Evenings on a Farm near Dikanka read. Nikolay Gogol

Part one

Foreword

"What sort of wonder:" Evenings on a Farm near Dikanka "? What is the "evening"? And I threw out some Pasichnyk! Thank God! yet little they stripped geese feathers and plagued rags to paper! Yet few people, of all ranks and rabble, dipped his fingers in the ink! He pulled the hunting and the beekeeper potaschitsya after the other! Right, printed paper had multiplied so much that soon will not think that would be such a turn in it. "

Heard, heard all these prophetic my speech even a month! That is to say, I say that our brother, a farmer, to stick his nose out of his backwater into a large light - my father! It's like, it happens, sometimes you come to the room of the great Pan: all against thee, and will be fooled. Still nothing, let him have the highest servility, not some ragged boy, see - stuff that delves into the backyard, and the stick; and begin to stamp one's foot kicked from all sides. "Where, where, why? go, man, go! .. "I'll tell you ... But what to say! Easier for me twice a year to go to Mirgorod, which has been five years since I have not seen any of podsędek Zemsky court, nor venerable priest than shown in this great light. A show - cry do not cry, let's answer.

We, my dear readers, it not in anger is said (you can be, and angry that Pasichnyk said you simply like to some matchmaker his or godfather) - we, on farms, is found a long time, as soon as would end the work in the field, a man climbs to rest for the winter on the stove, and our brother pripryachet their bees in a dark cellar, where no cranes in the sky, no pears on the tree you see more - if only in the evening, probably already somewhere in the end street glimmering light, laughter and songs are heard izdalecha, strumming a balalaika, and sometimes violin, voices, the noise ... This is our vechornytsi! They are, you see, they look like your balls; Only we can not say that at all. To balls if you are traveling, it is to twirl down and pozevat in hand; and we will meet in a hut a crowd of girls is not for the ball, with a spindle, with ridges; and if matter and will take the first: the spindle noise, pour the song, and each not rouse and eyes towards; but only to descend into the house with the lads fiddler - will rise scream zateet shawl, go dancing and zavedutsya are things that you can not tell.

But best of all, when stray all in a compact group and let the guessing riddles or simply carry chatter. Oh my god! Why not just tell! Where antiquity not dig! What fears will not cause! But nowhere, perhaps, was not so much rasskazyvaemo wonders how in the evenings at the beekeeper Rudy Panko. For which I lay nicknamed Rudoi Panko - I swear, I can not say. And the hair seems to me now more gray than red. But we are not all right to be angry, this custom: how to give someone a nickname people, then and forever will it. Used to gather on the eve of the holiday of the day the good people to visit, in pasichnikovu hovel, sit down at the table - and then ask only listen. And to say that people were not mere dozen, not some men Khutoryanskaya. Yes, it can, and to another, and the higher the beekeeper would have done honor to visit. For example, did you know the clerk Dikanka church, Thomas G.? Oh, my head! What kind of stories he was able to let go! Two of them are found in this book. He never wore a robe pestryadevogo what you will find in many rural sexton; but go to him and in everyday life, it will always take you in a robe of fine cloth, color zastuzhennogo potato jelly, for which he paid in Poltava nearly six rubles per yard. From his shoe, we have no say on the whole farm, that was the smell of tar is heard; but everyone knows that he cleaned them the best lard, what I think, with joy a man would put himself into a mess. No one will say also that he had ever wiped his nose robe skirt of his coat as it makes other people of his rank; but pulled out of the sinus neatly folded white handkerchief embroidered on all the edges of the red thread, and fix it to be, I folded it again, as usual, in the twelfth share and hid in his bosom. And one of the guests ... Well, he was already a Panich that even now dress in the assessors or podkomorii. Sometimes, he puts a finger in front of him and looking at the end of it, will tell - but cleverly pretentious as in printed books! Sometimes I listen, listen, and thought attack. Anything, even kill, do not understand. Where he ponabrali such words! Thomas G. time he wove about this glorious refrain: he told him how one student who studied at some clerk to read, came to his father and became so latynschikom, that he forgot even our language is orthodox. All the words in the folds mustache. His shovel is a shovel, a woman is a grandmother. Now, it happened once, they went with their father into the field. The Latin man saw a rake and asks his father: "What is it, daddy, what do you think it is called?" Yes, and he stepped, with his mouth open, with his foot on the teeth. He did not have time to collect the answer, as the pen, swinging, rose and - grab his forehead. “Damn rake! - shouted the schoolboy, grabbing his forehead with his hand and jumping to an arshin, - how the devil would have pushed their father off the bridge, they beat painfully! " So that's how! And I remembered the name, my dear! The intricate storyteller did not like such a saying. Without saying a word, he got up from his place, spread his feet in the middle of the room, bent his head slightly forward, thrust his hand into the back pocket of his pea caftan, pulled out a snuff-box, round under varnish, snapped his finger on the painted face of some Busurman general and, seizing a considerable a portion of tobacco, crushed with ashes and leaves of lovage, held it to his nose rocker and pulled the nose to fly the whole pile, without touching even the thumb - and still not a word; but when he reached into another pocket and took out a blue paper handkerchief in cages, then he just grumbled to himself almost a saying: “Do not throw beads in front of pigs” ... “There is now a quarrel,” I thought, noticing that Thomas G. and evolved to modulo. Fortunately, my old woman guessed put on the table hot knish oil. All set to work. Foma Grigorievich's hand, instead of showing the shish, reached out to the knisha, and, as usual, they began to praise the mistress of the mistress. We also had one storyteller; but he (there is no point in remembering him at night) dug up such terrible stories that his hair went over his head. I didn’t put them here on purpose. You will also scare the kind people so that the pasichnik, God forgive me, as the devil, everyone will be afraid. Let it be better, how I will live, if God willing, until the new year and will publish another book, then it will be possible to torment people from the other world and divas that were happening in the old days in the Orthodox side of ours. Between them, perhaps, you will find the tales of the Pasichnik himself, which he used to tell his grandchildren. If only they listened and read, and I, perhaps, - damned laziness to rummage - will be typed even for ten such books.

Yes, that was and forgot the most important thing: as you, gentlemen, go to me, then straight away take the path along the high road to Dikanka. I deliberately put it on the first sheet so that they could get to our farm as soon as possible. I think you've heard enough about Dikanka. And then to say that the house there is cleaner than some Pasichnikov kuren. And there is nothing to say about the garden: in your Petersburg, it is true, you will not find such a thing. Arriving in the Dikanka, just ask first got to meet the boy, grazing in a soiled shirt geese: "Where lives Pasichnyk Rudy Panko?" - "And there!" - he will say, pointing his finger, and, if you like, will lead you to the farm itself. I ask, however, not to put your hands back too much and, as they say, trick, because the roads through our farms are not as smooth as in front of your mansions. Foma Grigorievich, in the third year, arriving from Dikanka, nevertheless came to see the failure with his new tartayka and a bay mare, despite the fact that he himself ruled and that from time to time he put on purchased ones over his eyes.

But as soon as you come to visit, we will serve melons such as you may not have eaten when you were old; but honey, and I will worry, you will not find a better one in the farms. Imagine that as the vnesesh hundred - the spirit will go around the room, you can not imagine what kind of: clean as a tear or a costly crystal that is in the earrings. And what pies my old woman will feed! What kind of pies, if you only knew: sugar, sugar perfect! And the oil just flows down your lips when you start eating. Just think, really: what are these women not craftswomen for! Have you ever drank, ladies and gentlemen, pear kvass with sloe or Varenukha with raisins and plums? Or has it happened to you sometimes to eat mud with milk? My God, what kind of food is there in the world! When you start to eat, it is delightful, and full of it. Indescribable sweetness! Last year ... However I am, in fact, become loose .. Come alone, come as quickly as possible?; and we will feed so that you will tell both the counter and the transverse.

Pasichnyk Rudy Panko.

Just in case, so that they don't remember me with an unkind word, I am writing here, in alphabetical order, those words that are not clear to everyone in this book.

pandora, instrument, kind of guitar.

Batog Whip.

Sore, scrofula.

Cooper, bocharr.

Bagel Round pretzel ram.

Buryak, beet.

Bukhanets, small bread.

Vinnytsia, distillery.

Galushki, dumplings.

Hunger Slave, Poor, cottager.

Gopak, Little Russian dances.

Gorlitsa,?

divchina, young woman.

Divchata, girls.

Dizha, tub.

Dribushki, small braids.

Domovina, coffin.

Doula, Fig.

Ducat, Race medal is worn on the neck.

Znahor, Mnogoznayuschy, Soothsayer.

Zhinkov Wife.

Zupan, Born of his coat.

Kaganets, Race fixtures.

riveting, Convex tablets, of which the barrel is made.

Knish, Kind of bread.

Kobza, musical instrument.

Komora, Barn.

nautilus, headdress.

Kuntush, The top vintage gown.

Korovay, Wedding bread.

Kuhol, Stein.

Bold didko, house, demon.

Cradle, a tube.

Makitra Pot in which the tinder poppy.

Makagon, Pestle for grinding poppy.

malakhai, Whip.

A bowl, A wooden plate.

young women, married woman.

hire Hired worker.

Naymychka Hired worker.

Oseledets, A long tuft of hair on his head, wrapped into his ear.

Ochipok, Kind of a cap.

dumplings, Dish made.

Pasichnyk Beekeeper.

lad, guy.

Plahtiy, The lower women's clothing.

thick Hell.

outbidding, Vendor.

stir, Fright.

Peysiki, Ringlets Zhydivsky.

Povetka Barn.

Polutabenek, Silk fabric.

Putrya, Dish, kind of porridge.

Towel, Utiralnik.

scroll, Born polukaftanya.

Sindyachki Narrow ribbons.

Slastony, Donuts.

Svolok, Beam near the ceiling.

plum brandy called Slivovica, Plum brandy.

astrakhan, Lamb fur.

Sonyashnitsa, abdominal pain.

Sopilka, Born flute.

Stusan A fist.

Strichki Tapes.

tripharmacon Triple whip.

boy, guy.

farm, A small village.

Hustka, handkerchief.

Tsibulya, onion.

Chumaky, Obozniki traveling to the Crimea for salt and fishes.

Chuprina, Forelock, a tuft of long hair on the head.

Cone Small bread is done at weddings.

Juska Sauce, swill.

Yatka, Born tent or tent.

Sorochinskaya fair

I

Meni tedious in hati live.

Oh, take me home zh mene Ih,

De bagatsko thunder, thunder,

De goptsyuyut all divki,

From ancient legends

How delightful, how luxurious a summer day in Little Russia! How exhaustingly hot those hours are when noon shines in the silence and heat and the immeasurable blue ocean, bent over the earth with a voluptuous dome, seems to have fallen asleep, all drowned in bliss, embracing and squeezing the beautiful in its airy arms! There are no clouds on it. Under no speech. Everything seemed to be dead; above only, in the depths of heaven, a lark trembles, and silver songs fly along the air steps to the earth in love, and sometimes the cry of a seagull or the sonorous voice of a quail is heard in the steppe. Lazily and carelessly, as if walking without purpose, are podoblachnye oaks and dazzling sunlight strikes ignite the whole mass of leaves scenic, throwing on the other dark as the night, a shadow, of which only a strong wind pryschet gold. Emeralds, topazes, sapphires essential insects spilling over colorful gardens, overshadowing stately sunflowers. Gray haystacks and golden sheaves of bread are camped in the field and wander along its immeasurableness. Wide branches of cherries, plums, apple trees, pears bent over from the weight of the fruits; the sky, its pure mirror - a river in green, proudly raised frames ... how full of voluptuousness and bliss the Little Russian summer!

With such a luxury shine one day, eighteen hundred ... eight ... Yes, thirty years Hot August will be back to when the road, ten miles to the town of Sorochinets, boiling people to make haste from all neighboring and distant farms to the fair. In the morning, an endless line of chumaks with salt and fish still dragged on. The mountains of pots wrapped in hay moved slowly, seemingly bored with their imprisonment and darkness; in places only some brightly painted bowl or makitra boastfully emerged from a wattle fence perched high on a cart and attracted the affectionate glances of fans of luxury. Many passers-by looked with envy at the tall potter, the owner of these jewels, who walked slowly for his goods, carefully wrapping his clay dandies and coquettes in hay hated by them.

Lonely aside dragged on weary oxen cart, piled bags, hemp, linen and various domestic baggage, which was walked in a clean linen shirt and soiled linen trousers, his master. Lazy hand he wiped the sweat from kativshiysya hail swarthy face and even dripping with long mustaches, the powdered relentless barber that no call is also a beauty and freak powders and forced thousands of years already the entire human race. Next to him was tied to a cart mare, humble view which denounced it advanced in years. Many counter, and Especially the young lads, took up his hat, coming up with our guy. However'm not gray mustache and no matter the pace he was forced to do it; had only to lift his eyes a little bit up to see the reason for such piety: on the cart was sitting pretty daughter with a round face, with black eyebrows, smooth arcs rise above the light brown eyes, a carefree smiles pink lips, with red and blue ribbons to tie on his head, that together with long braids and a tuft of wildflowers, rich crown rested on her charming head. All seemed to take it; it was her wonderful, new ... and pretty eyes constantly running from one thing to another. How not to dissipate! for the first time at the fair! Girl in eighteen years, for the first time at the fair! .. But none of the bystanders and passersby did not know what she should beg his father to take him with you, and that his soul would be happy to do it was before, if not a wicked stepmother, learn to keep it in the hands of as deftly as he reins his old mare, taschivsheysya for long service, is now for sale. Restless wife ... but we have forgotten that she immediately sat at the height of the cart, in a smart wool green jacket, on which, as if by an ermine fur, sewn were ponytails, red only in color, rich Plahtiy, pestrevshey like a chess board, and cotton color Oczipka, gave a peculiar importance of its red, full face, which slipped something so unpleasant, so wild that every once in a hurry to transfer troubled look on his face cheerful daughter.

Eyes of our travelers had begun to open Psyol; We distance already exuded coolness that seemed palpable after agonizing, destructive heat. Through the dark and light green leaves carelessly scattered on the meadow poplar, birch and poplars flashed fire, dressed cold sparks, and river-beautiful silver brilliantly exposed her breasts, which are luxuriously green curls falling trees. Capricious, she in those heady times when the right mirror so jealous encompasses its full pride and glare brow, lily shoulders and marble neck, shaded by dark, upavsheyu with blond wave of the head, when contemptuously throws some decoration to replace them others, and the whims of her no end - it almost every year to change his surroundings, choosing a new path and surrounding himself with new and varied landscapes. Rows mills lifted their heavy wheels on wide and powerful waves threw them breaking in spray, sprinkling dust and noise enveloping neighborhood. WHO familiar to us passengers vzehal at this time on the bridge, and the river in all its beauty and grandeur, as the whole glass, stretched before them. Sky, green forest and blue, people, carts with pots, mill - all overturned, and there were a standing upside down without falling into the abyss of a beautiful blue. Our beautiful thought, looking at the kind of luxury, and even forgot his sunflower husk, which regularly engaged during all the way, when suddenly the words: "Ah yes maiden!" - struck her ear. Looking back, it is seen standing on the bridge crowd lads, of which one dressed poschegolevatee points in white and in gray scroll cap Reshetilovka a sheepskin, leaning on her hips, looking at passing valiantly. Belle could not help but notice his tanned, but full of pleasantness face and fiery eyes, he seemed to try to see through it, and looked down at the thought that maybe he owned the spoken word.

- The glorious maiden! - continued lad in a white roll, never taking his eyes off her. - I would have given all his farm to kiss her. But ahead of the devil sitting!

The laughter rose from all sides; but slowly discharged cohabitant speaking spouse does not seem too is greeting her red cheeks turned into a fiery and crackling choice words fell like rain on the racket head lads:

- I hope you choke, Belial hauler! To your father's pot knocked in the head! That he slipped on the ice, the Antichrist damn! To him in the world to the devil beard burned!

- See how she swears! - said the young man, goggling at her, as if puzzled by such a strong volley of unexpected greetings, - and her tongue, the hundred-year-old witch, will not hurt to pronounce these words.

- A hundred years old! - picked up the elderly beauty. - Wicked! go wash yourself in advance! Tomboy worthless! I haven't seen your mother, but I know it's rubbish! and the father is rubbish! and your aunt is rubbish! A hundred years old! 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 did not seem to want to end with this: without thinking for a long time, he grabbed a lump of dirt and threw it after her. The blow was more successful than one might have expected: all the new calico ochip was splattered with mud, and the laughter of the riotous rake doubled with renewed vigor. A stout woman of fashion boiled with rage; but I rode a cart at this time is quite far, and where it turned on an innocent stepdaughter and slow roommate, who have long been accustomed to such phenomena, maintained a stubborn silence and coolly took rebellious speech irate wife. But then, in spite of this, her tireless tongue hanging out and popped in the mouth for as long as they did not come in the suburbs to an old friend and godfather, Kozak Tsybulya. Meeting with godfathers, who had not seen for a long time, drove this unpleasant incident out of their heads for a while, forcing our travelers to talk about the fair and rest a little after a long journey.

II

Scho, my God, my Lord! what

dumb at the ti fair!

Wheels, sklo, diogot, tyutyun,

remin, Tsibulya, kramari vsyaki ...

so, hoch bi in kisheni bulo rubles

i h tridtsyat, then d b todi not purchase

From the Little Russian comedy

You must have heard a distant waterfall lying somewhere, when the alarmed surroundings are full of hum and the chaos of wonderful obscure sounds whirlwind before you. Is not it, not whether those same feelings instantly to clasp you in a whirlwind of rural fairs, when the whole nation is fused into one huge monster and moves his whole torso on the square and narrow streets, shouting, cackles, rattles? Noise, swearing, bellowing, bleating, roaring - everything merges into one discordant dialect. Oxen, sacks, hay, gypsies, pots, women, gingerbread, hats - everything is bright, colorful, out of tune; tosses about in heaps and dashes before my eyes. Discordant speeches drown one another, and not a single word will be snatched out, will not be saved from this flood; not a single cry will be pronounced clearly. Only the clapping of the tradesmen's hands is heard from all sides of the fair. The wagon breaks, the iron rings, the boards thrown to the ground clatter, and the dizzy head wonders where to turn. Our visiting peasant with his black-browed daughter had been pushing among the people for a long time. I went to one cart, felt another, applied to prices; and meanwhile his thoughts were tossing and turning incessantly about ten sacks of wheat and an old mare that he had brought for sale. In the face of his daughter it was evident that she was not too pleased about rubbing wagons with flour and wheat. She would like to go there, where red ribbons, earrings, pewter and copper crosses and ducats are elegantly hung under the linen yats. But even here, however, she found herself many objects to observe: she was amused to the extreme, how the gypsy and the peasant beat each other on the hands, crying out in pain; a drunken Jew gave Baba jelly; as a repurchase quarreled exchanging abuse and crayfish; like a Muscovite, stroking his goat's beard with one hand, with the other ... But then she felt, someone pulled her by the embroidered sleeve of her shirt. She looked around - and a young man in a white scroll with bright eyes stood in front of her. Her veins quivered, and her heart beat as it had never before, with no joy, no sorrow: it seemed wonderful and lovable to her, and she herself could not explain what was happening to her.

- Do not be afraid, serdenko, fear not! - he said to her in an undertone, taking her hand, - I won't tell you anything bad!

“Maybe it’s true that you won’t say anything bad,” the beauty thought to herself. You yourself, it seems, you know that it doesn’t work like that ... but you lack the strength to take a hand from him. ”

A guy turned around and wanted something to utter his daughter, but on the side he heard the word "wheat". It is a magical word made him at the same moment to join two talked loudly NEGOTIANT, and chained them to the attention nothing could have been able to entertain. Here is what the negotiators of the wheat.

I'm sad to live in the house, take me out of the house to where a lot of noise, where all the girls dance where the boys having fun! (Ukr.).

O Lord, my God, that is not present at the fair! Wheels, glass, tar, tobacco, belt, bow, all sorts of traders ... so that if the pocket was at least thirty rubles, and even then would not have purchased the entire fair (Ukr.).

Story published Pasichnyk Rudoi Panko

PART ONE

FOREWORD

"What sort of wonder:" Evenings on a Farm near Dikanka "? What is this "evening"? And I threw out some Pasichnyk! Thank God! little more stripped geese feathers and plagued rags to paper! Yet few people, of all ranks and rabble, dipped his fingers in the ink! He yanked the hunting and the beekeeper potaschitsya after the other! Right, printed paper had multiplied so much that soon will not think that would be such a turn in it. "

Heard, heard all these prophetic my speech more per month! That is to say, I say that our brother, a farmer, to stick his nose out of his backwater into a large light - my father! It's like, as happens sometimes Will you come to the room of the great Pan: all against thee, and will be fooled. Still nothing, let him have the highest servility, not some ragged boy, see - stuff that delves into the backyard, and the stick; and begin to stamp one's foot kicked from all sides. "Where, where, why? gone, man, gone! .. "I'll tell you ... But what to say! Easier for me twice a year to go to Mirgorod, which has been five years since I have not seen any of podsędek Zemsky court, nor venerable priest than shown in this great light. A show - cry do not cry, let's answer.

We, my dear readers, it not in anger is said (you can be, and angry that Pasichnyk said you simply like to some matchmaker his or godfather) - we, on farms, is found a long time, as soon as when the work in the field ends, the man will climb up to rest for the whole winter on the stove and our brother will hide his bees in a dark cellar, when you see no more cranes in the sky or pears in the tree - then, only evening, probably somewhere in the end street glimmering flame, laughter and songs are heard izdalecha, strumming a balalaika, and sometimes Skrypka, talk, noise ... This is our vechornytsi! They are, if you please, they are like your balls; only it cannot be said that at all. If you are going to balls, it is precisely in order to turn your legs and yawn in your hand; but here a crowd of girls will gather in one hut not for a ball at all, with a spindle, with combs; and at first they seem to be busy with business: the spindles are noisy, songs are pouring, and each one does not even raise her eyes to the side; but as soon as the boys come into the hut with a fiddler - a cry will rise, a shawl will start, there will be dances and such things will start that it is impossible to tell.

Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol

Evenings on a Farm Near Dikanka

Stories published by the pasichnik Rudy Pank

Part one

Foreword

“What a fancy:“ Evenings on a farm near Dikanka ”? What is this "evening"? And tossed into the light by some beekeeper! Thank God! yet little they stripped geese feathers and plagued rags to paper! Yet few people, of all ranks and rabble, dipped his fingers in the ink! The hunt also pulled the pasichnik to drag along after the others! Really, there is so much printed paper that you can't think of anything to wrap in it soon. "

Listen, hear my prophetic these speech even a month! That is to say, I say that our brother, a farmer, to stick his nose out of his backwater into a large light - my father! It's like, it happens, sometimes you come to the room of the great Pan: all against thee, and will be fooled. Still nothing, let him have the highest servility, not some ragged boy, see - stuff that delves into the backyard, and the stick; and begin to stamp one's foot kicked from all sides. "Where, where, why? go, man, go! .. "I'll tell you ... But what to say! Easier for me twice a year to go to Mirgorod, which has been five years since I have not seen any of podsędek Zemsky court, nor venerable priest than shown in this great light. A show - cry do not cry, let's answer.

We, my dear readers, it not in anger is said (you can be, and angry that the beekeeper tells you simply like to some matchmaker his or godfather) - we, on farms, is found a long time, as soon as would end the work in the field, a man climbs to rest for the winter on the stove, and our brother pripryachet their bees in a dark cellar, where no cranes in the sky, no pears on the tree you see more - if only in the evening, probably already somewhere in the end street glimmering light, laughter and songs are heard from afar, strumming a balalaika, and sometimes violin, voices, the noise ... This is our vechornytsi! They are, you see, they look like your balls; Only we can not say that at all. To balls if you are traveling, it is to twirl down and pozevat in hand; and we will meet in a hut a crowd of girls is not for the ball, with a spindle, with ridges; and if matter and will take the first: the spindle noise, pour the song, and each not rouse and eyes towards; but only to descend into the house with the lads fiddler - will rise scream zateet shawl, go dancing and zavedutsya are things that you can not tell.

But the best thing is when everyone gets together in a tight bunch and starts making riddles or just talking. Oh my god! Why not tell! Where do they not dig up antiquities! What fears they will not inflict! But nowhere, perhaps, so many wonders were told as at the evenings at the beekeeper Rudy Pank's. For what the laity called me Rudy Pank - by God, I can't say. And my hair, it seems, is now more gray than red. But we are not all right to be angry, this custom: how to give someone a nickname people, then and forever will it. Sometimes, on the eve of a holiday, kind people would gather for a visit, in a pasichnikov's shack, sit down at the table - and then I ask only to listen. And then to say that the people were not just a dozen, not some kind of peasant farmers. Yes, maybe someone else, and a taller pasichnik, would be honored by a visit. For example, did you know the clerk Dikanka church, Thomas G.? Eh, head! What a story he knew how to let go! You will find two of them in this book. He never wore a motley dressing gown, which you will find on many country clerks; but go to him and in everyday life, it will always take you in a robe of fine cloth, color zastuzhennogo potato jelly, for which he paid in Poltava nearly six rubles per yard. From his boots, in our country no one will tell in the whole farm that the smell of tar can be heard; but everyone knows that he cleaned them the best lard, what I think, with joy a man would put himself into a mess. Nor will anyone say that he has ever wiped his nose with the liner of his robe, as other people of his rank do; but he took out from his bosom a neatly folded white handkerchief, embroidered on all the edges with red threads, and, having corrected what followed, folded it again, as usual, in the twelfth share and hid it in the bosom. And one of the guests ... Well, he already had such a panic that even now he could dress up as assessors or podkomoria. Sometimes, he would put his finger in front of him and, looking at the end of it, would go to tell - pretentiously and cunningly, as in printed books! Sometimes you listen, listen, and meditation will attack. You don’t understand anything for the life of me. Where he ponabrali such words! Foma Grigorievich once made him a glorious adage about this: he told him how a schoolboy who had learned to read and write with some clerk came to his father and became such a Latinist that he even forgot our Orthodox language. All words turns into their heads. His shovel is a shovel, a woman is a grandmother. Now, it happened once, they went with their father into the field. The Latin man saw a rake and asks his father: “What is it called, daddy, in your opinion? "And I come, slack-jawed, with his foot on the teeth. He did not have time to collect the answer, as the pen, swinging, rose and - grab his forehead. “Damn rake! - shouted the schoolboy, grabbing his forehead with his hand and jumping to an arshin, - how the devil would have pushed their father off the bridge, they beat painfully! " So that's how! And I remembered the name, my dear! The intricate storyteller did not like such a saying. Without saying a word, he got up from their seats and put out their feet in the middle of the room, bent his head slightly forward, put his hand in the back pocket of his pea coat his, pulled round lacquered snuffbox, snapped his fingers on to paint the face of a busurmanskogo General and capture the considerable a portion of tobacco, crushed with ashes and leaves of lovage, held it to his nose rocker and pulled the nose to fly the whole pile, without touching even the thumb - and still not a word; yes as reached into another pocket and took out the blue in the cells of a tissue, then only muttered to himself, almost has not saying, "Do not cast pearls before swine" ... "Be the same is now a quarrel," - I thought, noticing that his fingers Thomas G. and evolved to modulo. Fortunately, my old woman guessed put on the table hot knish oil. All set to work. Foma Grigorievich's hand, instead of showing the shish, reached out to the knisha, and, as usual, they began to praise the mistress of the mistress. We also had one storyteller; but he (there is no point in remembering him at night) dug up such terrible stories that his hair went over his head. I didn’t put them here on purpose. You will also scare the kind people so that the pasichnik, God forgive me, as the devil, everyone will be afraid. It is better as I shall live, if God willing, until the new year and released another book, then we will postraschat revenant and divines what is happening in the old days in the Orthodox side of ours. Between them, perhaps, you will find the tales of the Pasichnik himself, which he used to tell his grandchildren. If only they listened and read, and I, perhaps, - damned laziness to rummage - will be typed even for ten such books.

But as soon as you come to visit, we will serve melons such as you may not have eaten when you were old; but honey, and I will worry, you will not find a better one in the farms. Imagine that, as you bring in the honeycomb, the spirit will go all over the room, it is impossible to imagine what it is: pure, like a tear or dear crystal that happens in earrings. And what pies my old woman will feed! What kind of pies, if you only knew: sugar, sugar perfect! And the oil just flows down your lips when you start eating. Just think, really: what are these women not craftswomen for! Have you ever drunk, gentlemen, pear kvass with thorns or dumplings with raisins and plums? Or has it happened to you sometimes to eat mud with milk? My God, what dishes are there in the world! When you start to eat, it is delightful, and full of it. Indescribable sweetness! Last year ... But why am I really loose? .. Come just, come as soon as possible; and we will feed so that you will tell both the counter and the transverse.

Pasichnyk Rudy Panko.

Just in case, so that they don't remember me with an unkind word, I am writing here, in alphabetical order, those words that are not clear to everyone in this book.

Ra gang, instrument, kind of guitar.

Bato "g Whip.

Sore, scrofula.

Cooper, bocharr.

Bagel Round pretzel ram.

Storm "to, beet.

Bukhane "c, small bread.

Vi "nnitsa, distillery.

Galu "shki, dumplings.

Golodra "Betz, Poor, cottager.

Gopa "to, Little Russian dance.

Turtledove, Little Russian dance.

Di "vchina, young woman.

Divcha "ta, girls.

Dizha ", tub.

Dribu "shki, small braids.

Domovi "on, coffin.

Doo la, Fig.

Ducat, Race medal is worn on the neck.

By knowing the "chorus, Mnogoznayuschy, Soothsayer.

Zhi nka Wife.

Zupa "Mr., Born of his coat.

Kagan "n, Race fixtures.

Cle pky, Convex tablets, of which the barrel is made.

Knish, Kind of bread.

Ko bza, musical instrument.

Como "Dr., Barn.

Bark "flare, headdress.

Kuntu "sh, The top vintage gown.

Cow "th, Wedding bread.

Ku "of Chol, Stein.

Bald didko, brownie, demon.

Cradle, a tube.

Poppies "tra Pot in which the tinder poppy.

Makogo "Mr., Pestle for grinding poppy.

Malakha "th, Whip.

A bowl, A wooden plate.

Young "tsa, married woman.

On "ymyt Hired worker.

On "ymychka Hired worker.

Osele "dec, A long tuft of hair on his head, wrapped into his ear.

Eyes "pok, Kind of a cap.

Pampa "shki, Dish made.

Pa "sichnik Beekeeper.

Pa "cuttings, guy.

Pla hta, The lower women's clothing.

Pe "klo Hell.

Pere "Kupka, Vendor.

Perepolo "x, Fright.

Pe "ysiki, Ringlets Zhydivsky.

Behavior "TKA Barn.

Polutabe "nek, Silk fabric.

Poo "shake, Dish, kind of porridge.

Rushni "to, Utiralnik.

Swee "tka, Born polukaftanya.

Cindy "hibernation Narrow ribbons.

Slastony, Donuts.

Svo lok, Beam near the ceiling.

Draining nka, Plum brandy.

Smu "shki, Lamb fur.

So "nyashnitsa, abdominal pain.

Soapy Lka, Born flute.

Stusa "n A fist.

Stree "hibernation Tapes.

Troycha "TKA Triple whip.

Chloe finger, guy.

Hu "torus, A small village.

Hu stka, handkerchief.

Qibu "la, onion.

Chumaky ", Obozniki traveling to the Crimea for salt and fishes.

Chuprov "on,forelock, a long clump of hair on the head.

Cone Small bread is done at weddings.

Juska Sauce, swill.

Yatka, Born tent or tent.

Sorochinskaya fair

It’s boring for me to live in a hati.

Oh, take me home zh mene Ih,

De bagatsko thunder, thunder,

De goptsyuyut all divki,

De lads to walk!

From an old legend

Psel has already begun to open to the eyes of our travelers; from afar there was already a coolness that seemed more palpable after the weary, destructive heat. Through the dark and light green leaves of sedges, birches and poplars, carelessly scattered over the meadow, fiery sparks, dressed with cold, sparkled, and the beautiful river brilliantly bared its silver chest, on which green curls of trees fell luxuriously. Self-willed, as she is in those delightful hours, when the faithful mirror so enviably contains her brow, full of pride and dazzling brilliance, lily shoulders and marble neck, shaded by a dark wave that has fallen from her fair-haired head, when she throws some jewelry with contempt to replace them others, and her whims have no end - she changed her surroundings almost every year, choosing a new path for herself and surrounding herself with new, diverse landscapes. Rows of mills lifted their wide waves onto heavy wheels and threw them powerfully, breaking them into splashes, dusting and making noise around the surroundings. A wagon with passengers familiar to us rode up at that time onto the bridge, and the river in all its beauty and grandeur, like solid glass, stretched out in front of them. The sky, green and blue forests, people, carts with pots, mills - everything overturned, stood and walked upside down, not falling into the blue beautiful abyss. Our beauty fell into thought, looking at the splendor of the view, and forgot even to peel her sunflower, which she regularly dealt with throughout the journey, when suddenly the words: "Oh yes, little girl!" - 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 in a gray hat of Reshilov's smushies, leaning on his sides, glanced valiantly at the passers-by. Belle could not help but notice his tanned, but full of pleasantness face and fiery eyes, he seemed to try to see through it, and looked down at the thought that maybe he owned the spoken word.

- The glorious maiden! - continued lad in a white roll, never taking his eyes off her. - I would have given all his farm to kiss her. But ahead of the devil sitting!

Laughter rose from all sides; but such a greeting did not seem to the discharged concubine of the slowly speaking spouse: her red cheeks turned into fiery ones, and the crackle of choice words rained down on the head of the riotous boy

- I hope you choke, Belial hauler! To your father's pot knocked in the head! That he slipped on the ice, the Antichrist damn! To him in the world to the devil beard burned!

Well, my God, my God! what is dumb at that fair! Wheels, sklo, dyogot, tyutyun, remin, tsibulya, kramari every ... so, if you want to be in a swarm of rubles i for thirty, then you would not have bought a fair.

From the Little Russian comedy

Foreword

A person who would not know the works of N.V. Gogol in our country (and the CIS), will be very difficult to find. And is it worth doing? One of the most popular masterpieces of the writer is Evenings on a Farm near Dikanka. Even those who have not read the book have probably seen films or musicals based on stories from this publication. We invite you to study the extremely abbreviated retelling of each work. "Evenings on a farm near Dikanka" (summary) - for your attention.

The secret of the success of the works: what is it?

Of course, each person has their own tastes and preferences. But, oddly enough, this collection of stories is liked by both older people and young people. Why it happens? Most likely, due to the fact that Gogol was able to combine mystical plots, humor and adventure, and also love stories in one book. Actually, this is a sure recipe for success! So, "Evenings on a farm near Dikanka." The summary will allow you to understand whether it is worthwhile to tune in to reading the entire book!

Note that this book is a collection of two parts. Therefore, we will try to outline in several sentences what is discussed in each of the stories.

"Evenings on a farm near Dikanka": a summary of the first part

In the story of the fair in Sorochintsy reader can have some fun with all the heart, enjoying the adventures of slippers, his charming daughter Parasia, her admirer Grytska, adventurous and foolish Gypsy Khivrya, wife of slippers. We can understand that love can work miracles, but immoderate libations and adultery are ultimately punished with dignity!

"Evening on the eve of Ivan Kupala" - a story full of mystery and some gloomy romance. The plot revolves around Petrus, in love with Pedorka, whose wealthy father is not particularly eager to give his daughter to the poor man's wife. But here, as if it were a sin, to help the unlucky lover is taken Of course, not just like that. The devil demands a fern flower for his help. Having committed the murder, the young man gets what Satan wanted from him. But it does not bring him happiness. Petrus himself perishes, and his gold turns into skulls ...

"May Night, or Drowned Woman" is a story about how pure love, courage and resourcefulness overcome injustice, even one committed many years ago.

From the story of "The Lost Letter" we learn that even demons can be defeated in a card game. To do this, you need a little - with sincere faith to cross the playing cards. True, it is not a fact that after that your spouse will not start dancing every year, completely not wanting it.

"Evenings on a Farm near Dikanka": a summary of the second part

And we also learn that it is quite possible to saddle and fly the Devil, and courage and enterprise will help to conquer even the most inaccessible beauty! I wonder if this only happens on Christmas Eve?

"Terrible Revenge" is a story that is truly scary! Indeed, how can you guess in advance that your wife's father is a sorcerer? By the way, quite real historical figures are also mentioned in the story!

Also in the collection there is a story about how the ardent desire of an elderly relative (aunt) to arrange the personal life of her nephew (Ivan Fedorovich Shponka) can significantly change the monotonous and measured existence! Only for the better?

"An enchanted place." This story tells about the kind of adventures you can get involved in, even being in old age. Hey, do not mess with the evil spirit!

Happy and happy reading!