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- Николай Гоголь
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With
that
Chichikov
bid
Selifan
quicken
his
pace
,
and
concluded
:
"
After
all
,
it
is
as
well
that
I
encountered
the
procession
,
for
they
say
that
to
meet
a
funeral
is
lucky
.
"
Presently
the
britchka
turned
into
some
less
frequented
streets
,
lines
of
wooden
fencing
of
the
kind
which
mark
the
outskirts
of
a
town
began
to
file
by
,
the
cobblestones
came
to
an
end
,
the
macadam
of
the
highroad
succeeded
to
them
,
and
once
more
there
began
on
either
side
of
the
turnpike
a
procession
of
verst
stones
,
road
menders
,
and
grey
villages
;
inns
with
samovars
and
peasant
women
and
landlords
who
came
running
out
of
yards
with
seivefuls
of
oats
;
pedestrians
in
worn
shoes
which
,
it
might
be
,
had
covered
eight
hundred
versts
;
little
towns
,
bright
with
booths
for
the
sale
of
flour
in
barrels
,
boots
,
small
loaves
,
and
other
trifles
;
heaps
of
slag
;
much
repaired
bridges
;
expanses
of
field
to
right
and
to
left
;
stout
landowners
;
a
mounted
soldier
bearing
a
green
,
iron-clamped
box
inscribed
:
"
The
--
th
Battery
of
Artillery
"
;
long
strips
of
freshly-tilled
earth
which
gleamed
green
,
yellow
,
and
black
on
the
face
of
the
countryside
.
With
it
mingled
long-drawn
singing
,
glimpses
of
elm-tops
amid
mist
,
the
far-off
notes
of
bells
,
endless
clouds
of
rocks
,
and
the
illimitable
line
of
the
horizon
.
Ah
,
Russia
,
Russia
,
from
my
beautiful
home
in
a
strange
land
I
can
still
see
you
!
In
you
everything
is
poor
and
disordered
and
unhomely
;
in
you
the
eye
is
neither
cheered
nor
dismayed
by
temerities
of
nature
which
a
yet
more
temerarious
art
has
conquered
;
in
you
one
beholds
no
cities
with
lofty
,
many-windowed
mansions
,
lofty
as
crags
,
no
picturesque
trees
,
no
ivy-clad
ruins
,
no
waterfalls
with
their
everlasting
spray
and
roar
,
no
beetling
precipices
which
confuse
the
brain
with
their
stony
immensity
,
no
vistas
of
vines
and
ivy
and
millions
of
wild
roses
and
ageless
lines
of
blue
hills
which
look
almost
unreal
against
the
clear
,
silvery
background
of
the
sky
.
In
you
everything
is
flat
and
open
;
your
towns
project
like
points
or
signals
from
smooth
levels
of
plain
,
and
nothing
whatsoever
enchants
or
deludes
the
eye
.
Yet
what
secret
,
what
invincible
force
draws
me
to
you
?
Why
does
there
ceaselessly
echo
and
re-echo
in
my
ears
the
sad
song
which
hovers
throughout
the
length
and
the
breadth
of
your
borders
?
What
is
the
burden
of
that
song
?
Why
does
it
wail
and
sob
and
catch
at
my
heart
?
What
say
the
notes
which
thus
painfully
caress
and
embrace
my
soul
,
and
flit
,
uttering
their
lamentations
,
around
me
?
What
is
it
you
seek
of
me
,
O
Russia
?
What
is
the
hidden
bond
which
subsists
between
us
?
Why
do
you
regard
me
as
you
do
?
Why
does
everything
within
you
turn
upon
me
eyes
full
of
yearning
?
Even
at
this
moment
,
as
I
stand
dumbly
,
fixedly
,
perplexedly
contemplating
your
vastness
,
a
menacing
cloud
,
charged
with
gathering
rain
,
seems
to
overshadow
my
head
.
What
is
it
that
your
boundless
expanses
presage
?
Do
they
not
presage
that
one
day
there
will
arise
in
you
ideas
as
boundless
as
yourself
?
Do
they
not
presage
that
one
day
you
too
will
know
no
limits
?
Do
they
not
presage
that
one
day
,
when
again
you
shall
have
room
for
their
exploits
,
there
will
spring
to
life
the
heroes
of
old
?
How
the
power
of
your
immensity
enfolds
me
,
and
reverberates
through
all
my
being
with
a
wild
,
strange
spell
,
and
flashes
in
my
eyes
with
an
almost
supernatural
radiance
!
Yes
,
a
strange
,
brilliant
,
unearthly
vista
indeed
do
you
disclose
,
O
Russia
,
country
of
mine
!
"
Stop
,
stop
,
you
fool
!
"
shouted
Chichikov
to
Selifan
;
and
even
as
he
spoke
a
troika
,
bound
on
Government
business
,
came
chattering
by
,
and
disappeared
in
a
cloud
of
dust
.
To
Chichikov
's
curses
at
Selifan
for
not
having
drawn
out
of
the
way
with
more
alacrity
a
rural
constable
with
moustaches
of
the
length
of
an
arshin
added
his
quota
.
What
a
curious
and
attractive
,
yet
also
what
an
unreal
,
fascination
the
term
"
highway
"
connotes
!
And
how
interesting
for
its
own
sake
is
a
highway
!
Should
the
day
be
a
fine
one
(
though
chilly
)
in
mellowing
autumn
,
press
closer
your
travelling
cloak
,
and
draw
down
your
cap
over
your
ears
,
and
snuggle
cosily
,
comfortably
into
a
corner
of
the
britchka
before
a
last
shiver
shall
course
through
your
limbs
,
and
the
ensuing
warmth
shall
put
to
flight
the
autumnal
cold
and
damp
.
As
the
horses
gallop
on
their
way
,
how
delightfully
will
drowsiness
come
stealing
upon
you
,
and
make
your
eyelids
droop
!
For
a
while
,
through
your
somnolence
,
you
will
continue
to
hear
the
hard
breathing
of
the
team
and
the
rumbling
of
the
wheels
;
but
at
length
,
sinking
back
into
your
corner
,
you
will
relapse
into
the
stage
of
snoring
.
And
when
you
awake
--
behold
!
you
will
find
that
five
stages
have
slipped
away
,
and
that
the
moon
is
shining
,
and
that
you
have
reached
a
strange
town
of
churches
and
old
wooden
cupolas
and
blackened
spires
and
white
,
half-timbered
houses
!
And
as
the
moonlight
glints
hither
and
thither
,
almost
you
will
believe
that
the
walls
and
the
streets
and
the
pavements
of
the
place
are
spread
with
sheets
--
sheets
shot
with
coal-black
shadows
which
make
the
wooden
roofs
look
all
the
brighter
under
the
slanting
beams
of
the
pale
luminary
.
Nowhere
is
a
soul
to
be
seen
,
for
every
one
is
plunged
in
slumber
.
Yet
no
.
In
a
solitary
window
a
light
is
flickering
where
some
good
burgher
is
mending
his
boots
,
or
a
baker
drawing
a
batch
of
dough
.
O
night
and
powers
of
heaven
,
how
perfect
is
the
blackness
of
your
infinite
vault
--
how
lofty
,
how
remote
its
inaccessible
depths
where
it
lies
spread
in
an
intangible
,
yet
audible
,
silence
!
Freshly
does
the
lulling
breath
of
night
blow
in
your
face
,
until
once
more
you
relapse
into
snoring
oblivion
,
and
your
poor
neighbour
turns
angrily
in
his
corner
as
he
begins
to
be
conscious
of
your
weight
.
Then
again
you
awake
,
but
this
time
to
find
yourself
confronted
with
only
fields
and
steppes
.
Everywhere
in
the
ascendant
is
the
desolation
of
space
.
But
suddenly
the
ciphers
on
a
verst
stone
leap
to
the
eye
!
Morning
is
rising
,
and
on
the
chill
,
gradually
paling
line
of
the
horizon
you
can
see
gleaming
a
faint
gold
streak
.
The
wind
freshens
and
grows
keener
,
and
you
snuggle
closer
in
your
cloak
;
yet
how
glorious
is
that
freshness
,
and
how
marvellous
the
sleep
in
which
once
again
you
become
enfolded
!
A
jolt
!
--
and
for
the
last
time
you
return
to
consciousness
.
By
now
the
sun
is
high
in
the
heavens
,
and
you
hear
a
voice
cry
"
gently
,
gently
!
"
as
a
farm
waggon
issues
from
a
by-road
.
Below
,
enclosed
within
an
ample
dike
,
stretches
a
sheet
of
water
which
glistens
like
copper
in
the
sunlight
.
Beyond
,
on
the
side
of
a
slope
,
lie
some
scattered
peasants
'
huts
,
a
manor
house
,
and
,
flanking
the
latter
,
a
village
church
with
its
cross
flashing
like
a
star
.
There
also
comes
wafted
to
your
ear
the
sound
of
peasants
'
laughter
,
while
in
your
inner
man
you
are
becoming
conscious
of
an
appetite
which
is
not
to
be
withstood
.
Oh
long-drawn
highway
,
how
excellent
you
are
!
How
often
have
I
in
weariness
and
despondency
set
forth
upon
your
length
,
and
found
in
you
salvation
and
rest
!
How
often
,
as
I
followed
your
leading
,
have
I
been
visited
with
wonderful
thoughts
and
poetic
dreams
and
curious
,
wild
impressions
!
