Gogol Sorochinsky fair summary by chapters. Sorochinskaya fair

WITH teenage years was interested in Ukrainian folklore, kept notes on this topic in a special notebook. In 1829, the writer came up with the idea of ​​a work in which the action takes place in his homeland in Sorochintsy. Two years later story "Sorochinskaya Fair" appeared on the pages of Nikolai Vasilyevich’s first collection “Evenings on a farm near Dikanka”.

It is known that Gogol drew a lot from his father’s comedy “The Simpleton,” which was created for home theater. Some images and scenes are quite similar. The writer also chose lines from his parent’s plays as epigraphs to individual chapters of the story. At the same time, “Sorochinskaya Fair” is such a bright, talented and original work that even the most severe critic cannot call it a retelling of the mentioned play.

The funny story of how Gritsko and Paraska got married is based on folk legends, fairy tales and songs. The work contains popular folklore motifs: fair, devils, damn place, couples of lovers who are prevented from uniting their destinies, an unfaithful wife hiding her lover. Gogol uses traditional images of an evil stepmother, a cunning gypsy, a stupid man, a young beauty, and a daring young man. The wedding as the final act is also quite traditional. Even the red color of the scroll - a symbol of fire, blood and other misfortunes - is taken from popular beliefs.

When creating the Sorochinskaya Fair, Gogol used childhood memories and notes from his treasured notebook, but melted this material, mixed it, and soldered it into something new, original. Traditionally, the work is classified as a comedy-romantic genre, but this is not entirely true. A funny story with a distinct love line here it is supplemented with quite realistic everyday sketches. The mystical component of the story, in which mysticism itself is a deception, deserves special attention. After all, all its manifestations, except for the story of godfather Tsybuli, turn out to be the work of the cunning gypsy and Gritsko.

Funny adventures of the heroes in the spirit of folk jokes make up most of the plot. The more contrasting is the ending of the story, in which unexpectedly negative philosophical notes sound: “And the heart becomes heavy and sad, and there is nothing to help it”.

Folklore tradition helped Gogol create colorful images of heroes. The grumpy stepmother Khivrya is endowed with panache and confidence in her own irresistibility. She reveals an unexpected side in the scene of an unsuccessful date, where she acts as a caring and hospitable hostess. Her husband, the close-minded henpecked Solopiy Cherevik, loves to look into a glass and hang out with friends. The beautiful Paraska has a decisive and proud character, her beloved Gritsko is a daring, sharp-tongued, but at the same time affectionate guy.

Particularly admirable is the language of the story, which combines song style and colloquial speech. He is truly poetic and amazingly beautiful. Belinsky called this poetics: “Young, fresh, fragrant, luxurious, intoxicating”. His delight was shared by Alexander Pushkin.

Gogol skillfully combines high syllables, metaphors and epithets with elements of language characteristic of everyday communication. The story opens with a magnificent description of nature, full of picturesque images and colors: “emeralds, topazes, yahonts of ethereal insects”, “a clear mirror - a river in green, proudly raised frames”, “cloud oak trees walking aimlessly”.

The diversity and noise of the fair are depicted not so sublimely, but much more emotionally: "chaos of wonderful obscure sounds" And "falling distant waterfall". Moreover, the entire text, and not just the direct speech of the characters, is peppered with colloquial constructions using exclamations, repetitions, inversions, pronouns, introductory words, particles: “yes, it will be thirty years ago”, “It probably happened to you”, "is not it".

Gogol managed to successfully insert numerous Ukrainian words into the Russian language of the narrative, without complicating the perception of the text: "lady", "boy", "cradle", "scroll", "zhinka", "Kaganets", "rushnik", "kuhol". Colorful household details, juicy and vivid descriptions nature, amazingly picturesque characters made the Sorochinsky Fair one of the favorite works of illustrators.

Nikolai Vasilyevich glorified the fair itself in Sorochintsy. It has become a popular annual event that attracts many tourists. It’s so interesting to take a walk in a noisy crowd, taste dumplings and meet one of Gogol’s characters.

• “Sorochinskaya Fair”, a summary of the chapters of Gogol’s story
• “Portrait”, analysis of Gogol’s story, essay
• “Dead Souls”, analysis of Gogol’s work

I am the most objective viewer in the world. I’m not a film critic, I don’t feel emotions from a movie, I watch it purely mathematically, analyzing every scene. This time I decided to write an analysis of a fresh Russian film. The one that's showing in the cinema right now. Before us “Gogol. Beginning" (Russia, 2017).

Attention! The review is divided into 2 parts due to restrictions on the maximum size of a LiveJournal post. This Chapter 2, "The Red Scroll". The parts are posted simultaneously and should be read sequentially.

Let me emphasize: I went to the cinema to see the film, but the screenshots will have a lopsided screen, since there is no other version online at the moment. To avoid damaging your eyes, I made the illustrations small.

CHAPTER 2. RED SCROLL

Since the film is the first two episodes of the series with some re-editing (I believe), it is split in half, and the second episode has both its own arc and a continuation of the arc established in the first part. In other words, the series is vertical-horizontal.

Episode 25

Purpose: the beginning of the second part

Scene description: Night. Khavronya's hut. Her husband, Cherevik, comes out. But lover Popovich comes. Sovronya feeds him. He starts pestering her. In the midst of the kiss, there is a knock on the door. Popovich hides, and Khavronya finds a red scroll behind the door, a sign of the devil.

She brings the scroll into the house. The candle lights up green, something red flows from it, a red scroll appears floating in the air, then - pig head, and then, in the flurry of shots, Popovich loses consciousness.

Explanation of the scene: Well, this is quite a classic story, almost according to Gogol. Normal, no complaints.

Episode 26

Purpose: start of investigation

Scene description: Binkh and Gogol discuss the case at the police station. Binh is not particularly friendly, but not hostile either (in general, by the way, I like this attitude - that is, he is dumb, but still a professional). Binkh says that Khavronya was stabbed to death, and on the stove there is the same sign as was at the previous crime scenes. Cleaver, as usual, reports information about what the red scroll (the sign of the devil) is. Popovich talks all sorts of crap, and Gogol doubts that he is a murderer. Binkh is not opposed to Gogol’s investigation, but he doesn’t want to help either: he’s not going to single out an artist who could sketch the criminal and victims based on descriptions.

Explanation of the scene: Again, a normal scene. Well, perhaps Tesak’s next lecture is far-fetched. I would have more elegantly entered information about the scroll somehow.

Episode 27

Purpose: introduce Paraska and her conflict with Khavronya (preliminary for now)

Scene description: Paraska (as it turns out later, Cherevik’s daughter from his first marriage) is washing clothes, and Khavronya’s ghost appears to her.

Explanation of the scene: The scene is correct, because the appearance of the ghost will play out later, that is, it is not a passing scene, but a semantic one. Another thing is that the makeup artist needs to tear off both hands for Khavronya’s posthumous makeup. He's just really bad.

Episode 28

Purpose: enter Vakula

Scene description: Gogol and Tesak come to the blacksmith Vakula to persuade him to draw for them (he used to be fond of drawing and has not lost his skills). Gogol asks hesitantly, Vakula refuses. Vakula’s daughter appears, asks her father for earrings as a gift, and leaves. Gogol finds an argument: if you don’t help, then no time will come for your daughter. This convinces Vakula.

Scene complaints: The scene is disgustingly clumsy. Written by a crooked ignoramus, excuse me, sewn with white thread. Given: Vakula refused. So, we need to somehow convince him. And here suddenly Vakula’s daughter appears, asks a question that has nothing to do with anything (“I want earrings”), and Vakula suddenly agrees. It's called "piano in the bushes." It didn’t take any skills or efforts from Gogol to convince the blacksmith to help, his daughter just appeared, and that’s it, dad was convinced.

This is bad because it goes out of line with the story. We haven't seen either Vakula or his daughter before. The girl appeared for only one purpose: to let the screenwriter get out of an unresolved scene.

How to fix: here the solution may be different. For example: we show Vakula and his drawings earlier. Not now, when he was suddenly needed, but back in the first episode. Like there’s a blacksmith over there, he can still draw, he decorated the hut. Then in this series, when we need an artist, the viewer will remember and say: oh, right, now they’ll go to Vakula! Viewer loves guess, likes to feel like he's smart.

Now we need to correctly enter the daughter. When Gogol and Tesak approach, she already should play at Vakula's feet. She doesn't even need words. Let him just play. And when it comes to argument, Gogol just needs to look at her. And everything is clear, you don’t even need to explain anything. This is again the writer's fear of doing a scene with a minimum of words.

There is such a thing Golden Rule, which our scriptwriters do not understand (march to the first year!). A piano in the bushes is when an object that allows you to solve a problem appears immediately after voicing the problem. To avoid this, the item must be entered before problems, and use them as needed. Like a gun hanging on the wall, waiting to be fired. This scene is a pure example of the script's misunderstanding of this rule.

Episode 29

Purpose: show how Gogol began to think deductively

Scene description: Sovereign's funeral service is held in the hut. The entire police horde appears: Binkh, Gogol, Tesak, Yakim. Cherevik says that he was drinking in a tavern with his daughter Paraska’s fiancé. Upon his return, Cherevik found a corpse in the hut.

It turns out that the priest covered up the sign on the stove like the devil. Vakula appears and smears the putty with vinegar. The sign appears. Gogol has a vision and faints. Fainting, he sketches a leaf of a tree. This is a linden tree. "Linden!" - Gogol understands (an extremely clumsy decision).

The house is being searched. Gogol explains to Binkh that the sign was drawn with an error (we are shown the “correct” sign, which we saw in the inn owner’s house), plus they killed an elderly woman, plus indoors, and not in the forest. That is, it is clearly a fake, a fake. Cleaver finds a knife (the crime weapon) and a candle that was burning in the string. Cherevik is guilty.

Explanation of the scene: Here Gogol finally looks good and confident when he explains to Binkhu that it was Cherevik who killed his unfaithful wife. And everything would be fine if not for two comments.

Complaints/recommendations: Firstly, the appearance of Vakula, who - oops! – knows that you can smear the putty with vinegar, but everything else is okay. If we had introduced Vakula earlier and resolved the previous scene normally, there would have been no need to turn the blacksmith into a piano in the bushes in this one. That is, he should not appear exactly at the moment when his knowledge about vinegar was needed. He should come with Gogol and Binkh from the very beginning. The screenwriter makes “grand pianos” for two scenes in a row, ah-ah-ah.

Secondly, the play on words with linden is extremely forced. Gogol must have drawn or written something else that would have pushed him towards deduction (as in the case of the volcano, the cross and the lamb).

Episode 30

Purpose: show Cherevik’s confession and hint that with a candle everything is not so simple

Scene description: Plot. Binkh interrogates and surprisingly beautifully splits Cherevik. He confesses, but asks him to attend Paraska’s wedding before the trial.

Gogol has a new vision when he picks up a candle. Cherevik says that Paraska bought the candle from the gypsies in Poltava.

Gogol privately tells Binkhu that this is not Cherevik, but he brushes it off. Gogol wants to perform an autopsy on Khavronya.

Explanation of the scene/: A normal police interrogation scene, I have no complaints.

31 episodes

Purpose: bring in the doctor

Scene description: Khavronya's body is brought to the barn. They bring drunk Dr. Bomgart up the ass (great scene, I really laughed).

The doctor is a drunk, but a professional. Staggering and drinking vodka, he performs an autopsy. Gogol drinks with him so as not to vomit. Bomgart says that the wound is not serious, and the cause of death is heart failure from fear.

Drunken Gogol and Bomgart leave the barn and part ways.

Explanation of the scene: The doctor's character is the second best after Gouraud. Really good. The scene is funny and enjoyable to watch.

Episode 32

Purpose: God knows, it's a useless scene; Apparently, the screenwriter believed that with her help he would introduce a story with Pushkin

Scene description: Drunk Gogol remembers Lisa and goes to her. Lisa is reading a book by Gogol/Alov on the veranda.

They talk about nothing (and for some reason Gogol is almost sober). Gogol asks if she came to him at night. She says no. Gogol talks about how he took his poem to Pushkin, but he played cards and did not accept Gogol.

Complete crap: The scene is absolutely useless. Empty, boring conversation and a meaningless question about who was in his room at night. Why pointless? The fact is that then, later, he will ask Oksana the same question, and she will answer unequivocally (more precisely, she will transparently hint). There is no further additional information in the same scene. Only the story about Pushkin will play later, but, to be honest, a preliminary story about it is simply not needed - it will work without it.

How to fix: This scene can be removed from the script, and it will not lose anything at all. Actually, all scenes need to be analyzed in this way. If a scene can be thrown out and everything will remain clear, it SHOULD be thrown out. A script is not prose, there are different laws. No information in the scene? Kill the scene.

Episode 33

Purpose: bring Gogol and Paraska together

Scene description: At night, Paraska imagines Khavronya (oh my bastard, that makeup again). Paraska runs out of the hut and runs into the forest. There she is haunted by the ghost of Khavronya and the Demon.

A drunken Gogol walks through the same forest. He sees the ghost of Guro, he bumps into Paraska and falls. Together they hide from the Demon behind a tree. Coming out of the forest, they stumble upon Gritsko, and out of jealousy he hits Gogol in the jaw. He loses consciousness.

Scene explanation/complaint: The meaning is correct, but everything is strained in an extremely primitive way; the screenwriter clearly did not know how to resolve the scene and sewed everything together with white thread.
1) Why does Paraska run from the ghost into the dark forest, and not into the illuminated village?
2) Is it true that you can hide behind a tree from the Demon?
3) How does Gritsko suddenly find them in the dark forest?
How to fix:
1) If the hut is on the edge, then the ghost could get in Paraska’s way and drive her into the forest - but this was not shown.
2) Very weak tension. The demon must go away on its own. A good option- he stumbles upon Paraska and Gogol, looks and - recoils from Gogol! This would be really cool and would further emphasize Gogol’s “dark power”
3) Paraska could scream at the top of her lungs, and Gritsko could come to the screams.

Episode 34

Purpose: theoretically - to explain what was happening to Gogol (but it didn’t work out)

Scene description: Vision of Gogol in an unconscious state. He is in St. Petersburg, goes with his poems to Pushkin, but he plays cards and does not notice him. Gogol leaves the building and sees... Oksana. She is in the middle of the street, all the other passersby line the sidewalks like spectators. She directly says that there is a “dark, hidden world” (THANK YOU, KEP!), and Gogol has a connection with it and can cross the threshold between worlds. Gogol's face temporarily becomes demonic. Apparently, this is Oksana’s promised help: she explains all sorts of things to Gogol. And in particular - that Lisa is bothering him, occupying his heart. Oksana hints that it was she, Oksana, who was with him that day. Gogol demands Oksana to leave Lisa behind, Oksana gets angry, and he wakes up.

Scene complaints: To be honest, this is a very weak scene. It seems to start normally: Oksana in a surreal scene in the middle of St. Petersburg. But what Oksana says to Gogol is some kind of idle talk designed to stretch out the timing. Well, yes, we understand that there is a dark other world. Well, yes, Gogol has abilities that allow you to contact him. Well, yes, he is in love with Lisa. Well, yes, that night the succubus Oksana was with him (although this can, in principle, be said; there is a good phrase in the film about the fact that it doesn’t matter who was with him as long as he felt good). In general, all this was understandable and so. Why this dialogue? So that he pathetically threatens Oksana (the voice acting is blamed, by the way, the intonation is like that of a half-dead mouse)?

What is needed here: The scene itself is needed here, and the surroundings are correct. You just need to write normal dialogue, and not this pathetic semblance. Oksana must tell Gogol something really important. Some piece of information about the Demon. Something so interesting. And not finishing for some reason (whether Gogol interrupts or he wakes up doesn’t matter). So that there is a mystery and so that Gogol has something to think about. Because after the existing scene, he has nothing to think about.

Episode 35

Purpose: wedding transition scene

Scene description: Gogol wakes up in his hotel room with a bruise under his eye (by the way, it’s too small, I could have hammered it home better). Yakim gives him vodka and brine to drink. The blacksmith came and left sketches of the murdered girls. In addition, Guro left behind a chest that had to be given to Gogol, and this chest, but there is no key.

Explanation of the scene/questions: A breakdown of the scene with a neat resolution of a number of technical details (the blacksmith brought portraits, for example).

An absolutely unnecessary detail: Gogol chokes on vodka and spits out the drawings, Yakim dries them out. This doesn’t play anywhere else, just for the sake of two phrases, to stall for time. I would cut it out.

Episode 36

Purpose: explain what's wrong with the candle

Scene description: Wedding of Paraska and Gritsko. Binkh, Gogol, Tesak are also present. Cherevik is sad. The ghost of Khavronya appears (my eyes bleed every time I see this makeup).

Gogol wakes up Doctor Baumgart, who is sleeping at the table. He asks him about the candle, since he is good at chemistry. Bomgart examines the candle and says that it is a gypsy candle: at first it burns normally, and then it burns down to a hallucinogenic composition of belladonna, wormwood and others like them, and then mother, don’t worry. Well, that is, he doesn’t say it so directly, it’s just revealed in the dialogue.

Out of technical interest, Bomgart puts a burning candle under Gogol's nose, and he falls into a trance. In the vision, Gogol is lying on the ground, and suddenly Pushkin is bending over him with two heifers. An absurd dialogue takes place in which Pushkin knows Gogol and even asks what he is working on now. Pushkin is frankly comic. Everyone laughs and turns into pigs (more precisely, people in pig masks).

Bomgart wakes up Gogol. Gogol understands what happened: they slipped a gypsy candle to Khavronya, and after both went crazy, the killer came to them in a pig mask. He understands that this is Paraska - she was the one who knew what the candle was.

Explanation of the scene/claim: If we talk about reality, then it’s a normal scene. Even the fact that he asks Bomgart about the candle right here, at the wedding, is logical: he hasn’t seen him again since he broke up with him drunk.

But trance is really not needed here. At all. Honestly, too much a lot of trannies. Well, it's true. I would like the hero to reach more information with his own mind. He could already have guessed about the pig mask, found it, for example, somewhere (and this is the only meaning of trance). I feel like at this rate, by episode 8, all the action will be happening in a trance.

Episode 37

Purpose: movement towards the junction

Scene description: wedding again. Gogol approaches Cherevik and tells him that he guessed everything: Cherevik took the blame for his daughter. Paraska and Gritsko also hear. The general point is that Cherevik wanted to catch Khavronya with her lover, but he caught his daughter, who killed Khavronya. And covered it. Cherevik replies that he should have killed Khavronya earlier, that he is to blame for letting this reptile into the house. He grabs Gogol and strangles him, while Paraska and Gritsko run away.

Binkh saves Gogol by stunning Cherevik. The chase begins. Paraska and Gritsko are running, but an enchanted tree root is wrapped around Gritsko’s leg, and Paraska runs further with... Gritsko (we understand that with some otherworldly person). Everyone is chasing them - Gogol, Vakula, Binkh, Tesak, Yakim, Bomgart. Later, the squad splits up: the police go in one direction, and Gogol, Yakim, Vakula and Bomgart take the shortest route.

Scene problems: In essence, everything is fine, except, as you might guess, the stupidity in the dialogues. For example, there is this one: “We can catch up with them at the bend,” says Vakula. “Can you guide us?” asks Gogol. “Yes, I know the way,” Vakula answers. People don't talk like that. In a normal performance, this sounds like one phrase from Vakula: “We can catch up with them at the bend, I know shortcut, here". That is, this really should not be a dialogue. The screenwriter’s problem “I can’t do without unnecessary words” again manifests itself in full force.

Episode 38

Purpose: denouement

Scene description: Essentially a continuation of the previous scene. Paraska and the false Gritsko are sailing on a boat. The latter turns into the ghost of Khavronya (gri-i-i-im, s-s-s).

The chase (Binha's group) finds Gritsko entangled in the branches. Havronya brings Paraska to the Demon, who is waiting on the shore.

Gogol, Yakim, Vakula and Bomgart bump into Khavronya. She mocks them, buds into several Khavronias. Bomgart faints. The hawks neigh and lift Yakim, Gogol and Vakula into the air, hit them against the trees, and spin them around. Bomgart wakes up (by the way, here’s a great shot where they seem to be flying over Bomgart’s head, like little devils). He doesn’t understand anything, he lights a candle for light - the same gypsy one. And Khavronya is afraid of her - and immediately retreats.

The candle goes out, she tries to attack again. But Gogol shows his dark self, she gets scared and runs away completely.

Scene explanation/complaint: Again: essentially everything is good, but a number of small details are annoying. For example, when Bomgart faints, for some reason the cameraman shows it from two angles (here he fell, long shot, and here’s a closer shot). For what? What is it about his fall? He just fell and didn't even break his glasses. Well, I fell and that's okay.

In terms of the plot, everything is simple and clear.

Episode 39

Purpose: decoupling resolution

Scene description: Dawn. Everyone has already reached the bend. There is a boat, and Paraska’s corpse is in it. A giant demonic sign is painted on the ground.

Explanation of the scene: Everything is fine, everything is clear, there is nothing to explain here.

Episode 40

Purpose: seed for episode 3, show that Lisa is in danger

Scene description: Gogol's number. In it, besides him, are Yakim, Vakula and Bomgart (sober!). Gogol says that they are the only ones he can trust. They team up to stop the Demon. Oksana watches them from the mirror.

Vakula opens Guro's chest with a master key. Gogol takes hold of the pen and - oh my God, the vision again. He is in the Demon's Cave. The murdered girls were glued to the walls with some kind of resin. And suddenly - a living Lisa, who is hugged by the Demon.

Explanation of the scene/claim: WHY is Oksana in the mirror? What the hell is this pathetic special effect from the time of “Guest from the Future”? She is otherworldly, she knows everything by default, what kind of appearance of Christ is this to the people? The rest of the scene is good, and even the vision is correct and in place.

How to fix: remove Oksana from the scene.

41 episodes

Purpose: and another teaser for the 3rd episode. Very cool!

Scene description: Forest, mountain above Dikanka. Guro approaches the cliff. Just as elegant as ever.

Explanation of the scene: Yeh. For Guro's sake, I'm willing to look further.

All. That's what I think when I watch every movie. Scene by scene. Analyzing all the details. So you can disassemble and good films, and bad.

What do I think about Gogol? That this is a good attempt that can be “finished.” These are not the infernal incorrigible “Defenders,” nor the illogical, senseless “Duelist.” This is really a test of the pen in the field of quality TV series, spoiled by a number of small factors - the weakness of the scriptwriters who wrote individual dialogues, the mistakes of the operator or director, who, I hope, learned from this experience. Therefore, I can give Gogol 6/10. In my opinion, this is a record for a Russian blockbuster film that I have ever directed (arthouse does not count, there are different criteria, and I often rate it highly).

Is it worth watching? Yes, it's worth it, why not. If we’re going to go for something from ours, then it’s for this.

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Enjoy reading!

Mini is boring to live in a house.

Oh, take me away from home,

There's a lot of thunder, thunder,

All the divas are bashing,

The boys are walking!

From an ancient legend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh God, you are my Lord! Why is there no one at this fair! wheels, sklo, tar, tyutyun, belt, tsybulya, kramari of all sorts... so, even if there were rubles in cash and about thirty, then even then I wouldn’t have purchased the fair’s supplies.

From a Little Russian comedy.

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

What kind of guy are you talking about?

There are a few of these in the retinue.

Sivukhu so, mov mash, whip!

Kotlyarevsky. Aeneid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What is this red scroll?

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

Hey, hey, hey, fellow countryman! Yes, you are a master, as I see, of hugging! Damn me if it wasn’t only on the fourth day after the wedding that I learned to hug my late Khveska, and even then thanks to my godfather: having been a friend, I already advised him.

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

Maybe he found out.

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

So, Solopiy Cherevik.

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

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

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

Are you Okhrimov’s son?

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

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

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

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

Even though the people don’t have it,

Yes, if you want zhintsi, then,

So please please...

Kotlyarevsky.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don't fret the skylark,

You are still green;

Don’t scold the little Cossack,

You're so young!

Maloros. song.

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

You should have all the oxen, yes the oxen. For your tribe, everything would be for self-interest only. To trick and deceive a good man.

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

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

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

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

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

Well, what if you lie?

I'll lie - your deposit!

OK! Well, let's shake hands!

From the bida, Roman, go, from now on, just like that, you’re going to annoy me bebekhiv, and you, Mr. Homo, won’t be without trouble.

From Little Russia. comedies.

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

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

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

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

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

Here is your offering, Afanasy Ivanovich! - she said, putting the bowls on the table and coyly buttoning up her jacket, which seemed to be accidentally unbuttoned, - dumplings, wheat dumplings, donuts, tovchenichki!

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, there are miracles here, mospans!

From Little Russia. comedies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What? - Cherevik said in fright.

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

Hey! - one of the guests responded.

You said…

Who grunted that?

God knows why we were alarmed! Nobody here! - Everyone timidly began to look around and began to rummage in the corners. Khivrya was neither alive nor dead. - Oh, you women! women! - she said loudly, “should you become Cossacks and be husbands!” You should have a spindle in your hands and put it behind the comb! Someone, maybe, God forgive me... The bench creaked under someone, and everyone rushed around like half-witted people! - This brought shame to our brave men and made them take heart; the godfather took a sip from the mug and began to tell further: “The Jew died; however, the pigs, on legs as long as stilts, climbed into the windows and instantly revived him with wicker three-pieces, forcing him to dance higher than this bastard. The Jew stood at his feet and confessed everything... But the scrolls could no longer be returned soon. Pana was robbed on the road by some gypsy and sold the scroll to a reseller; she brought her again to the Sorochinsky fair, but since then no one has bought anything from her. The repurchase was surprised and amazed and finally realized: it’s true that the red scroll is to blame for everything. No wonder, when putting it on, she felt that something was pressing on her. Without thinking, without wondering for a long time, I threw it into the fire - the demonic clothes do not burn! Eh, this is a damn gift! She managed to outbid and slipped it into the cart of one guy who took it out to sell the oil. The fool was happy; But no one wants to ask for oil. Eh, unkind hands threw the scroll! He grabbed the ax and chopped it into pieces; lo and behold, one piece climbs into another, and again the whole scroll. Having crossed himself, he grabbed the ax another time, scattered the pieces all over the place and left. Only since then, every year, and just during the fair, a devil with a pig's face walks around the entire square, grunting and picking up pieces of his scroll. Now, they say, only his left sleeve is missing. Since then, people have been disowning that place, and it will be about ten years since there was a fair there. Yes, the assessor now had a hard time yanking about...” The other half of the word froze on the narrator’s lips:

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

...Pidzhav whistle, mov dog,

Mov Cain began to panic;

Tobacco began to flow from my nose.

Kotlyarevsky. Aeneid.

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

More early, and so, and so;

And from behind, to hell with it!

From the common people. fairy tales.

Do you hear, Vlas! - one of the crowd of people sleeping on the street said, standing up, - someone mentioned the devil near us!

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

But he screamed as if he was being crushed!

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

It’s your choice, at least you need to look; turn out the fire! - The other gypsy, grumbling to himself, rose to his feet; He illuminated himself twice with sparks, like lightning, fanned the tinder with his lips, and with a kagan in his hands, an ordinary Little Russian lamp consisting of a broken shard filled with lamb fat, he set off, illuminating the road. “Stop; there’s something lying here: shine here!”

Here several more people accosted them.

What lies there, Vlas?

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

Who's at the top?

Well, that’s what the devil is! - General laughter woke up almost the entire street.

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

Look, brothers! - said another, lifting a shard from a pot, of which only the surviving half was held on Cherevik’s head, “what a hat this good fellow put on himself!” - The increased noise and laughter made our dead, Solopy and his wife, wake up, who, full of past fear, looked for a long time in horror with motionless eyes at the dark faces of the gypsies. Illuminated by a light that burned uncertainly and tremulously, they seemed like a wild host of gnomes, surrounded by heavy underground steam, in the darkness of an impenetrable night.

Tsur tobi, bake tobi, Satan's obsession!

From Little Russia. comedies.

The freshness of the morning blew over the awakened Sorochintsy. Clouds of smoke from all the chimneys rushed towards the emerging sun. The fair was noisy. The sheep bleated, the horses neighed; The cry of the geese and merchant women rushed again throughout the camp - and the terrible rumors about the red scroll, which brought such timidity to the people, in the mysterious hours of twilight, disappeared with the advent of morning. Yawning and stretching, Cherevik dozed at his godfather's place, under a thatched barn, along with oxen, sacks of flour and wheat, and, it seems, had no desire to part with his dreams, when suddenly he heard a voice as familiar as the refuge of laziness - the blessed the stove of his hut or the tavern of a distant relative, located no more than ten steps from his threshold. “Get up, get up!” - the gentle wife rattled in his ear, pulling his hand with all her might. Cherevik, instead of answering, puffed out his cheeks and began to dangle his hands, imitating the beating of drums.

Crazy! - she screamed, dodging the swing of his hands, with which he almost hit her in the face. Cherevik stood up, rubbed his eyes a little and looked around: “Enemy take me, if I, my dear, didn’t imagine your face as a drum on which I was forced to beat out the dawn, like a Muscovite, those same pig faces that, as my godfather says...” - “Enough, enough of your nonsense! Go, quickly bring the mare for sale. Laughter, really, for people: they came to the fair and at least sold a handful of hemp ... "

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

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

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

It’s inopportune that the whim of being clean has come! When did this happen to you? Here is a towel, wipe off your mask... - Then she grabbed something rolled up into a ball and threw it away from her in horror: it was red cuff scrolls!

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

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

Here our Cherevik’s philosophizing was interrupted by a thick and harsh voice. A tall gypsy stood in front of him: “What are you selling, good man?” The seller paused, looked at him from head to toe and said with a calm look, without stopping and without letting go of the reins:

You can see for yourself what I'm selling!

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

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

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

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

For my life, I have lived there.

Proverb.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You will inevitably run when the satanic clothes...

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

Catch! catch him! - a cry was heard from the other end of the street, - here he is, here is the fugitive! - and the godfather appeared in the eyes of our Cherevik, in the most pitiful position, with his hands folded back, led by several lads. “Miracles started! - said one of them, - you should listen to what this swindler is telling, who only has to look in the face to see the thief, when they began to ask what he was running away from, like a half-wit. He reached into his pocket, he says, to sniff some tobacco and, instead of a tavlinka, pulled out a piece of the damn scroll, from which a red fire flared up, and God bless his legs!

Hey, hey! Yes, these are both birds from the same nest! Knit them both together!

“Why, kind people, have I done something wrong?

Why are you glaring? - said our gentleman,

“Why are you so concerned about me?

For what, for what? - saying, letting go of the patioki,

Patios of deep tears, clinging to their sides.

Artemovsky-Gulak. Pan that dog.

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

And you too, godfather! So that my hands and feet would dry out if I ever stole anything, except dumplings with sour cream from my mother, and even then when I was ten years old.

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

“Woe to us, poor orphans!” Here both godfathers began to sob bitterly. “What’s wrong with you, Solopy? - said Gritsko, who entered at that time. “Who tied you up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

How! was the mare found?

Found!

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

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

Yours! yours!

Don't fight, matinko, don't fight,

Put on the red chobits,

Trample the enemies

Pid legs;

Let your nods be

They rattled!

So be your enemies

Wedding song.

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

Green periwinkle,

Stay low

And you, soapy, black-browed,

Get close!

Green periwinkle,

Go even lower!

And you, soapy, black-browed,

Get closer!

Cherevik looked at the door at that time and, seeing his daughter dancing in front of the mirror, stopped. He looked for a long time, laughing at the unprecedented whim of the girl, who, lost in thought, did not seem to notice anything; but when he heard the familiar sounds of the song, the veins in him began to stir; proudly putting his hands on his hips, he stepped forward and began to squat, forgetting about all his affairs. The loud laughter of the godfather made both of them shudder. “It’s good, dad and daughter started a wedding here themselves! Go quickly: the groom has come!” At the last word, Paraska flashed brighter than the scarlet ribbon tying her head, and her careless father remembered why he had come. “Well, daughter! let's go quickly! "Heaved with joy that I sold the mare, she ran," he said, fearfully looking around, "she ran to buy herself planks and sackcloth of all sorts, so everything needs to be finished before she arrives!" Before she had time to cross the threshold of the hut, she felt herself in the arms of a young man in a white scroll, who was waiting for her on the street with a bunch of people. "God bless! - Cherevik said, folding their hands. “Let them live like wreaths!” Then a noise was heard among the people: “I would rather crack than let this happen!” - shouted the cohabitant Solopia, who, however, was pushed away with laughter by the crowd of people. “Don’t be mad, don’t be mad, little girl! - Cherevik said coolly, seeing that a pair of hefty gypsies had taken possession of her hands, “what’s done is done; I don’t like change!” - "No! No! this won’t happen!” - Khivrya shouted, but no one listened to her; several couples surrounded new pair and formed an impenetrable, dancing wall around her.

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

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

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

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Year of writing:

1829

Reading time:

Description of the work:

The story Sorochinskaya Fair was written in 1829 by Nikolai Gogol, first published in 1831. This story is part of the collection “Evenings on a Farm near Dikanka,” which became the writer’s first book. The action in the story Sorochinskaya Fair develops in the homeland of Nikolai Gogol in the village of Velikie Sorochintsy, Poltava region.

It is interesting that the manuscript of the story Sorochinskaya Fair itself consists of four separate sheets of gray paper (16 pages in total), which are completely filled with autographic text in ink. And the title and date at the end are marked in pencil by someone else.

Read below summary story Sorochinskaya Fair.

Descriptions of intoxicating luxuries summer day This story begins in Little Russia. Among the beauty of the August afternoon, carts filled with goods and people on foot move to the fair in the town of Sorochinets. Behind one of the carts, loaded not only with hemp and sacks of wheat (for in addition, a black-browed maiden and her evil stepmother are sitting here), the owner, Solopy Cherevik, wanders exhausted by the heat. Having barely entered the bridge spanning Psel, the cart attracts the attention of the local boys, and one of them, “dressed more dapper than the others,” admiring the beauty of Paraskaya, starts a squabble with his evil-tongued stepmother. However, having arrived at the godfather, the Cossack Tsybula, the travelers forget this adventure for a while, and Cherevik and his daughter soon go to the fair. Here, jostling between the carts, he learns that the fair has been assigned a “cursed place”, they are afraid of the appearance of a red scroll, and there were sure signs of this. But no matter how concerned Cherevik is with the fate of his wheat, the sight of Paraska hugging his old boy returns him to his “former carelessness.” However, a resourceful young man, calling himself Golopupenkov’s son and taking advantage of his long-standing friendship, leads Cherevik into the tent, and after several drinks the wedding is already agreed upon. However, upon Cherevik’s return home, his formidable wife does not approve of this turn of events, and Cherevik backs down. A certain gypsy, trading oxen with the saddened Gritsko, not entirely disinterestedly undertakes to help him.

Soon, “a strange incident happened at the fair”: a red scroll appeared, and many saw it. That is why Cherevik with his godfather and daughter, who had previously planned to spend the night under the carts, hastily return home in the company of frightened guests, and Khavronya Nikiforovna, his formidable partner, who until now delighted the priest Afanasy Ivanovich with her hospitality, is forced to hide him on boards right under the ceiling among all the household utensils and sit at the common table on tenterhooks. At Cherevik’s request, the godfather tells the story of the red scroll - how the devil was expelled from hell for some offense, how he drank out of grief, nestled in a barn under the mountain, drank everything he had in a tavern, and pawned his red scroll, threatening to come for her in a year. The greedy shaver forgot about the deadline and sold a prominent scroll to some passing gentleman, and when the devil appeared, he pretended that he had never seen him before. The devil left, but the tavern's evening prayer was interrupted by pigs' snouts suddenly appearing in all the windows. Terrible pigs, “on legs as long as stilts,” treated him with whips until he admitted to deception. However, the scrolls could not be returned: the gentleman robbed the gypsies on the way, sold the scroll to a reseller, and she again brought it to the Sorochinsky fair, but the trade did not work out for her. Realizing that it was the scroll, she threw it into the fire, but the scroll did not burn, and the outbid slipped the “damn gift” onto someone else’s cart. The new owner got rid of the scroll only when, having crossed himself, he cut it into pieces, scattered it around and left. But from then on, every year during the fair, the devil “with the face of a pig” looks for pieces of his scroll, and now only his left sleeve is missing. At this point in the story, which was repeatedly interrupted by strange sounds, a window broke, “and a terrible pig’s face stuck out.”

Everything in the hut was confused: Popovich fell “with thunder and a crash,” the godfather crawled under his wife’s hem, and Cherevik, grabbing a pot instead of a hat, rushed out and soon fell exhausted in the middle of the road. In the morning, the fair, although full of terrible rumors about the red scroll, is still noisy, and Cherevik, who has already come across the red cuff of the scroll in the morning, grumblingly leads the mare to be sold. But, noticing that a piece of red sleeve was tied to the bridle and rushing to run in horror, Cherevik, suddenly captured by the lads, is accused of stealing his own mare and, together with the godfather who turned up, who fled from the devilry he had imagined, is tied up and thrown onto the straw in the barn. Here both godfathers, mourning their share, are found by Golopupenkov’s son. Having reprimanded Paraska to himself, he frees the slaves and sends Solopius home, where not only the miraculously found mare, but also the buyers of her and the wheat await him. And although the frantic stepmother tries to interfere with the cheerful wedding, soon everyone is dancing, and even the decrepit old women, who, however, are carried away not by the general joy, but only by the intoxication.

Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol

SOROCHINSKAYA FAIR

Mini is boring to live in a house.
Oh, take me away from home,
There's a lot of thunder, thunder,
All the divas are bashing,
The boys are walking!

From an ancient legend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh God, you are my Lord! Why is there no one at this fair! wheels, sklo, tar, tyutyun, belt, tsybulya, kramari of all sorts... so, even if there were rubles in cash and about thirty, then even then I wouldn’t have purchased the fair’s supplies.

From a Little Russian comedy.