Here Gogol describes the nature of Ukraine and how traders go to the Sorochinsky fair. Our hero Solopiy Cherevik is heading there with his beautiful daughter named Paraska. That is why the hat is removed in front of their cart. But their whole appearance is spoiled by their wife Solopia Khavronya. She's such a grumpy woman, she keeps him under her thumb. They are going to the fair to sell wheat and an old mare. When they pass the river, they hear the shout of one of the boys, he really admires the beauty of his daughter. But he called his stepmother “a hundred-year-old witch.” She scolds him, and in response he throws a lump of dirt at her.
Chapter 2
They stopped to visit their godfather. Solopy and his daughter went to the fair to find where they could sell their goods. But suddenly Paraska is pulled back by the same handsome man they saw on the bridge and begins to talk to her about love.
Chapter 3
Then Solopiy heard a conversation between two men about wheat. They said that you shouldn’t expect good trade, since there is an evil spirit in the barn on the edge of the fair, and when people pass by it, they are even afraid to look, God forbid they ever see the red scroll. But he didn’t have time to listen to the end, as he was distracted by his daughter, who was already hugging the boy. Of course, at first he was eager to interrupt this, but when he recognized him as a friend’s son, he did not do this. Meanwhile, the boy invited him to the tavern. There Solopy saw him drain a mug of vodka, and he immediately developed respect for him. And when he drank himself, he proposed to the boy to marry Paraska.
Chapter 4
When the father and daughter return home, Solopiy tells his wife that he has found a nice groom for Paraske. But when Khavronya finds out that this is the same impudent person who threw dirt at her, she almost tore out all of Solopia’s hair. Then he simply says that he will have to look for another groom.
Chapter 5
The wife still forces Solopy to refuse the guy. And he sits sadly at the fair. But then he meets a gypsy who promises to help him, but he must sell all the oxen cheaper. At first Gritsko doubts, looking at him and seeing his cunning and sarcastic face, he agrees.
Chapter 6
While her husband and godfather are guarding the carts with goods, Khavronya receives the popovich. She treats him to dumplings and donuts. She pretends to be embarrassed by his advances. But then there is a knock on the door and she says that a lot of people have come, so he needs to hide. He hides it on boards that were made as shelves.
Chapter 7
Solopy and Kum returned because a rumor about a red scroll spread through the fair. Several acquaintances asked to spend the night with Tsybula. They drink. And Cherevik asks his godfather to tell him about this very scroll. Well, one day the devil sat in the tavern and drank it all away, he left his scroll to the owner, but said that the year would come back. And the owner sold it to the lord, and the gypsy stole it from the lord, who also sold it. The devil has returned, but the scrolls are gone. The reseller who bought it stopped trading, then she slipped the scroll to the man. So his trade stopped. So he took and cut the scroll and scattered it around. Now the devil appears at the fair every year and looks for his scroll.
But then his story is interrupted, because a pig appeared at the window.
Chapter 8
Panic and screams began. Popovich fell off the shelves. His appearance further intensifies the panic. Cherevik put on a pot instead of a hat and began shouting: “Damn, damn!” and jumped out of the hut. He rushed to run wherever his eyes were looking, only to feel that something heavy was pressing on him...
Chapter 9
With their screams they woke up all the gypsies who were sleeping on the carts. They went to see who was screaming like that and remembering the devil. Solopius was lying on the Earth, with a broken pot on his head, and his wife lying on top of him. The gypsies laughed at them for a very long time, and when they came to their senses, they began to stare at those around them.
Chapter 10
The next morning, Khavronya sends her husband to sell the mare. She hands him a towel so he can have his face alone and notices that she has a red pig in her hands. She throws it away. And Cherevik, who was simply trembling with fear, took the mare to the fair. A gypsy approaches him and asks what he is selling. Solopiy seemed to pull the horse's bridle, but discovered that it was missing, and a red piece of cloth was tied in its place. He dropped everything and started running away.
Chapter 11
Solopy was caught in an alley by some guys who began accusing him of stealing a horse. But he tries to prove the opposite, but no one believes him, and his story about the red scroll only makes his situation even more difficult. Here the guys lead a tied up godfather towards him. He wanted to take the cross out of his pocket, but he didn’t find it there, but found only a red scroll there, and he started to run. Kum was also accused of spreading panic.
Chapter 12
Solopy and his godfather are connected. They talk to each other about injustice. But Gritsko approaches them and says that he can master them on one condition, if they get married to Paraska today. Cherevik, of course, agrees. He ties them up and sends them home. Buyers are already waiting there. A gypsy approaches Gritsko and asks if everything was done correctly. He says that everything went well and he hands the water to Vlas.
Chapter 13
Paraska is alone at home, admiring herself in front of the mirror and remembering Gritsko. She puts on outfits one after another, dances and sings about love. Her answer comes into the hut and also starts dancing. And the godfather says that the groom has arrived and the wedding is beginning. Here Khavronya takes it, waves his arms, but is no longer able to interfere. A magnificent celebration begins. But the author notes that any feast and fun ends someday.
No matter how Khivrya resisted, truth and justice still prevailed. With the appearance of the devil, the author indicates the strength of society and throughout the entire work he ridicules them and their vices.
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 cloud-covered oaks stand, and the dazzling blows of the sun's rays light up whole picturesque masses of leaves, casting over others a shadow dark as night, along which gold flecks only in a strong wind. Emeralds, topazes, and jahonts of ethereal insects rain down over the colorful vegetable gardens, overshadowed by stately sunflowers. Gray haystacks and golden sheaves of bread are encamped in the field and wander through its immensity. Wide branches of cherries, plums, apple trees, and pears bent over from the weight of fruit; the sky, its pure mirror - the river in green, proudly raised frames... how full of voluptuousness and bliss the Little Russian summer is!
One of the days of hot August shone with such luxury one thousand eight hundred... eight hundred... Yes, thirty years ago, when the road, about ten miles to the town of Sorochinets, was seething with people hurrying from all the surrounding and distant farmsteads to the fair. In the morning, there was still an endless line of Chumaks with salt and fish. The mountains of pots, wrapped in hay, moved slowly, seemingly bored by their confinement and darkness; in some places only some brightly painted bowl or makitra showed boastfully from a fence perched high on a cart and attracted the tender glances of admirers of luxury. Many passers-by looked with envy at the tall potter, the owner of these jewels, who walked with slow steps behind his wares, carefully wrapping his clay dandies and coquettes in hated hay.
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, 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 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.
The pretty young girl Paraska, at the age of eighteen, goes for the first time with her father Solopy, Cherevik and stepmother Khavronya (Khivrey) to the fair in Sorochintsy. She is so good that all the girls she meets respectfully take off their hats to her gray-haired father. But the stepmother evokes ridicule - her red face is so angry and even wild. She responds to ridicule with sophisticated Ukrainian swearing - for which she receives a lump of dirt in her cap from a tanned young man in a white scroll. And my stepdaughter liked the guy so much...
At the fair, he finds a girl and immediately starts talking about marriage. The father doesn’t mind, especially since his new son-in-law immediately takes him to treat himself under the “yatka”, where there is a whole flotilla of bottles.
However, the girl’s stepmother makes a scandal for Solopia: with a guy like that who “covered” her face with manure, there will be no wedding!
Gritsko is very sad. A roguish gypsy pesters him: if Gritsko gives him the oxen “for twenty,” the gypsy and his comrades will arrange a wedding for him with Paraska. The gypsy's idea is to take advantage of rumors that there is rampant evil spirits at the site of the fair. Everyone is scared of the “red scroll”!
There is a legend that the devil, who was once kicked out of the inferno, became addicted to drink and instead of payment, he pawned his red scroll to the shinkar. He promised to return for her in a year. But the scroll was made of such luxurious material that the shaver could not stand it and sold it. For the scroll, devils appeared in the form of pigs on stilts and flogged the shinkar with leather whips. And since then the scroll appears here and there - and brings misfortune to everyone. Even if you cut it into pieces, they will slide off. And again the scroll begins to harm. Now the sleeve of the scroll is missing - and the devil just can’t calm down.
Khivrya hosts Popovich in the absence of her husband. He treats him, flirts - and suddenly: the sound of cart wheels - the husband has arrived. Popovich climbs into the attic in fear.
The guests begin to help themselves, and a bottle of fusel is passed around in a circle. Someone present tells the story about the red scroll. Suddenly a pig's grunt is heard - and a terrible pig's face sticks out of the window. The guests jumped up, the priest fell from the attic... Everyone ran away shouting: “Damn! Crap!"
The next day, Solopiy Cherevik took his old mare to sell, looked back - and instead of the mare, the sleeve from the “red scroll” was hanging on the straps. Moreover, he and his godfather were taken to jail for theft. Why did they run as fast as they could? Are you scared of the devil? An honest man will not run! It turns out that Solopy stole his own mare.
Everything that is happening is a gypsy prank. Gritsko is a hero and frees Cherevik in exchange for a promise to marry Paraska to him. Gritsko and his fellow gypsies found a buyer for Cherevik’s old mare and wheat.
Khivrya received the money and rushed off to buy new clothes for herself. While she was running for new clothes, they had already arranged a fun wedding with music and dancing. Khivrya, who returned, was unable to break through the crowd of celebrations. She failed to prevent her stepdaughter's happiness...
But the laughter and songs died away.
“Isn’t it so 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 their stormy and free youth, one by one, one after another, get lost around the world and finally leave behind one of their old brothers? Bored left! And the heart becomes heavy and sad, and there is nothing to help it.”
Mini is boring to live in a house.
Oh, take me away from home,
There's a lot of thunder, thunder,
Damn all the wonders,
The boys are walking!
From an ancient legend.
How delightful, how luxurious a summer day in Little Russia! How languidly hot are those hours when midday shines in silence and heat, and the blue, immeasurable ocean, bent over the earth like a voluptuous dome, seems to have fallen asleep, completely drowned in bliss, hugging and squeezing the beautiful one in its airy embrace! There's not a cloud on it. No speech in the field. Everything seemed to have died; only above, in the heavenly depths, a lark trembles, and silver songs fly along the airy steps to the loving land, and occasionally the cry of a seagull or the ringing voice of a quail echoes in the steppe. Lazily and thoughtlessly, as if walking without a goal, the cloud-covered oaks stand, and the dazzling blows of the sun's rays light up whole picturesque masses of leaves, casting over others a shadow dark as night, along which gold flecks only in a strong wind. Emeralds, topazes, and jahonts of ethereal insects rain down over the colorful vegetable gardens, overshadowed by stately sunflowers. Gray haystacks and golden sheaves of bread are encamped in the field and wander through its immensity. Wide branches of cherries, plums, apple trees, and pears bent over from the weight of fruit; the sky, its pure mirror - the river in green, proudly raised frames... how full of voluptuousness and bliss the Little Russian summer is!
One of the 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.
Tales in alphabetical order
Lonely to the side was a cart, heaped with sacks, hemp, linen and various household luggage, dragged along by exhausted oxen, followed by its owner, in a clean linen shirt and soiled linen trousers. With a lazy hand he wiped away the sweat that was rolling down from his dark face and even dripping from his long mustache, powdered by that inexorable hairdresser who, without being called, appears to both the beauty and the ugly, and has been forcibly powdering the entire human race for several thousand years. Next to him walked a mare tied to a cart, whose humble appearance revealed her advanced years. Many people we met, especially young guys, grabbed their hats when they caught up with our man. However, it was not his gray mustache and his unimportant gait that forced him to do this; you only had to raise your eyes a little upward to see the reason for such respect: sitting on the cart was a pretty daughter with a round face, with black eyebrows, even arches rising above her light brown eyes, with carelessly smiling pink lips, with red and blue ribbons tied on her head, which , together with long braids and a bunch of wild flowers, a rich crown rested on her charming head. Everything seemed to occupy her; everything was wonderful and new to her... and her pretty eyes constantly ran from one object to another. How not to get scattered! first time at the fair! 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, which, after a long service, was now being dragged for sale. The restless wife... But we forgot that she too was sitting at the height of the cart in an elegant green woolen jacket, on which, as if on ermine fur, there were red tails sewn on, in a rich plakhta, colorful as a chessboard, and in a chintz a colored eyeliner that gave some special importance to her red, plump face, across which something so unpleasant, so wild slipped, that everyone immediately hurried to transfer their anxious gaze to the cheerful face of their daughter.
Psel has already begun to open to the eyes of our travelers; From a distance there was already a breath of coolness, which seemed more noticeable after the languid, destructive heat. Through the dark and light green leaves of sedge, birch and poplar carelessly scattered across the meadow, fiery sparks, dressed in cold, sparkled, and the beautiful river brilliantly exposed its silver chest, onto which the green curls of the trees luxuriously fell. Willful, as she is in those ecstatic hours, when the faithful mirror so enviably contains her forehead, full of pride and dazzling shine, lily shoulders and marble neck, overshadowed by a dark wave that has fallen from her fair-haired head, when with contempt she throws away only jewelry to replace they were different, and there was no end to her whims - she changed her surroundings almost every year, choosing a new path for herself and surrounding herself with new, varied landscapes. Rows of mills lifted their wide waves onto heavy wheels and threw them powerfully, breaking them into splashes, sprinkling dust and filling the surrounding area with noise. The cart with the passengers we knew drove onto the bridge at that time, and the river in all its beauty and grandeur, like solid glass, spread out in front of them. The sky, green and blue forests, people, carts with pots, mills - everything overturned, stood and walked upside down, without falling into the blue, beautiful abyss. Our beauty became lost in thought, looking at the splendor of the view, and even forgot to peel her sunflower, which she had been regularly doing throughout the entire journey, when suddenly the words: “Oh, what a maiden!” struck her ears. Looking around, she saw a crowd of boys standing on the bridge, one of whom, dressed more dapper than the others, in a white scroll and a gray hat of Reshetilovsky smushkas, propped up on his sides, valiantly glanced at the passers-by. The beauty could not help but notice his tanned, but full of pleasant face and fiery eyes, which seemed to strive to see right through her, and lowered her eyes at the thought that perhaps the spoken word belonged to him. “Nice maiden!” continued the boy in the white scroll, not taking his eyes off her. “I would give my entire household to kiss her. But the devil sits in front!” Laughter arose from all sides; but the dressed-up cohabitant of the slowly advancing husband did not much appreciate such a greeting: her red cheeks turned fiery, and the crackle of choice words rained down on the head of the riotous young man:
“May you choke, you worthless barge hauler!” May your father get hit in the head with a pot! May he slip on the ice, damned Antichrist! May the devil burn his beard in the next world!”
“Look, how he swears!” said the boy, widening his eyes at her, as if puzzled by such a strong volley of unexpected greetings: “and her tongue, a hundred-year-old witch, won’t hurt to utter these words.”
“A hundred years old!” the elderly beauty picked up. "Wicked man!" go wash yourself first! Worthless tomboy! I haven’t seen your mother, but I know it’s rubbish! and the father is rubbish! and your aunt is rubbish! Centennial! that he still has milk on his lips...” Then the cart began to descend from the bridge, and it was no longer possible to hear the last words; but the boy didn’t seem to want to end it with this: without thinking for long, he grabbed a lump of dirt and threw it after her. The blow was more successful than one might have expected: the entire new calico otchik was splashed with mud, and the laughter of the riotous rakes doubled with renewed vigor. The portly dandy seethed with anger; but the cart had driven quite far at that time, and her revenge turned on her innocent stepdaughter and her slow partner, who, having long been accustomed to such phenomena, maintained stubborn silence and calmly accepted the rebellious speeches of her angry wife. However, despite this, her tireless tongue crackled and dangled in her mouth until they arrived in the suburbs to an old friend and godfather, the Cossack Tsybula. The meeting with the godfathers, who had not seen each other for a long time, temporarily drove this unpleasant incident out of our heads, forcing our travelers to talk about the fair and rest a little after the long journey.
Oh my God, my goodness! Why isn’t there at this fair! wheels, sklo, tar, tyutyun, belt, tsybulya, kramari of all sorts... so, even if there were rubles in the kishen and with thirty, then even then I would not have purchased the goods of the fair.
From a Little Russian comedy.
You probably have heard a distant waterfall lying somewhere, when the alarmed surroundings are full of roar, and a chaos of wonderful, unclear sounds rushes like a whirlwind in front of you. Isn’t it true, isn’t it the same feelings that will instantly seize you in the whirlwind of a rural fair, when all the people merge into one huge monster and move their whole body in the square and along the narrow streets, screaming, cackling, thundering? Noise, swearing, mooing, bleating, roaring - everything merges into one discordant conversation. Oxen, sacks, hay, gypsies, pots, women, gingerbread, hats - everything is bright, colorful, discordant; rushes about in heaps and scurries before your eyes. Discordant speeches drown each other, and not a single word can be snatched out or saved from this flood; not a single cry will be spoken clearly. Only the clapping of traders' hands can be heard from all sides of the fair. The cart breaks, the iron clinks, the boards thrown to the ground rattle, and the dizzy one wonders where to turn. Our visiting man with his black-browed daughter had been jostling among the people for a long time. He approached one cart, felt another, applied to the prices; and meanwhile his thoughts were tossing and turning non-stop about the ten sacks of wheat and the old mare he had brought for sale. It was noticeable from his daughter’s face that she was not too pleased to rub around the carts with flour and wheat. She would like to go where red ribbons, tin earrings, copper crosses and ducats are elegantly hung under the linen yats. But even here, however, she found many objects for herself to observe: she was extremely amused by how the gypsy and the peasant beat each other on the hands, crying out in pain; how a drunken Jew gave jelly to a woman; how quarreling buyers exchanged curses and crayfish; like a Muscovite, stroking his goat beard with one hand, with the other... But then she felt someone tug her by the embroidered sleeve of her shirt. She looked around - and the boy, in a white scroll, with bright eyes, stood in front of her. Her veins trembled, and her heart beat as never before, with no joy, no sorrow: it seemed both wonderful and delightful to her, and she herself could not explain what was happening to her. “Don’t be afraid, dearly, don’t be afraid!” he said to her in an undertone, taking her hand: “I won’t say anything bad to you!” - “Maybe it’s true that you won’t say anything bad,” the beauty thought to herself: “Only it’s strange to me... surely it’s the evil one!” You yourself seem to know that this is not good... but you don’t have the strength to take your hand from him.” - The man looked around and wanted to say something to his daughter, but the word was heard from the side: wheat. This magic word forced him, at that very moment, to join two merchants talking loudly, and nothing could entertain the attention that was riveted to them. Here's what the merchants said about wheat:
What kind of guy are you talking about?
There are a few of these in the retinue.
Sivukhu so mov mash whip!
Kotlyarevsky. Envida.
“So you think, fellow countryman, that our wheat will do poorly?” said a man who looked like a visiting tradesman, an inhabitant of some small town, in motley trousers, stained with tar and greasy, to another in a blue scroll, already patched in places, and with a huge bump on his forehead.
“There’s nothing to think about here; I’m ready to throw a noose over myself and hang on this tree like a sausage before Christmas in the hut if we sell even one measure.”
“Who are you, fellow countryman, fooling? “I don’t bring anything except ours,” objected the man in colorful trousers. “Yes, tell yourself what you want,” our beauty’s father thought to himself, not missing a single word from the conversation between the two merchants: “And I have ten bags in stock.”
“That’s just it, if devilry is involved somewhere, then expect as much benefit as from a hungry Muscovite,” the man with a bump on his forehead said significantly.
“What the hell?” said the man in the colorful trousers.
“Have you heard what they say among the people?” he continued with a bump on his forehead, looking sideways at him with his gloomy eyes.
“Well, that’s it!” The assessor, so that he wouldn’t have to wipe his lips after the master’s plum, set aside a damned place for the fair, where, even if you crack it, you won’t lose a grain. Do you see that old, crumbling barn that stands over there under the mountain?” (Here our beauty’s curious father moved even closer and seemed to turn his entire attention). “In that barn every now and then there are devilish tricks; and not a single fair in this place took place without disaster. Yesterday, the volost clerk passed by late in the evening, just lo and behold, a pig’s snout stuck out through the dormer window and grunted so hard that it sent a chill down his spine; Just expect 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! And only on the fourth day after the wedding I learned to hug my late Khveska, and even then thanks to my godfather: having been a friend, I already advised 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 I found out.”
“If you want, I’ll tell you your name, your nickname, and all sorts of other things: your name is Solopiy Cherevik.”
“Yes, Solopiy Cherevik.”
“Take a good look: don’t you recognize me?”
“No, I don’t know. Don’t say it out of anger, I’ve seen so many different faces throughout my life that the devil can remember them all!”
“It’s a pity that you don’t remember Golopupenkov’s son!”
“Are you like Okhrimov’s son?”
“And who? Is there really only one bald Didko, if not him?
Here the friends grabbed their hats, and kissing began; Our Golopupenkov son, however, without wasting any time, decided at that very moment to besiege his new acquaintance.
“Well, Solopy, as you see, your daughter and I fell in love with each other so much that we could live together forever.”
“Well, Paraska,” said Cherevik, turning and laughing to his daughter: “maybe, in fact, so that, as they say, together... so that they can graze on the same grass!” What? deal? Come on, newly recruited son-in-law, give it to the Mogarych!” - and all three found themselves in a famous fair restaurant - under a Jewish woman’s yak, strewn with a numerous flotilla of sulli, bottles, flasks of all kinds and ages. “Oh, grab it!” “I love you for that!” said Cherevik, having walked a little and seeing how his betrothed son-in-law filled a mug the size of half a quart and, without wincing at all, drank to the bottom, then breaking it into pieces. “What do you say, Paraska? What a groom I got for you! Look, look: how bravely he pulls the foam!..” and, laughing and swaying, he wandered with 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 copper, smart frame, a scarf flowery on a red field and a hat for wedding gifts to the father-in-law and everyone who should.
Even though the people don’t have it,
Yes, if you zhintsi, bach, tee,
So please please...
Kotlyarevsky.
“Well, girl!” and I found a groom for my daughter!“
“Now it’s time to look for suitors.” Fool, fool! It’s true that you were destined to remain like this! Where have you seen, where have you heard that a good man is now running after suitors? You would better think about how to sell the wheat from your hands; The groom must be good too! I think he’s the most ragged of all the hunger slaves.”
“Eh, no matter what, you should see what kind of guy there is!” One scroll is worth more than your green jacket and red boots. And how important a barn owl blows... Damn me with you, if in my lifetime I have seen a boy pull out half a quart in spirit without wincing.”
“Well, so: if he’s a drunkard or a tramp, then so be his suit.” I bet it's not the same brat who followed us on the bridge. It’s a pity that I still haven’t come across him: I would let him know.”
“Well, Khivrya, even if it’s the same one; Why is he a tomboy?”
“Eh!” why is he a tomboy? Oh, you brainless head! do you hear! why is he a tomboy? Where did you hide your stupid eyes when we passed the mills; Even if they brought his dishonor to the wife right there, in front of his tobacco-stained nose, he wouldn’t even need it.”
“Still, I don’t see anything bad in him; guy anywhere! Only maybe I covered your image with manure for a moment.”
“Hey!” Yes, as I see, you won’t let me utter a word! What does it mean? When has this happened to you? That’s right, I’ve already managed to take a sip without selling anything...”
Here our Cherevik himself noticed that he was talking too much, and in an instant covered his head with his hands, assuming without a doubt that the angry cohabitant would not hesitate to grab his hair with her marital claws. “To hell with it!” Here's your wedding!“ he thought to himself, dodging his wife who was advancing strongly. “You’ll have to refuse a good person for no reason, no matter what. Lord, my God, why such an attack on us sinners! and so much all sorts of rubbish in the world, and you’ve also given birth to little women!”
Don't fret the skylark,
You are still green;
Don’t scold the little Cossack,
You are still young!
Maloross. song.
The boy in the white scroll, sitting by his cart, looked absentmindedly at the people murmuring around him. The tired sun departed from the world, having calmly blazed through its afternoon and morning; and the fading day blushed captivatingly and brightly. The tops of the white tents and yats shone dazzlingly, illuminated by some barely noticeable fiery pink light. The glass of the windows piled up in heaps was burning; the green flasks and glasses on the tables near the taverns turned into fiery ones; the mountains of melons, watermelons and pumpkins seemed cast from gold and dark copper. The conversation noticeably became less frequent and muffled, and the tired tongues of the bargaining chippers, peasants and gypsies turned lazier and slower. Here and there a light began to sparkle, and the fragrant steam from the boiling dumplings wafted through the quiet streets. “What are you upset about, Gritsko?” cried the tall, tanned gypsy, hitting our boy on the shoulder. “Well, give the oxen for twenty!”
“All you need are oxen, yes oxen.” Your tribe would only have self-interest. To trick and deceive a good man."
“Ugh, devil!” Yes, you were seriously taken away. Was it out of annoyance that he forced a bride on himself?”
“No, it’s not my opinion; I keep my word; what you have done once will remain forever. But the bastard Cherevik has no conscience, apparently, and is half a scamp: he said, and back... Well, there’s nothing to blame him for, he’s a stump, and that’s it. All these are the tricks of the old witch, whom today the boys and I scolded on all sides on the bridge! Eh, if I were a king, or a great lord, I would be the first to hang all those fools who allow themselves to be saddled by women...”
“Will you let the oxen go for twenty if we force Cherevik to give us Paraska?”
Gritsko looked at him in bewilderment. In the swarthy features of the gypsy there was something evil, caustic, low and at the same time arrogant: the person who looked at him was ready to admit that great virtues were seething in this wonderful soul, but for which there was only one reward on earth - the gallows. A mouth completely sunken between the nose and sharp chin, always overshadowed by a caustic smile, small but lively eyes like fire, and the lightning of enterprises and intentions constantly changing on the face, all this seemed to require a special costume, just as strange for itself as it was. then on it. This dark brown caftan, the touch of which seemed to turn it into dust; long black hair falling in flakes over the shoulders; shoes worn on bare, tanned feet - all this seemed to have grown to him and made up his nature. “I’ll give you not for twenty, but for fifteen, if you don’t lie!” answered the boy, not taking his searching eyes off him.
“For fifteen? OK! Look, don’t forget: for fifteen! Here’s a tit for you!”
“Well, what if you lie?”
“I’ll lie - your deposit!”
"OK! Well, let’s shake hands!”
"Let's!"
From the bid, Roman is coming, now, just to annoy me bebekhiv, and you, Mr. Homo, will not be without trouble.
From Little Russians. comedies.
“Here, Afanasy Ivanovich!” Here is a lower fence, raise your leg, but don’t be afraid: my fool went with his godfather under the carts all night, so that the Muscovites wouldn’t catch something in case.” So Cherevik’s formidable partner affectionately encouraged the popovich, who was cowardly clinging to the fence, who soon climbed up the fence and stood there for a long time in bewilderment, like a long, scary ghost, measuring with his eye where it would be best to jump, and finally fell noisily into the weeds.
“What a problem!” Haven’t you hurt yourself, haven’t you broken your necks yet, God forbid?” the caring Khivrya babbled.
“Shh!” “Nothing, nothing, my dear Khavronya Nikiforovna!” the priest said painfully and in a whisper, rising to his feet: “excluding only the stings from nettles, this snake-like grass, in the words of the late father of the archpriest.”
“Let’s go to the hut now; there is nobody there. And I was already thinking, Afanasy Ivanovich, that a sore or sleepyhead was sticking to you. No, yes and no. How are you doing? I heard that Pan-father has now received a lot of all sorts of things!”
“A complete trifle, Khavronya Nikiforovna; During the entire post, the priest received in total fifteen bags of spring grain, four bags of millet, about a hundred knishes, and if you count the chickens, there won’t be even fifty of them, and the eggs are mostly rotten. But truly sweet offerings, roughly speaking, are the only ones to be received from you, Khavronya Nikiforovna!” continued the priest, looking at her tenderly and leaning closer.
“Here are the offerings for you, Afanasy Ivanovich!” she said, putting the bowls on the table and coyly buttoning up her jacket, as if accidentally unbuttoned: “dumplings, wheat dumplings, donuts, tovchenichki!”
“I bet if this was not done by the most cunning hands of all Evin’s family!” said the priest, starting to work on the tovchenichki and pushing the dumplings with his other hand. “However, Khavronya Nikiforovna, my heart yearns from you for food sweeter than all the donuts and dumplings.”
“I don’t even know what other food you want, Afanasy Ivanovich!” answered the portly beauty, pretending not to understand.
“Of course, your love, incomparable Khavronya Nikiforovna!” the priest said in a whisper, holding a dumpling in one hand and hugging her wide figure with the other.
“God knows what you’re making up, Afanasy Ivanovich!” said Khivrya, lowering her eyes in shame. “What good!” Perhaps you will start kissing again!“
“I’ll tell you about this, even if only to myself,” Popovich continued: “when I was, roughly speaking, still in the bursa, that’s how I remember now...” Then barking and knocking on the gate were heard in the yard. Khivrya hurriedly ran out and returned all pale. “Well, Afanasy Ivanovich!” we got caught with you; a bunch of people were knocking, and I thought I thought the godfather’s voice... “Dumpling stopped in the popovich’s throat... His eyes bulged out, as if some person from the other world had just paid him a visit before this. “Climb here!” the frightened Khivrya shouted, pointing to the boards placed near the ceiling on two rungs, on which various household rubbish were piled. Danger gave spirit to our hero. Having come to his senses a little, he jumped onto the bench and carefully climbed out onto the boards; and Khivrya ran unconsciously to the gate, because the knocking was repeated at them with greater force and impatience.
Yes, there are miracles here, mospans!
From Little Russians. comedies.
A strange incident happened at the fair: everything was filled with rumors that somewhere between the goods a red scroll had appeared. The old woman selling bagels seemed to imagine Satan, in the form of a pig, who was constantly bending over the carts, as if looking for something. This quickly spread to all corners of the already quiet camp; and everyone considered it a crime not to believe, despite the fact that the bagel seller, whose mobile stand was next to the tavern, bowed all day unnecessarily and wrote with her feet a perfect likeness of her tasty product. To this were added even more news about the miracle seen by the volost clerk in a collapsed barn, so that by night they huddled closer and closer to each other; the calm was destroyed, and fear prevented everyone from closing their eyes; and those who were not quite brave and had reserved accommodation for the night in huts, went home. Among the latter were Cherevik, his godfather and his daughter, who, together with the guests who asked to come to their house, made a strong knock that so frightened our Khivrya. Kuma is already a little confused. This could be seen from the fact that he drove his cart through the yard twice, until he found a hut. The guests were also in a cheerful mood and entered without ceremony before the host himself. Our Cherevik’s wife sat as if on pins and needles when they began to rummage around in all corners of the hut. “What, godfather!” cried the godfather who came in: “Are you still shaking with fever?” “Yes, you’re not feeling well,” answered Khivrya, looking restlessly at the boards placed under the ceiling. “Come on, wife, get the eggplant from the cart!” said the godfather to his wife who came with him: “We will scoop it up with good people; the damned women scared us so much that it’s embarrassing to say. After all, by God, brothers, we came here for nothing!” he continued, sipping from a clay mug. “I immediately put on a new hat if the women don’t want to laugh at us.” Yes, even if it really is Satan: what is Satan? Spit on his head! If only this very minute he would have decided to stand here, for example, in front of me: if I were a dog’s son, if I hadn’t put the blow right under his nose! “ - “Why did you suddenly turn all pale?” shouted one of the guests, who was taller than everyone else in his head! and always tried to show himself to be brave. “I... The Lord is with you!” I had a dream!’ The guests grinned. A satisfied smile appeared on the face of the eloquent brave man. “Why should he turn pale now!” another picked up: “his cheeks blossomed like a poppy; Now he is not Tsybulya, but a Buryak - or better, the red scroll itself, which frightened people so much.” The eggplant rolled across the table and made the guests even more cheerful than before. Here our Cherevik, who had long been tormented by the red scroll and had not given his curious spirit any peace for a minute, approached 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!” Then he scratched his shoulders, wiped himself with his hollow, put both hands on the table and began:
“Once upon a time, for what guilt, by God, I don’t even know anymore, they just kicked one devil out of hell.”
“Why, godfather!” interrupted Cherevik: “how could it happen that the devil would be kicked out of the heat?”
“What should we do, godfather? kicked out, and kicked out, like a man kicks a dog out of the hut. Maybe he was inspired to do some good deed, and the door was shown to him. Look, the poor devil has become so bored, so bored of the heat that he’s almost to death. What to do? Let's get drunk out of grief. He nestled in that very barn that you saw collapsed under the mountain, and which not a single good person would pass by now without protecting himself with the Holy Cross in advance, and the devil became such a reveler that you will not find among the boys. From morning to evening, every now and then he sits in the tavern!..”
Here again the stern Cherevik interrupted our narrator: “God knows what you’re saying, godfather!” How is it possible for someone to let the devil into a tavern? After all, thank God, he has claws on his paws and horns on his head.”
“That’s the thing, he was wearing a hat and mittens. Who will recognize him? I walked and walked - finally I got to the point where I drank everything I had with me. Shinkar believed for a long time, then he stopped. The devil had to pawn his red scroll, at almost a third of the price, to a Jew who was chopping at the Sorochinsky fair; pawned it and said to him: “Look, Jew, I will come to you for the scroll in exactly a year: take care of it!” and disappeared as if into water. The Jew took a good look at the scroll: the cloth is such that you couldn’t get it in Mirgorod! and the red color burns like fire, so I couldn’t see enough of it! The Jew found it boring to wait for the deadline. He scratched his little dogs, and tore off at least five ducats from some visiting gentleman. The Jew had completely forgotten about the deadline. One day, in the evening, a man comes: “Well, Jew, give me my scroll!” At first the Jew didn’t even know, but after he saw it, he pretended as if he had never seen it: “What scroll?” I don't have any scroll! I don’t know your scrolls!” Lo and behold, he left; Only in the evening, when the Jew, having locked his kennel and counted the money in his chests, threw a sheet over himself and began to pray to God like a Jew, he heard a rustling... 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.
“Asya!” one of the guests responded.
"You said…"
“Who grunted that?”
“God knows why we were alarmed!” There’s no one!” 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... Under someone, the bench creaked, 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, 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 - at his feet, confessed everything... Only the scrolls could not be returned soon. Pana was robbed on the road by some gypsy and sold the scroll to a reseller; she brought her again to the Sorochinsky fair, but since then no one has bought anything from her. The repurchase was surprised and amazed and finally realized: it’s true that the red scroll is to blame 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 an ax and chopped her into pieces; lo and behold, one piece fits into another, and again there is a whole scroll. Having crossed himself, he grabbed the ax another time, scattered the pieces all over the place and left. Only since then, every year, and just during the fair, the 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 difficult thing has now pulled the assessor away from...” The other half of the word froze on the narrator’s lips:
The window rattled with noise; The glass, ringing, flew out, and a terrible pig's face stuck out, moving its eyes, as if asking: what are you doing here, good people?
...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 us!” 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 about to fall to the ground, when suddenly he heard someone chasing him from behind... His spirit sank... “Damn!” “Damn!” he shouted without memory, tripling his strength, and a minute later he fell unconscious to the ground. “Damn!” “Damn!” shouted after him, and he only heard something noisily rushing at him. Then his memory fled from him, and he, like a terrible inhabitant of a cramped coffin, remained mute and motionless in the middle of the road.
Still in front, and so, and so;
And from behind, to hell with it!
From a folk tale
“Do you hear, Vlas!” one of the crowd of people sleeping on the street said, getting up at night: “near us someone mentioned the devil!”
“What do I care?” the gypsy lying next to him grumbled, stretching: “I wish I could remember all my relatives.”
“But he screamed as if he was being crushed!”
“You never know what a person won’t lie when he’s asleep!”
“Your will, at least you need to look; Turn out the fire!” Another 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 here, shine a light here!”
Here several more people accosted them.
“What lies there, Vlas?”
“It’s as if there were two people: one upstairs, the other downstairs; I can’t even tell which one is the devil!”
“Who’s upstairs?”
“Well, this is the devil!” General laughter woke up almost the entire street.
“The woman 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 has put on himself!” The increased noise and laughter made our dead, Solopy and his wife, wake up. , 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, satanic obsession!
From Little Russians. 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 again rushed 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 the people: they came to the fair and at least sold a handful of hemp...”
“Of course, Zhinka,” Solopy picked up: “Now they’ll laugh at us.”
“Go!” go! They laugh 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 your face...” Then she grabbed something rolled up into a ball and threw it away from her in horror: it was a red cuff of a scroll!
“Go, do your job,” she repeated, gathering her courage, to her husband, seeing that fear had taken away his legs and his teeth were chattering against one another.
“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 twice turned home 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, then God forbid: would I have trudged 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!”
“Thongs?” asked the gypsy, looking at the bridle in his hands.
“Yes, straps, if only the mare looks like straps.”
“However, damn it, fellow countryman, you apparently fed her straw!”
“With 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! - a piece of a red sleeve scroll!.. Spitting, crossing himself and waving his hands, he ran away from the unexpected gift and, faster than the young boy, disappeared into the crowd.
For my life, I have lived there.
Proverb.
“Catch!” “Catch him!” several boys shouted at the cramped end of the street, and Cherevik felt that he was suddenly grabbed by strong arms.
“Knit it!” this is the one who stole the good man’s mare.”
“The Lord is with you!” Why are you tying me up?“
“That’s what 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 you wear satanic clothes...”
“Eh, darling!” deceive others with this; There will be more for you from the assessor so that you don’t scare 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 our Cherevik’s eyes met the godfather, in the most pitiful position, with his hands folded back, led by several lads. “Miracles have started!” said one of them: “You should have listened 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 from, like a half-wit. “He reached into his pocket, he said, to sniff some tobacco and, instead of a tavlinka, he 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 bothering me like this?
“For what, for what?” having said, emptying the molasses,
Patioka of rich mucus, clinging to the sides.
Artemovsky-Gulak. Pan that dog.
“Perhaps, godfather, you really picked up something?” asked Cherevik, lying tied together with his godfather, under a straw yat.
“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 stole a mare from myself? Apparently, we, godfather, were already destined not to have happiness!“
“Woe to us, poor orphans!” Then both godfathers began to sob bitterly. “What’s wrong with you, Solopy?” said Gritsko, who entered at that time. “Who tied you up?”
"A! Golopupenko, Golopupenko!” Solopy shouted, delighted: “Here, godfather, this is the one I told you about.” Oh, grab! Look, God kill me on this spot, if I didn’t dry off a kukhol not big enough for your head in front of me, and wince at least once.”
“Why, godfather, have you so little respect for such a nice guy?”
“As you can 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. “That’s why you do what you need to do: the wedding!” “Yes, and we’ll feast so much that our legs will hurt from the hopak for a whole year.”
“Good!” “Good luck!” 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 bad - today is the 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, mother, don't fight,
Put on the red chobits,
Trample the enemies
Pid legs;
Let your nods be
Rumble!
So be your enemies
Movchaly!
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: “When I meet her somewhere then, I will never bow to her.” , even if she cracks herself. No, stepmother, stop beating your stepdaughter! The sand will sooner rise on the stone, and the oak tree will bend into the water like a willow, than I will bend down before you! Yes, I forgot... let me try on the otchik, even my stepmother’s, somehow I’ll need it!’ 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 below her, instead of a floor, a ceiling with boards placed underneath it, from which the priest had recently fallen, and shelves lined with pots. “That I really am like a child,” she cried laughing: “I’m afraid to step my foot.” And she began to stamp her feet further and further, bolder; Finally, her left hand dropped and rested on her side, and she began 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: “I ran to buy myself some scaffolding and sackcloth, so I need to finish everything before she arrives!” No sooner had she crossed the threshold of the hut than she felt herself in the hands of a young man in a white scroll, who was waiting for her on the street with a bunch of people. “God bless!” said Cherevik, folding his hands. “Let them live like wreaths are made!” Then a noise was heard among the people: “I would rather crack than let this happen!” shouted Solopia’s cohabitant, who, however, was pushed away with laughter by the crowd of people. “Don’t be mad, don’t be mad, Zhinka!” Cherevik said calmly, seeing that a couple of hefty gypsies had taken possession of her hands: “What’s done is done; I don’t like to change!” - “No! No! “This won’t happen!” Khivrya shouted, but no one listened to her; several couples surrounded the new couple and formed an impenetrable, dancing wall around it.
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. Everything 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.
Name: Sorochinskaya fair
Genre: Tale
Duration:
Part 1: 8min 48sec
Part 2: 8min 37sec
Annotation:
The main characters of the story, Solopy Cherevik, his wife Khavronya Nikiforovna and his daughter Paraska, arrive at the fair with the goal of selling several bags of wheat and an old mare. The young man, whom the author initially calls “the young man in a white caftan,” whose name we later learn is Gritsko, finds Paraska very beautiful and begins to flirt with her. When Gritsko notices that the girl’s father has begun to get nervous about this, he declares that he is the son of one of Osopy’s friends and wants to marry his daughter. At first, Solopiy agrees, but then rejects the young man’s proposal due to the objections of his eternally dissatisfied wife. The young man decides to find a way out of this situation at all costs and sells all his cattle to one gypsy for next to nothing, on the condition that he will help him. While Khavronya is receiving Afanasy Ivanovich, the son of a priest, in her house, a group of people approaches the house, whom she heard and then quickly hides the young man. People settle down in the house and Tsybulya, Cherevik’s friend, tells the story of the red caftan worn by the Devil himself, who was expelled from hell. He pawned this jacket to the Jew in order to buy it back later, but when the Devil comes back, it turns out that the Jew has already sold it. The devil got angry and cursed him to make pigs' heads loom in front of his windows. At this time, Khavronya’s hidden young lover grunts and people are scared, but the narrator continues his story. Meanwhile, the caftan was found and passed from one person to another, bringing a curse to its owners. Whoever owned it could not give anything, so it was passed from one peasant to another. One person realized the reason why his goods were not being bought. And he chopped up the caftan with an ax and scattered it around the Sorochinsky fair. Therefore, the Devil has to look for and put together his caftan. And at the time of telling this story, he only had to find the last piece, so he’s wandering around here somewhere now. After Tsybulya finished the story, a pig’s head appears in the window and a group of people get very scared, and Cherevik, out of fear, puts a pot on his head instead of a hat and runs out of the house, while someone behind him shouts “Damn!” The next morning, having overcome his embarrassment, Cherevik is forced to go to the fair to sell the mare. On the way, he meets a man who is interested in what he is selling. Pulling the reins, Cherevik hits himself in the face, and then realizes that the horse has disappeared and in its place a piece of red caftan has appeared. He is accused of stealing his own horse and his friend Tsybulya ties him up and leaves him in the barn. Where Cherevik is found by a young man in a white caftan and promises to rescue him if he gives his daughter Paraska to him. To which Cherevik agrees. They get married and the whole picture emerges from which we learn that the Devil was none other than a gypsy.
N.V. Gogol - Sorochinskaya Fair part 1. Listen to the summary online.