - he shouted to him.

…..This brown-haired horse was very cunning and showed only for show that he was lucky... “Cunning, cunning! I'll outsmart you! - Selifan said, -...You think that you will hide your behavior. No, you live in truth when you want to be respected..."...
N. Gogol. Dead Souls

Character, intelligence and willpower
The Lord gave him from birth,
For mercy's sake, what else?
I wouldn't want anything more.

At that time there was no such thing
So smart and so cool
And as fearless as he is,
He made a million enemies.

Like a brilliant administrator,
An extraordinary person
Home country privatizer
Entered into History forever.
I don’t know under what sign -
I don’t want to vilify in vain,
But also to paint the name with varnish
I'm not in a hurry yet...

He still, if God helps,
Will leave its mark on life -
He can do a lot more
This remarkable athlete.

But his personal story is
Credit of trust from people
Could have been more decent
Whenever he didn't drive his horses...
……………………………….
I remember him thin, slender -
I had to meet him somehow...
The Lord put it in the clip,
To enter the country seriously.

Perhaps he didn’t come up with it,
How to split our monolith,
But it was as if a powerful wind blew,
And he was smashed to pieces.

Paper, voucher vortex
Soared over his native country,
And everyone who was impudent and dashing,
Like under a smoke curtain,
There was coven and robbery in it.

It would seem, what a small thing?
Well, what can you take from that piece of paper?
But only the clever got it all
And for the majority - only a copper penny...
---
For dodgers of various stripes,
That the country was dispossessed
A lot of happiness was brought -
They filled the amount.

And as for the people,
He also got his freedom
Invest your voucher in the sky
With the hope of butter for bread...

Two troubles are immediately visible here -
Typical banality
In deciding the fate of the country:
Haste and totality...

I read from Ivan Bunin that when red-haired people drink,
they will definitely blush...
V. Erofeev. "Moscow-Petushki"

Does the great Magician blush?
Unfortunately, I don’t know this -
I didn’t drink with him during Brudershaft
I don't even think so.
But the situation is different,
Even I would say - anyone
He is in complete control of himself
And with humor any attack
Perceives it as a click.

I call him the Magician
Because he is like a sorcerer
From nobody's property
Through simple combinations
Created such a private
Whose total capital
(Real or shares)
It’s hardly possible to appreciate...

And Dunya is pouring tea.
They whisper to her: “Dunya, take note!”
A. Pushkin

Not only in business and service,
Not only in ordinary friendship,
But he was lucky in that
What is every house supported on?

Having made your way to the middle,
He met Dunyasha.
And here is his peace and sleep,
And reddish gray hair
Not an old man yet
Preserved by a lovely hand.

And me a few years ago
I was glad to see Tu Dunya.
I even dedicated a poem to her
With her friend for two:

In the evenings, coming home from work,
Turning on the familiar screen,
Among the squalor, yawning
Sometimes I see beautiful ladies.

One is charm itself,
Mudra is different, like a snake,
I am full of attention to both,
Appreciating subtle slander.

I feel attracted to both of them
There is no need to make a choice
I call inspiration for help -
There is so much I want to say.

I want to study again
(The soul is greedy for knowledge),
To fully enjoy
The deep charm of the mind;

Just to hear these speeches,
Having a dangerous conversation...
Come on, Lord, I’ll meet them -
I haven't been happy until now...

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Thus reasoning, Selifan finally climbed into the most remote abstractions. If Chichikov had listened, he would have learned many details that pertained to him personally; but his thoughts were so occupied with his subject that only one strong clap of thunder made him wake up and look around him; the whole sky was completely covered with clouds, and the dusty post road was sprinkled with drops of rain. Finally, the thunderclap sounded louder and closer again, and rain suddenly poured out of a bucket. First, taking an oblique direction, he lashed at one side of the cart body, then at the other, then, changing the pattern of attack and becoming completely straight, he drummed directly on the top of its body; the spray finally began to hit his face. This made him draw the leather curtains with two round windows designated for viewing road views, and order Selifan to drive faster. Selifan, who was also interrupted in the very middle of his speech, realized that there was definitely no need to hesitate, immediately pulled out some rubbish from gray cloth from under the box, put it on his sleeves, grabbed the reins in his hands and shouted at his troika, which She moved her feet a little, because she felt a pleasant relaxation from the instructive speeches. But Selifan could not remember whether he drove two or three turns. Having realized and remembered the road a little, he guessed that there were many turns that he had missed. Since a Russian man, in decisive moments, will find something to do without going into long-term reasoning, then, turning right onto the first cross road, he shouted: “Hey, you, dear friends!” - and set off at a gallop, thinking little about where the road he had taken would lead.

- Selifan! - he said finally, leaning out of the chaise.

- What, master? - Selifan answered.

- Look, can’t you see the village?

- What, swindler, which road are you going on? - said Chichikov.

- Hold it, hold it, you’ll knock it over! - he shouted to him.

- You're drunk as a cobbler! - said Chichikov.

- No, master, how can I be drunk! I know it's not a good thing to be drunk. I talked to a friend, because you can talk to a good person, there’s no harm in that; and had a snack together. Snacks are not offensive; You can have a meal with a good person.

– What did I tell you the last time you got drunk? A? forgot? - said Chichikov.

- No, your honor, how can I forget? I already know my stuff. I know it's not good to be drunk. I talked to a good person because...

“As soon as I whip you, you’ll know how to talk to a good person!”

And Chichikov sat in a contented mood in his chaise, which had been rolling along the main road for a long time. From the previous chapter it is already clear what the main subject of his taste and inclinations was, and therefore it is not surprising that he soon became completely immersed in it, body and soul. The assumptions, estimates and considerations that wandered across his face were apparently very pleasant, for every minute they left behind traces of a satisfied smile. Busy with them, he did not pay any attention to how his coachman, pleased with the reception of Manilov’s servants, made very sensible comments to the brown-haired harness horse harnessed on the right side. This brown-haired horse was very cunning and showed only for the sake of appearance that he was lucky, while the root bay and brown horse, called Assessor, because he was acquired from some assessor, worked with all his heart, so that even in their eyes there was the pleasure they get from it is noticeable. “Cunning, cunning! I'll outsmart you! - Selifan said, standing up and lashing the sloth with his whip. - Know your business, you German trouser! The bay is a respectable horse, he does his duty, I will gladly give him an extra measure, because he is a respectable horse, and the Assessor is also a good horse... Well, well! Why are you shaking your ears? You fool, listen when they say! I, ignoramus, will not teach you anything bad. Look where it’s crawling!” Here he again lashed him with a whip, saying: “Uh, barbarian! Damn you Bonaparte! Then he shouted at everyone: “Hey, my dears!” - and hit all three of them, not as a form of punishment, but to show that he was pleased with them. Having given such pleasure, he again turned his speech to the dark-haired man: “You think you can hide your behavior. No, you live in truth when you want to be respected. The landowner we were with were good people. I'll be happy to talk if the person is good; with a good person we are always our friends, subtle buddies: whether to drink tea or have a snack - with pleasure, if the person is good. Everyone will pay respect to a good person. Everyone respects our master, because, you hear, he performed state service, he is a Skole councilor...” Thus reasoning, Selifan finally climbed into the most remote abstractions. If Chichikov had listened, he would have learned many details that pertained to him personally; but his thoughts were so occupied with his subject that only one strong clap of thunder made him wake up and look around him: the whole sky was completely covered with clouds, and the dusty post road was sprinkled with drops of rain. Finally, the thunderclap sounded louder and closer again, and rain suddenly poured out of a bucket. First, taking an oblique direction, he lashed at one side of the cart body, then at the other, then, changing the pattern of attack and becoming completely straight, he drummed directly on the top of its body; the spray finally began to hit his face. This made him draw the leather curtains with two round windows designated for viewing road views, and order Selifan to drive faster. Selifan, who was also interrupted in the very middle of his speech, realized that there was definitely no need to hesitate, immediately pulled out some rubbish from gray cloth from under the box, put it on his sleeves, grabbed the reins in his hands and shouted at his troika, which She moved her feet a little, because she felt a pleasant relaxation from the instructive speeches. But Selifan could not remember whether he drove two or three turns. Having realized and remembered the road a little, he guessed that there were many turns that he had missed. Since a Russian man, in decisive moments, will find something to do without going into long-term reasoning, turning right onto the first cross road, he shouted: “Hey, you, honorable friends!” - and set off at a gallop, thinking little about where the road he had taken would lead. The rain, however, seemed to persist for a long time. The dust lying on the road quickly mixed into mud, and every minute it became harder for the horses to pull the chaise. Chichikov was already beginning to get very worried, having not seen Sobakevich’s village for so long. According to his calculations, it would have been time to come long ago. He looked around, but the darkness was so pitch-deep. - Selifan! - he said finally, leaning out of the chaise. - What, master? - Selifan answered. - Look, can’t you see the village? - No, master, I can’t see it anywhere! - After which Selifan, waving his whip, began to sing, not a song, but something so long that there was no end. Everything was included there: all the encouraging and motivating cries with which horses are regaled throughout Russia from one end to the other; adjectives of all kinds without further analysis, as if the first one came to mind. Thus it came to the point that he finally began to call them secretaries. Meanwhile, Chichikov began to notice that the chaise was rocking on all sides and giving him very strong jolts; this made him feel that they had turned off the road, and were probably dragging along a harrowed field. Selifan seemed to realize it himself, but did not say a word. - What, swindler, what road are you going on? - said Chichikov. - Well, master, what should we do, this is the time; You can’t see the whip, it’s so dark! - Having said this, he tilted the chaise so much that Chichikov was forced to hold on with both hands. It was only then that he noticed that Selifan had been playing around. - Hold it, hold it, you’ll knock it over! - he shouted to him. “No, master, how can I knock it over,” Selifan said. “It’s not good to overturn this, I know it myself; There’s no way I’ll knock it over. “Then he began to turn the chaise slightly, turned and turned, and finally turned it completely on its side. Chichikov fell into the mud with his hands and feet. Selifan stopped the horses, however, they would have stopped themselves, because they were very exhausted. This unforeseen event completely amazed him. Getting off the box, he stood in front of the chaise, propped himself up on his sides with both hands, while the master floundered in the mud, trying to get out of there, and said after some thought: “Look, it’s over!” - You're drunk as a cobbler! - said Chichikov. - No, master, how can I be drunk! I know it's not a good thing to be drunk. I talked to a friend, because you can talk to a good person, there’s no harm in that; and had a snack together. Snacks are not offensive; You can have a meal with a good person. - What did I tell you the last time you got drunk? A? forgot? - said Chichikov. - No, your honor, how can I forget? I already know my stuff. I know it's not good to be drunk. I talked to a good person because... “As soon as I whip you, you’ll know how to talk to a good person!” “As your mercy wishes,” Selifan answered, agreeing to everything, “if you flog, then flog; I'm not at all averse to it. Why not flog, if it’s for the cause, that’s the will of the Lord. It needs to be flogged, because the guy is playing around, order needs to be observed. If it's for the job, then flog it; why not flog? The master was completely at a loss for an answer to such reasoning. But at this time, it seemed as if fate itself had decided to take pity on him. From a distance a dog was heard barking. The delighted Chichikov gave the order to drive the horses. The Russian driver has a good instinct instead of eyes, which is why it happens that, closing his eyes, he sometimes pumps with all his might and always arrives somewhere. Selifan, without seeing a thing, directed the horses so directly towards the village that he stopped only when the chaise hit the fence with its shafts and when there was absolutely nowhere to go. Chichikov only noticed through the thick blanket of pouring rain something similar to a roof. He sent Selifan to look for the gate, which, no doubt, would have gone on for a long time if Rus' had not had dashing dogs instead of doormen, who reported about him so loudly that he put his fingers to his ears. The light flashed in one window and, like a misty stream, reached the fence, showing our road gate. Selifan began knocking, and soon, opening the gate, a figure covered with an overcoat stuck out, and the master and servant heard a hoarse woman’s voice: -Who's knocking? why did they disperse? “Newcomers, mother, let them spend the night,” Chichikov said. “Look, what a sharp-footed fellow,” said the old woman, “he arrived at what time!” This is not an inn for you: the landowner lives. - What should we do, mother: you see, we’ve lost our way. You can’t spend the night in the steppe at this time. “Yes, it’s a dark time, a bad time,” Selifan added. “Be quiet, fool,” said Chichikov. - Who are you? - said the old woman. - Nobleman, mother. The word “nobleman” made the old woman seem to think a little. “Wait, I’ll tell the lady,” she said, and two minutes later she returned with a lantern in her hand. The gate opened. A light flashed in another window. The chaise, having entered the yard, stopped in front of a small house, which was difficult to see in the darkness. Only one half of it was illuminated by the light coming from the windows; a puddle was still visible in front of the house, which was directly hit by the same light. The rain pounded loudly on the wooden roof and flowed in murmuring streams into the barrel. Meanwhile, the dogs burst into all possible voices: one, throwing his head up, walked out so drawn out and with such diligence, as if he was receiving God knows what salary for it; the other grabbed it quickly, like a sexton; between them, like a postal bell, rang the restless treble, probably of a young puppy, and all this was finally topped off by a bass, perhaps an old man, endowed with a hefty canine nature, because he wheezed, like a singing double bass wheezes when the concert is in full swing: tenors rise on tiptoes from strong desire withdraw high note, and everything that is rushes upward, throwing its head, and he alone, putting his unshaven chin in his tie, crouching down and sinking almost to the ground, lets out his note from there, from which the glass shakes and rattles. Just from the barking of dogs composed of such musicians, one could assume that the village was decent; but our wet and chilled hero thought of nothing but bed. Before the chaise had time to stop completely, he had already jumped onto the porch, staggered and almost fell. A woman came out onto the porch again, younger than before, but very similar to her. She led him into the room. Chichikov took two casual glances: the room was hung with old striped wallpaper; paintings with some birds; between the windows there are old small mirrors with dark frames in the shape of curled leaves; Behind every mirror there was either a letter, or an old deck of cards, or a stocking; a wall clock with painted flowers on the dial... it was impossible to notice anything else. He felt that his eyes were sticky, as if someone had smeared them with honey. A minute later the landlady entered, an elderly woman, in some kind of sleeping cap, put on hastily, with a flannel around her neck, one of those mothers, small landowners who cry about crop failures, losses and keep their heads somewhat to one side, and meanwhile gain a little money in colorful bags placed in dresser drawers. All the rubles are taken into one bag, fifty rubles into another, quarters into a third, although from the outside it seems as if there is nothing in the chest of drawers except linen, night blouses, skeins of thread, and a torn cloak, which can then turn into a dress if the old one will somehow burn out while baking holiday cakes with all sorts of yarn, or it will wear out on its own. But the dress will not burn or fray on its own; the old woman is thrifty, and the cloak is destined to lie for a long time in a torn state, and then, according to the spiritual will, go to the niece of her grandsister along with all other rubbish. Chichikov apologized for disturbing him with his unexpected arrival. “Nothing, nothing,” said the hostess. - At what time did God bring you! There is such a turmoil and a blizzard... I should have eaten something on the way, but it was night time and I couldn’t cook it. The hostess's words were interrupted by a strange hissing, so that the guest was frightened; the noise sounded like the whole room was filled with snakes; but, looking up, he calmed down, for he realized that the wall clock was about to strike. The hissing was immediately followed by wheezing, and finally, straining with all their might, they struck two o’clock with a sound like someone beating a broken pot with a stick, after which the pendulum began to calmly click again to the right and left. Chichikov thanked the hostess, saying that he did not need anything, that she should not worry about anything, that he did not require anything except a bed, and was only curious to know what places he had visited and how far was the way from here to the landowner Sobakevich, on that the old woman said that she had never heard such a name and that there was no such landowner at all. - At least you know Manilov? - said Chichikov. -Who is Manilov? - Landowner, mother. - No, I haven’t heard, there is no such landowner.- Which ones are there? - Bobrov, Svinin, Kanapatiev, Kharpakin, Trepakin, Pleshakov. - Rich people or not? - No, father, there are no too rich. Some have twenty souls, some have thirty, but there are not even a hundred of them. Chichikov noticed that he had driven into quite the wilderness. — Is it at least far to the city? - And it will be sixty versts. What a pity I am that you have nothing to eat! Would you like to have some tea, father? - Thank you, mother. Nothing is needed except a bed. - True, from such a road you really need to rest. Sit here, father, on this sofa. Hey, Fetinya, bring a feather bed, pillows and a sheet. For some time God sent: there was such thunder - I had a candle burning all night in front of the image. Eh, my father, you’re like a hog, your whole back and side are covered in mud! where did you deign to get so dirty? “Thank God it just got greasy; I should be grateful that I didn’t break off the sides completely.” - Saints, what passions! Shouldn't I need something to rub my back with? - Thank you, thank you. Don’t worry, just order your girl to dry and clean my dress. - Do you hear, Fetinya! - said the hostess, turning to the woman who was going out onto the porch with a candle, who had already managed to drag the feather bed and, fluffing it up on both sides with her hands, released a whole flood of feathers throughout the room. “You take their caftan along with their underwear and first dry them in front of the fire, as they did for the deceased master, and then grind them and beat them thoroughly.” - I’m listening, madam! - Fetinya said, laying a sheet on top of the feather bed and placing pillows. “Well, the bed is ready for you,” said the hostess. - Farewell, father, I wish you good night. Isn't there anything else needed? Maybe you’re used to having someone scratch your heels at night, my father? My deceased could not fall asleep without this. But the guest also refused to scratch his heels. The mistress came out, and he immediately hurried to undress, giving Fetinya all the harness he had taken off, both upper and lower, and Fetinya, also wishing good night on her part, took away this wet armor. Left alone, he looked, not without pleasure, at his bed, which was almost to the ceiling. Fetinya, apparently, was an expert at fluffing feather beds. When he pulled up a chair and climbed onto the bed, it sank under him almost to the floor, and the feathers he had pushed out scattered into all corners of the room. Having extinguished the candle, he covered himself with a chintz blanket and, curling up like a pretzel under it, fell asleep at that very moment. He woke up the next day quite late in the morning. The sun through the window shone straight into his eyes, and the flies that had slept peacefully yesterday on the walls and ceiling all turned to him: one sat on his lip, another on his ear, the third tried to settle on his very eye, the same one that had the imprudence to sit close to the nasal nostril, he pulled in his sleep right into his nose, which made him sneeze violently - a circumstance which was the cause his awakening. Having looked around the room, he now noticed that not all of the paintings were birds: between them hung a portrait of Kutuzov and a painted oil paints some old man with red cuffs on his uniform, like they were sewn on under Pavel Petrovich. The clock hissed again and struck ten; looked out the door woman's face and at that very moment he hid, because Chichikov, wanting to sleep better, threw off completely everything. The face that looked out seemed somewhat familiar to him. He began to remember who it was, and finally remembered that it was the hostess. He put on his shirt; the dress, already dried and cleaned, lay next to him. After getting dressed, he went up to the mirror and sneezed again so loudly that an Indian rooster, who came up to the window at that time - the window was very close to the ground - suddenly and very quickly chatted something to him in his strange language, probably “I wish you hello,” to which Chichikov told him he was a fool. Approaching the window, he began to examine the views in front of him: the window looked almost into a chicken coop; at least the narrow courtyard in front of him was filled with birds and all kinds of domestic creatures. Turkeys and chickens were countless; a rooster walked among them with measured steps, shaking its comb and turning its head to the side, as if listening to something; the pig and its family appeared right there; right there, while clearing away a pile of rubbish, she casually ate a chicken and, without noticing it, continued to eat watermelon rinds in its own way. This small courtyard, or chicken coop, was blocked by a plank fence, behind which stretched spacious vegetable gardens with cabbage, onions, potatoes, beets and other household vegetables. Apple trees and other fruit trees were scattered here and there throughout the garden, covered with nets to protect them from magpies and sparrows, of which the latter were carried in whole indirect clouds from one place to another. For the same reason, several scarecrows were erected on long poles, with outstretched arms; one of them was wearing the cap of the mistress herself. The vegetable gardens were followed peasant huts, which, although they were built scattered and not enclosed in regular streets, but, according to a remark made by Chichikov, showed the contentment of the inhabitants, for they were properly maintained: the worn-out planks on the roofs were replaced everywhere by new ones; the gates were not askew anywhere, and in the peasant covered sheds facing him he noticed that there was a spare almost new cart, and there were two. “Yes, her village is not small,” he said and immediately decided to start talking and get to know the hostess briefly. He looked through the crack in the door from which she was sticking her head out, and, seeing her sitting at the tea table, he entered her with a cheerful and affectionate look. - Hello, father. How did you rest? - said the hostess, getting up from her seat. She was dressed better than yesterday - in a dark dress and no longer in a sleeping cap, but there was still something tied around her neck. “Okay, okay,” Chichikov said, sitting down in a chair. - How are you, mother? - It’s bad, my father.- How so? - Insomnia. My whole lower back hurts, and my leg, above the bone, is aching. - It will pass, it will pass, mother. It's nothing to look at. - God grant that it passes. I lubricated it with lard and also moistened it with turpentine. What would you like to sip your tea with? Fruit in a flask. - Not bad, mother, let's have some bread and some fruit. The reader, I think, has already noticed that Chichikov, despite his affectionate appearance, spoke, however, with greater freedom than with Manilov, and did not stand on ceremony at all. It must be said that in Rus', if we have not yet kept up with foreigners in some other respects, we have far surpassed them in the ability to communicate. It is impossible to count all the shades and subtleties of our appeal. A Frenchman or a German will not understand and will not understand all its features and differences; he will speak with almost the same voice and the same language both to a millionaire and to a small tobacco dealer, although, of course, in his soul he is moderately mean to the former. That’s not the case with us: we have such wise men who will speak to a landowner who has two hundred souls completely differently than to one who has three hundred, and to someone who has three hundred they will again speak differently than to the one who has five hundred of them, but the one who has five hundred of them is again not the same as the one who has eight hundred of them - in a word, even if you go up to a million, there will still be shades. Suppose, for example, there is an office, not here, but in a distant country, and in the office, let us suppose, there is a ruler of the office. I ask you to look at him when he sits among his subordinates - but you simply cannot utter a word out of fear! pride and nobility, and what does his face not express? just take a brush and paint: Prometheus, determined Prometheus! Looks out like an eagle, acts smoothly, measuredly. The same eagle, as soon as he left the room and approaches the office of his boss, is in such a hurry as a partridge with papers under his arm that there is no urine. In society and at a party, even if everyone is of low rank, Prometheus will remain Prometheus, and a little higher than him, Prometheus will undergo such a transformation that Ovid would not have imagined: a fly, less than even a fly, was destroyed into a grain of sand! “Yes, this is not Ivan Petrovich,” you say, looking at him. - Ivan Petrovich is taller, but this one is short and thin; he speaks loudly, has a deep bass voice and never laughs, but this devil knows what: he squeaks like a bird and keeps laughing.” You come closer and look - it’s like Ivan Petrovich! “Ehe-he,” you think to yourself... But, however, let’s turn to acting persons. Chichikov, as we have already seen, decided not to stand on ceremony at all and therefore, taking a cup of tea in his hands and pouring some fruit into it, he made the following speech: - You, mother, have a good village. How many souls are there in it? “There are nearly eighty showers in it, my father,” said the hostess, “but the trouble is, times are bad, so last year There was such a bad harvest that God forbid. “However, the peasants look sturdy, the huts are strong.” Let me know your last name. I was so distracted... I arrived at night... - Korobochka, college secretary. - Thank you most humbly. What about your first and patronymic? - Nastasya Petrovna. - Nastasya Petrovna? good name Nastasya Petrovna. I have a dear aunt, my mother’s sister, Nastasya Petrovna. - What’s your name? - asked the landowner. - After all, you, I am an assessor? “No, mother,” Chichikov answered, grinning, “tea, not an assessor, but we’re going about our business.” - Oh, so you are a buyer! What a pity, really, that I sold honey to merchants so cheaply, but you, my father, would probably have bought it from me. - But I wouldn’t buy honey. - What else? Is it hemp? Yes, I don’t even have enough hemp now: half a pound in total. - No, mother, a different kind of merchant: tell me, did your peasants die? - Oh, father, eighteen people! - said the old woman, sighing. “And such a glorious people, all the workers, died. After that, however, they were born, but what about them: they are all such small fry; and the assessor drove up to pay the tax, he said, to pay from the heart. The people are dead, but you pay as if they were alive. Last week my blacksmith burned down; he was such a skilled blacksmith and knew metalworking skills. - Did you have a fire, mother? “God saved us from such a disaster; a fire would have been even worse; I burned myself, my father. Somehow his insides were on fire, he drank too much, only a blue light came from him, he was all decayed, decayed and blackened like coal, and he was such a skilled blacksmith! and now I have nothing to go out with: there is no one to shoe the horses. - Everything is God’s will, mother! - said Chichikov, sighing, - nothing can be said against the wisdom of God... Give them up to me, Nastasya Petrovna?- Who, father? - Yes, all these people who died. - How can we give them up? - Yes, it’s that simple. Or perhaps sell it. I'll give you money for them. - How so? I really can't understand it. Do you really want to dig them out of the ground? Chichikov saw that the old woman had gone far enough and that she needed to explain what was going on. In a few words, he explained to her that the transfer or purchase would only appear on paper and the souls would be registered as if they were alive. - What do you need them for? - said the old woman, widening her eyes at him. - That's my business. - But they’re dead. - Who says they are alive? That is why it is at your loss that they are dead: you pay for them, and now I will spare you the hassle and payment. Do you understand? Not only will I deliver you, but on top of that I will give you fifteen rubles. Well, is it clear now? “Really, I don’t know,” the hostess said deliberately. “After all, I’ve never sold dead people before.” - Of course! It would be more like a miracle if you sold them to someone. Or do you think they actually have any use? - No, I don’t think so. What's the use of them, there's no use at all. The only thing that bothers me is that they are already dead. “Well, the woman seems to be strong-minded!” - Chichikov thought to himself. - Listen, mother. Just think carefully: after all, you are going bankrupt, paying taxes for him as if he were alive... - Oh, my father, don’t talk about it! - the landowner picked up. - Another third week I contributed more than one and a half hundred. Yes, she buttered up the assessor. - Well, you see, mother. Now just take into account that you no longer need to butter up the assessor, because now I’m paying for them; I, not you; I accept all responsibilities. I will even make a fortress with my own money, do you understand that? The old woman thought about it. She saw that the business certainly seemed to be profitable, but it was just too new and unprecedented; and therefore she began to be very afraid that this buyer would somehow cheat her; He came from God knows where, and at night too. - So, mother, deal with each other, or what? - said Chichikov. “Really, my father, it has never happened before that dead people have been sold to me.” I gave up the living ones, so I gave two girls to the archpriest for a hundred rubles each, and I thanked them very much, they turned out to be such nice workers: they weave napkins themselves. - Well, it’s not about the living; God be with them. I ask the dead. “Really, I’m afraid at first, lest I somehow incur a loss.” Maybe you, my father, are deceiving me, but they... they are somehow worth more. - Listen, mother... oh, what are you like! what can they cost? Consider: this is dust. Do you understand? it's just dust. You take any worthless, last thing, for example, even a simple rag, and the rag has a price: at least they will buy it for a paper factory, but this is not needed for anything. Well, tell me yourself, what is it for? - This is definitely true. There’s absolutely no need for anything; But the only thing stopping me is that they are already dead. “Oh, what a club-head! - Chichikov said to himself, already beginning to lose patience. - Go and have fun with her! she broke into a sweat, the damned old woman!” Here he, taking a handkerchief out of his pocket, began to wipe away the sweat that had actually appeared on his forehead. However, Chichikov was angry in vain: he is a respectable man, and even a statesman, but in reality he turns out to be a perfect Korobochka. Once you’ve got something in your head, you can’t overpower it with anything; No matter how much you present him with arguments, clear as day, everything bounces off him, like a rubber ball bounces off a wall. Having wiped off his sweat, Chichikov decided to try to see if it was possible to lead her on the path in some other way. “You, mother,” he said, “either you don’t want to understand my words, or you’re saying this on purpose just to say something... I’m giving you money: fifteen rubles in banknotes.” Do you understand? After all, it's money. You won't find them on the street. Well, admit it, how much did you sell the honey for? - Twelve rubles a pound. “We’ve had enough of a little sin on our souls, mother.” They didn't sell twelve. - By God, I sold it. - Well, do you see? But this is honey. You collected it, perhaps for about a year, with care, diligence, trouble; we drove around, starved the bees, fed them in the cellar all winter; A dead souls it's not of this world. Here, on your part, you did not make any effort; it was God’s will that they leave this world, causing damage to your economy. There you received twelve rubles for your work, for your efforts, but here you take for nothing, for nothing, and not twelve, but fifteen, and not in silver, but all in blue banknotes. “After such strong convictions, Chichikov almost had no doubt that the old woman would finally give in. “Really,” answered the landowner, “my widow’s business is so inexperienced!” It’s better if I wait a bit, maybe merchants will come, and I’ll adjust the prices. - Stram, stram, mother! just amazing! Well, what are you saying, think for yourself! Who will buy them? Well, what use can he make of them? “Or maybe they’ll need it on the farm just in case...,” the old woman objected, but she didn’t finish her speech, she opened her mouth and looked at him almost with fear, wanting to know what he would say to this. — Dead people on the farm? Eh, where have you had enough! Is it possible to scare sparrows at night in your garden, or what? - The power of the cross is with us! What passions you speak! - said the old woman, crossing herself. - Where else did you want to place them? Yes, however, the bones and graves are all left to you, the translation is only on paper. Well, so what? How? at least answer. The old woman thought again. - What are you thinking about, Nastasya Petrovna? - Really, I won’t tidy everything up, what should I do? I’d rather sell you hemp. - What about hemp? For mercy's sake, I'm asking you for something completely different, and you're pushing me into hemp! Hemp is hemp, next time I’ll come and pick up the hemp too. So what, Nastasya Petrovna? - By God, the product is so strange, completely unprecedented! Here Chichikov completely went beyond the limits of all patience, slammed his chair on the floor in his heart and promised her the devil. The landowner was incredibly frightened. - Oh, don’t remember him, God be with him! - she screamed, turning pale. “Only three days ago I dreamed about the accursed man all night.” I decided to make a wish on the cards for the night after prayer, but apparently God sent it as a punishment. I saw such an ugly one; and the horns are longer than those of a bull. “I’m surprised you don’t dream of dozens of them.” Out of pure Christian love for mankind I wanted: I see that the poor widow is being killed, she is in need... but be lost and bereaved with your entire village!.. - Oh, what kind of insults you make! - said the old woman, looking at him with fear. - Yes, I won’t find words with you! Really, it’s like some, not to say a bad word, mongrel lying in the hay: she doesn’t eat the hay herself, and she doesn’t give it to others. I wanted to buy from you household products different, because I also conduct government contracts... - Here he lied, albeit casually and without any further thought, but unexpectedly successfully. Government contracts had a strong effect on Nastasya Petrovna, at least she said in an almost pleading voice: - Why are you so angry? If I had known before that you were so angry, I would not have contradicted you at all. - There is something to be angry about! It's not worth a damn, but I'm going to get angry because of it! - Well, if you please, I’m ready to pay for fifteen banknotes! Just look, my father, about contracts: if you happen to take rye flour, or buckwheat, or cereals, or beaten cattle, then please don’t offend me. “No, mother, I won’t offend you,” he said, and meanwhile he wiped away with his hand the sweat that was rolling down his face in three streams. He asked her if she had any attorney or acquaintance in the city whom she could authorize to carry out the fortress and everything that should be done. “Why, archpriest, Father Kiril’s son serves in the ward,” said Korobochka. Chichikov asked her to write a letter of trust to him and, in order to save him from unnecessary difficulties, he even undertook to compose it himself. “It would be nice,” Korobochka thought to herself, “if he took flour and cattle from my treasury. We need to appease him: there is still some dough left from last night, so go tell Fetinya to make some pancakes; It would also be good to fold an unleavened pie with an egg, I make it well, and it doesn’t take much time.” The hostess went out in order to put into execution the idea of a folded pie and, probably, to supplement it with other products of home bakery and cooking; and Chichikov went out into the living room, where he had spent the night, in order to take out the necessary papers from his box. Everything in the living room had long been tidied up, the luxurious feather beds had been taken out, and there was a covered table in front of the sofa. Having placed the box on it, he rested somewhat, for he felt that he was covered in sweat, like in a river: everything he was wearing, from his shirt to his stockings, was all wet. “Ek killed me like a damn old woman!” - he said, having rested a little, and unlocked the box. The author is sure that there are readers so curious who would even want to know the plan and internal layout of the box. Perhaps, why not satisfy! Here it is, the internal arrangement: in the very middle there is a soap dish, behind the soap dish there are six or seven narrow partitions for razors; then square nooks for a sandbox and an inkwell with a boat hollowed out between them for feathers, sealing wax and everything that is longer; then all sorts of partitions with lids and without lids for something shorter, filled with business, funeral, theater and other tickets, which were folded up as souvenirs. The entire top drawer with all the partitions was taken out, and under it there was a space occupied by stacks of papers in a sheet, then there was a small hidden stash for money, which pulled out unnoticed from the side of the box. It was always pulled out so hastily and retracted at the same moment by its owner that it was probably impossible to say how much money was there. Chichikov immediately got busy and, having sharpened his pen, began to write. At this time the hostess entered. “You have a nice box, my father,” she said, sitting down next to him. — Tea, did you buy it in Moscow? “In Moscow,” Chichikov answered, continuing to write. - I already knew it: everything there good job. Three years ago, my sister brought warm boots for children from there: such a durable product, they are still worn. Wow, how much stamp paper you have here! - she continued, looking into his box. And in fact, there was a lot of stamp paper there. - At least give me a piece of paper! and I have such a disadvantage; It happens that you file a request to court, but there is nothing to do. Chichikov explained to her that this paper was not of that kind, that it was intended for making fortresses, and not for requests. However, to calm her down, he gave her some sheet worth a ruble. Having written the letter, he gave her a signature and asked for a small list of men. It turned out that the landowner did not keep any notes or lists, but knew almost everyone by heart; he forced her to dictate them on the spot. Some peasants somewhat amazed him with their surnames, and even more so with their nicknames, so that every time he heard them, he first stopped, and then began to write. He was especially struck by a certain Pyotr Savelyev Disrespect-Trough, so that he could not help but say: “What a long one!” Another had “Cow Brick” attached to the name, another turned out to be simply: Wheel Ivan. As he finished writing, he sniffed the air a little and heard the enticing smell of something hot in the oil. “Please humbly have a bite,” said the hostess. Chichikov looked around and saw that on the table there were already mushrooms, pies, skorodumki, shanishki, pryaglas, pancakes, flat cakes with all sorts of toppings: topping with onions, topping with poppy seeds, topping with cottage cheese, topping with skimmed eggs, and who knows what. - Unleavened egg pie! - said the hostess. Chichikov moved towards the unleavened egg pie, and, having immediately eaten about half of it, praised it. And indeed, the pie itself was delicious, and after all the fuss and tricks with the old woman, it seemed even tastier. - And the pancakes? - said the hostess. In response to this, Chichikov rolled three pancakes together and, dipping them in melted butter, put them in his mouth, and wiped his lips and hands with a napkin. Having repeated this three times, he asked the hostess to order the pawning of his chaise. Nastasya Petrovna immediately sent Fetinya, ordering at the same time to bring more hot pancakes. “Your pancakes are very tasty, mother,” said Chichikov, starting to eat the hot ones that were brought. “Yes, they bake them well here,” said the hostess, “but the trouble is: the harvest is bad, the flour is so unimportant... Why, father, are you in such a hurry?” “she said, seeing that Chichikov had taken the cap in his hands, “after all, the chaise has not yet been laid down.” - They will lay it down, mother, they will lay it down. I'm getting laid soon. - So, please, don’t forget about contracts. “I won’t forget, I won’t forget,” Chichikov said, going out into the hallway. — Don’t you buy pork lard? - said the hostess, following him. - Why not buy? I buy it only after. - I’ll be talking about Christmas time and lard. “We’ll buy, we’ll buy, we’ll buy everything, and we’ll buy lard.” - Maybe you'll need some bird feathers. I will also have bird feathers for Filippov's post. “Okay, okay,” Chichikov said. “You see, my father, your chaise is not ready yet,” said the hostess when they went out onto the porch. - It will be, it will be ready. Just tell me how to get to the main road. - How to do this? - said the hostess. — It’s a tricky story to tell, there are a lot of twists and turns; Am I going to give you a girl to accompany you? After all, you, tea, have a place on the trestle where she could sit.- How not to be. “I guess I’ll give you the girl; she knows the way, just look! Don’t bring it, merchants have already brought one from me. Chichikov assured her that he would not bring her, and Korobochka, having calmed down, began to look at everything that was in her yard; she fixed her eyes on the housekeeper, who was carrying a wooden container with honey out of the pantry, on the peasant who appeared at the gate, and little by little she was completely absorbed in economic life. But why take so long to deal with Korobochka? Whether it’s a box, or a Manilov’s, whether it’s an economic life or a non-economic one, pass them by! This is not how the world works wonderfully: what is cheerful will instantly turn into sadness if you just stand in front of it for a long time, and then God knows what will come into your head. Maybe you will even begin to think: come on, is Korobochka really standing so low on the endless ladder of human improvement? Is the abyss really that great that separates her from her sister, inaccessibly fenced by the walls of an aristocratic house with fragrant cast-iron staircases, shining copper, mahogany and carpets, yawning over an unread book in anticipation of a witty social visit, where she will have the opportunity to show off her mind and express her expressed thoughts? thoughts, thoughts that, according to the laws of fashion, occupy the city for a whole week, thoughts not about what is happening in her house and on her estates, confused and upset thanks to ignorance of economic affairs, but about what political revolution is being prepared in France, what direction it has taken fashionable Catholicism. But by, by! why talk about it? But why, in the midst of thoughtless, cheerful, carefree moments, will another wonderful stream suddenly rush by itself: laughter has not yet had time to completely escape from the face, but it has already become different among the same people, and the face has already been illuminated with a different light... - Here’s a chaise, here’s a chaise! - Chichikov cried, finally seeing his chaise approaching. - What took you so long, you idiot? Apparently, you haven’t completely worn off your drunkenness from yesterday yet. Selifan did not answer anything to this. - Goodbye, mother! Well, where is your girl! - Hey, Pelageya! - the landowner said to a girl of about eleven standing near the porch, in a dress made from home dye and with bare feet, which from a distance could be mistaken for boots, they were so caked with fresh mud. - Show the master the way. Selifan helped the girl climb onto the box, who, placing one foot on the master's step, first stained it with dirt, and then climbed to the top and sat next to him. Following her, Chichikov himself raised his foot onto the step and, leaning the chaise towards right side, because he was heavy, he finally fit in, saying: - A! good now! goodbye, mother! The horses started moving. Selifan was stern all the way and at the same time very attentive to his work, which always happened to him after he was either guilty of something or was drunk. The horses were amazingly cleaned. The collar on one of them, which until then was almost always torn, so that tow peeked out from under the skin, was skillfully sewn up. He was silent the whole way, only lashing with his whip, and did not address any instructive speech to the horses, although the brown-haired horse, of course, would have liked to listen to something instructive, for at this time the reins were always somehow lazily held in the hands of the talkative driver and the whip walked over their backs just for form. But this time only monotonous unpleasant exclamations were heard from the gloomy lips: “Come on, come on, crow! yawn! yawn! - and nothing more. Even the bay man himself and the Assessor were dissatisfied, having never heard either “dear” or “respectable”. Chubary felt very unpleasant blows to his full and wide parts. “Look how it was blown apart! - he thought to himself, straightening his ears somewhat. - He probably knows where to hit! It doesn’t whip straight across the back, but instead chooses a place where it’s livelier: it’ll catch you on the ears or it’ll whip under your belly.” - To the right, or what? - Selifan asked the girl sitting next to him with such a dry question, showing her with his whip the road, blackened by the rain, between bright green, refreshed fields. “No, no, I’ll show you,” answered the girl. - Where to? - Selifan said when they drove closer. “Here’s where,” the girl answered, pointing with her hand. - Oh, you! - Selifan said. - Yes, this is the right: he doesn’t know where the right is, where the left is! Although the day was very good, the ground became so polluted that the wheels of the chaise, catching it, soon became covered with it like felt, which significantly burdened the crew; Moreover, the soil was clayey and unusually tenacious. Both were the reasons that they could not get out of the country roads before noon. Without the girl it would have been difficult to do this too, because the roads spread out in all directions, like caught crayfish when they are poured out of a bag, and Selifan would have had to travel around through no fault of his own. Soon the girl pointed her hand at a blackened building in the distance, saying: - There's the main road! - What about the building? - Selifan asked. “Tavern,” said the girl. “Well, now we’ll get there ourselves,” said Selifan, “go home.” He stopped and helped her get off, saying through his teeth: “Oh, you black-footed one!” Chichikov gave her a copper penny, and she wandered off, already satisfied that she had sat on the box.