Mikola Gogol

Having soundly struck the Kiev Front until the end of the seminar ringing, which was still hanging at the Brethren Monastery, then from this place the schoolchildren and students hurried away. Grammarians, rhetoricians, philosophers and theologians, with their crops under their crops, wandered to the classroom. The grammars were even smaller; as they walked, they danced around one another and barked among themselves in the finest treble; the stench was always in the dirty or fermented cloth, and their jelly was always filled with all sorts of filth, such as: grandmas, whistles, splintered from feathers, half-eaten pie, and sometimes even small mounds, of which one , chirping rapturously in the midst of the unexpected silence . The class, delivering it to its patron, fell into quite a few offended hands, and sometimes cut cherries. The rhetoric turned out to be more solid: the cloth in them was often completely intact, but then on the surface there was always some embellishment in the appearance of the rhetorical stitch: either one eye went under the very forehead, or instead of a lip there was a whole bulb, or Another sign; They said and swore among themselves in a tenor voice. Philosophers took a whole octave lower; there was nothing in their quills, creamy tatyun cinnamon. There were no reserves of stench and everything that was wasted was also eaten, from them there was a pipe and a sleeping bag, sometimes so far away that the craftsman, who passed every day, for a long time, sniffed, sniffing like a hound dog, winding. The market at this hour was just starting to break down, and traders with bagels, buns, pork belly and poppy seeds sighed in despair for the excuses of these, some of which were made of thin cloth or some kind of paper material. - Panich! panic! come here! come here! - said the stinks from the ears. - Axle bagels, makivniki, vertiches, loaves of garni! By God, garni! on honey! I baked it myself! Another woman, who had lifted the dough twisted from the dough, shouted: - Axis Burulka! Panic, buy a Burulka! - Don’t buy anything from her: marvel at how dirty she is - no filth, no unclean hands... All philosophers and theologians were afraid to smell the stench, because philosophers and theologians have always loved the brothers only as a trial and for the whole life. Upon arriving at the seminary, the entire team was distributed in classes, which were located in low, spacious rooms with small windows, wide doors and clouded lava. The class was filled with raptures of different voices: the audience listened to their students; the treble treble of the grammar was lost right at the treble of the glass, inserted at the small window, and the glass was perhaps similar to the sound itself; A lot of good rhetoricians, whose mouth and lips are responsible for accepting philosophy. There was a bass hum, and just a little far away: Boo, Boo, Boo, Boo... The auditors, listening to the lesson, marveled with one eye under the lava, where a bun, or a dumpling, or Garbuz's milk could be seen from the teeming of a light student. If all this time began to arrive a little earlier, and if they knew that the professors would be later than the first, then, for good measure, they planned to fight, and in this battle everyone would take part in the battle, the censor, the zobov'yazan and maintain order and morality in everything study Two theologians began to talk about how a battle was about to take place: that the leather class should stand up for itself especially, and that all those responsible would be divided into two halves: the bursa and the seminary. Each time, the grammarians began to take precedence over everything, and the rhetoricians were generously handed in, the stinks already ran away and stood on the heights to guard the battle. Then came philosophy with long black hair, and opinions and theologians, with greedy trousers and thick necks. It ended up that theology beat everyone, and philosophy, sensitive sides, was crowded into the classroom and settled on the lavas. The professor, who entered the classroom and fought himself in similar battles, in one case, from the heated faces of his listeners, recognized that he was in disgrace, and at that hour, when he spoke rhetoric sharply on his fingers, in another class The senior professor with wooden spatulas in the hands of philosophy. Theologians were in a completely different rank: they, according to the words of the theologian professor, were kept behind the world great peas what lay in the short skinned ends. On this holy day, seminarians and students went home with nativity scenes. Sometimes they played a comedy, and this time a certain theologian, at the age of little more than the lowest form of the Kiev dzvinitsa, representing Herodias or Pentephriya, the squad of the Egyptian courtier, appeared. In the city they stinked of a piece of linen, or a bag of millet, or half a boiled gander. All this people, both the seminary and the bursa, seem to have a waning hostility among themselves, being extremely poor in food for food and also extremely unpretentious; so that it would be completely impossible to smell how many skins from them, having eaten dumplings during the evening; And therefore, the kind donations of possible rulers were extremely sufficient. This is the Senate, which was formed from philosophers and theologians, directing grammar and rhetoric under the direction of one philosopher, and sometimes coming in itself, with bags on their shoulders, to devastate other cities. And watermelon porridge appeared in Bursa. The senators ate so much of the kavuns that day that the next day the auditors sensed that they had two lessons instead of one: one sounding like a whine, the other muttering at the senator’s boat. Bursa and seminary wore all sorts of frock coats that were heavy. dosi: the word is more technical, which meant further back. There was a vacancy available for the seminary - an hour from the Red Month, when the bursa was released into booths. Then grammarians, philosophers and theologians traveled the whole great road. Whoever didn’t wash his head, he destroyed all of his comrades. Philosophers and theologians have destroyed in good condition, then they began to prepare the children of possible people, and paid for them for new needs, and sometimes for a frock coat. The whole gang was weighed down by a whole camp; I cooked my own porridge and spent the night in the field. A leather bag was carried along with it, which contained one shirt and a pair of ones. The theologians were especially gentle and careful: so as not to wear them out, they threw them off, hung them on clubs and carried them on their shoulders, especially if they were bruised. The stinkers, with their trousers tucked up to their knees, fearlessly sprinkled the cabbage with their feet. They quickly woke up from the side of the hut, immediately turned away from the high road and, approaching the hut, asked for the others, stood in front of the windows in a row and began to sing the cant with their whole mouths. The owner of the house, an old Cossack villager, heard them for a long time, leaned his hands on both of them, then cried and said, screaming to his friends: “Woman! those that schoolchildren sing may be even more reasonable; Give them some lard and what the hell is there in us! And a whole bowl of dumplings was lying next to the bag. A fair bit of lard, a piece of scorch, and some knitted chicken were mixed at once. Fortified by such a reserve, grammarians, rhetoricians, philosophers and theologians again explored the path. The further away the stench went, the more they changed. All of them may have wandered around the huts, and some of Father’s nests have been lost for others. Once, during the hour of such a mandriv, three students turned away from the high road in order to stock up on provisions at the first farm they came across, since their bag had long since been empty. That's it: theologian. Freebie, philosopher Khoma Brut and rhetorician Tiberius Gorobets. The theologian was a tall, broad-shouldered man and had an extremely wondrous gift: everything that was not lying there was, damn it, inevitably stolen. In other cases, his character was extremely gloomy, and when he got drunk, he was in the weeds, and the seminary cost him a great deal to know there. The philosopher Khoma Brut was in the mood for fun. Loved to lie down and smoke the cradle. As soon as I had a beer, I immediately hired musicians and danced the tropak. Having tried it often great peas but all with philosophical bias - seemingly, no matter what happens, you won’t be disappointed. Rhetor Tiberiy Gorobets has not yet won the right to wear a vest, drink sleeping bags, and smoke wheels. He bore only a herring, and therefore his character at that time had developed little; However, judging by the big lumps on the forehead that he often visited in class, one could assume that he would be a good warrior. The theologian Khalyava and the philosopher Khoma often pulled him by the forelock as a sign of their intercession and lived like a deputy. It was already evening when the stinkers turned away from the road. The sun is shining, and the warmth of the day has already disappeared in the wind. The theologians and philosophers came out with little bastards and chicken cradles; The rhetorician Tiberius Gorobets beat the heads of the beetroots that grew along the edges of the road with his club. The road ran between scattered groups of oak trees and groves that covered the meadow. Gentle and small mountains, green and round, like domes, sometimes interspersed the plain. Niva, which appeared in two villages, with a visible life gave the nobility that soon a village might appear. It’s already been more than a year since the stench of the grain haze has passed, and now its life has not been drained. The daylight has already completely darkened the sky, and just at sunset there is a surplus of red treasure. - What the hell! - said the philosopher Khoma Brut, - it seemed to everyone that soon there would be a khutir. The theologian washed, marveled at the surroundings, then again took his cradle from his mouth, and everything was destroyed. - Oh-God! - the philosopher said, stammering again. - Not a fist is visible. “Maybe we can go ahead and eat some hutir,” said the theologian, without letting go of the cradles. By this hour it was already night and night was still dark. Small glooms strengthened the gloom, and, judging by all the signs, it was impossible to keep track of the days or months. The students noticed that the stinks had gathered along the road and had long since left the road. The philosopher, swinging his legs on all sides, said very often: - Where is the road? The theologian mumbled and, having thought about it, said: - Yes, nothing is dark. The rhetorician killed him and tried to pave the road with his back, only to have his hands buried in fox holes. There was only one steppe through which, it seemed, no one had traveled. The mandrivniks were still trying to move forward, but the same wild thing was passing through. The philosopher tried to hum, but his voice completely fell silent on all sides and was not of the same tone. For a little while now, I just felt a slight stagnation, similar to the Victoire. - Bach, why is there anything timid here? - Said the philosopher. - What? get lost and spend the night in the field! - said the theologian and climbed into the bowels of the bowels and lit his cradle. Alas, the philosopher could not help with this. You will always have to grab a bunch of bread and a pound of lard and feel your unbearable selfishness once in a while. Before that, not caring about his joyful reward, the philosopher was afraid of a few woks. “No, Freebie, you can’t,” said Vin. - How can you, without strengthening yourself with anything, stretch out and lie down like a dog? Let's try again; Maybe we’ll come across some kind of life and I’d like to drink a glass of vodka for the night. At the word “palnik”, the theologian spat an ubik and said: “Of course, you will lose nothing in the field.” The students walked forward, and, to their great joy, a bark was heard from the station. Having listened from every side, the stench wafted through the door and, after a few minutes had passed, they began to drink. - Khutir! By God, khutir! - Said the philosopher. The servants were not fooled: after about an hour the stench began to permeate the small hut, which consisted of only two huts that were located in that very yard. There was fire shining in the windows. A dozen angry trees were washed away under the mud. Looking through the cracked plank gateway, the students slammed the door, filling it with crazy carts. The mirrors glanced at the sky. “Wonder, brothers, don’t stand up!” Whatever, I’ll get you an overnight stay! Three men hit the gate together and shouted:- Come on! The doors in one house creaked, and through the ridge, the students swung in front of them an old woman in a leather jacket. -Who's there? - she screamed, coughing dully. - Let me go, grandma, spend the night. We got lost on the roads. The field is as bad as a hungry stomach. - What kind of people are you? - Those are ugly people: the theologian Freebie, the philosopher Brutus and the rhetorician Gorobets. “It’s not possible,” the old woman muttered, “I have a lot of people at the door, and all the corners in the house are occupied.” Where will I take you? What a tall and healthy people! My house will fall apart if I attract such people. I know many philosophers and theologians. As soon as you start accepting such drunkards, you won’t be in the yard. Let's go! let's go! There is no place for you here. - Have mercy, grandma! How is it possible for Christian souls to come to nothing? Do you want to accommodate us? And if we somehow, as if something else is being created, then forbid we should dry our hands, and so it will be that God alone knows. Axis what! She was old, it seemed, and had faded a little. “Okay,” she said, her eyes darkening, “I’ll let you in; I’ll just put everyone in different places: otherwise my heart won’t be at peace if you lie together. - It’s your will; “Let’s not worry,” the students said. The gates creaked and stinks came through. “Well, grandma,” said the philosopher, walking behind the old woman, “so, as it seems... By God, it’s different in the stomach to drive wheels.” From the very morning I wanted to have cod in my mouth. - Bach, whatever you want! - said the old woman. - There is nothing in me, there is nothing like that, and the stove was not heated today. “And we would have already paid for everything,” the philosopher said, “we would have paid back tomorrow—in cash.” So,” he continued quietly, “the devil are taking this away in two!” - Go, go! and be pleased with what is given to you. The devil has brought some of the lowest panics! The philosopher Khoma became angry at such words. Ale raptom smelled the smell of dried fish. Having looked at the theologian’s trousers, which he ordered, and having noticed that the majestic fish tail had been washed from his porridge: the theologian had already begun to pick up from a cart of whole crucian carp. And so, having not given up any cost, but only behind the gear, and having forgotten completely about his carp, having already looked at what would have been done differently, without the risk of missing the line of the broken wheel, then the philosopher Khoma, putting his hand in wow, I'm swarming I have my power, and a knight of crucian carp. The old woman placed the students: she put the rhetorician in the hut, she locked the theologian in an empty closet, and the philosophers also brought out the empty sheep barn. The philosopher, having lost one of the crucian's throats, looked around the wicker wall of the barn, pushed his foot into the muzzle of the pig stuck from the other barn and turned on the other side to fall asleep dead. With a bang, the low doors opened, and the old woman, having become sick, went to the barn. - Well, grandma, what do you need? - Said the philosopher. Ale old woman went straight to him with her crooked hands. “Ege-ge! - the philosopher thought. - Forget it, my dear! outdated." Having slipped in the trouts, they were served, but the old woman, without ceremony, came again to the new one. - Listen, grandma! - said the philosopher, - now he is a painter; But I’m such a person that I don’t want to disgrace myself for a thousand pieces of gold. Ale Stara opened her arms and caught him without saying a word. The philosophers became afraid, especially when they noticed that their eyes shone with such an unexpected sparkle. - Grandma! what are you doing? Go, go with God! - Shouting out. Ale stara did not say a word and grabbed it with her hands. She got to her feet, determined to run away, but the old woman stood in the doorway and stared at him with a glare and began to approach him again. The philosopher wanted to stretch his hands, but, on the surface, noting that his hands could not give in, his legs did not collapse; And I was afraid that my voice would come out without sounding from my lips: the words fell on my lips without a sound. You just felt how his heart was beating; Then, as if the old woman had reached him, she clasped her hands, bent her head, huddled down on his back, hit him with a broom on his side, and, pulling up like a horse, carried him on your shoulders. It all happened so quickly that the philosopher immediately became embarrassed and clasped his hands behind his knees, eagerly rubbing his feet; Already the stench, having smelled it to a great extent, rose to freedom and began to cut the hairs of the Swede Circassian runner. Once the stinks of the village had already passed and a flat ravine appeared before them, and a black forest, like a vugilla, stretched out to the side, then only saying to himself: “Hey, that’s a witch.” There is probably a monthly crescent of light in the sky. The timid snow, like a dripping blanket, lay lightly and dimly on the ground. Foxes, bows, sky, valleys - everything seemed to have fallen asleep behind crushed eyes. The wind would blow here at least once. The freshness of the night had a damp warmth. The shadows of the trees and bushes, like comets, fell in sharp wedges onto the gentle plain. Such was the situation when the philosopher Khoma Brut galloped with an immature apex on his back. Having sensed something milky, unpleasant, and at once the licorice felt like it was approaching my heart. He lowered his head down and saw that the grass that was just below his feet seemed to grow deep and far away and that there was a clearness above it, like a Girsky spring, water, and the grass seemed to be the bottom of some light, clear-cut right up to the depths of the sea; You know, it’s clear that he was fighting again with the old one who was sitting on his back. It was as if instead of a month the sun shone there like the sun; I felt like the little bells, shaking their heads, rang. Vіn buchiv, as if a mermaid was writhing from behind the sedge, her back and leg flashed, her bulge, her spring, everything was created in a flash and trembling. She turned to a new one - and the axis of her guise, with eyes bright, sparkling, hospitable, with a stump that invaded the soul, already approaching before the new one, already on the surface, and, with the lingering sparkling laughter, moving away - and the axis Vaughn threw himself onto his back , and gloomy peppers, matte, like porcelain, not covered with glaze, shone before the sun along the edges of their white, elastic-soft stake. The water around the small bulbs, like beads, drizzled over them. There you are, all trembling and laughing by the water... Should you drink it or not? What is it in reality, what is it in a dream? What's there? Wind and music: ringing, ringing, and blowing, and approaching, and rushing into the soul like an unbearable thrill... "What's that?" - thought the philosopher Khoma Brut, marveling at the humiliation, bearing down on all the confusion. Sweat was pouring out of the hail. When you smelled the sweetness of licorice, you felt like a piercing, like a languid, terrible malt. It often seemed to him that his heart was no longer in him, and out of fear he grabbed his hand. Sickness, destruction, having begun to think of everything I knew, prayers. Having gone through all the spells against perfumes - and felt like a refreshment; Having realized that his baby was beginning to become lazier, the witch seemed to be pressing weaker on his back. The thick grass stuck out to him, and he no longer learned anything unexpected from her. A bright sickle of light in the sky. “Good!” - the philosopher Khoma thought and began to cast a curse out loud. You will find the sparkle to be as smooth as possible by wiping out from under the old one and burying your black on its back. The old woman ran away so quickly that the leader could barely catch his breath. The earth fell away beneath him. Everything was clear in the monthly light, although in the uncertain light. The valleys were smooth, but everything was blurred and blurry in his eyes. He gathered up the log that was lying on the road, and began to beat the old one with all his might. I could see wild screams over there; At first they were angry and menacing, then they became weak, accepting, pure, and then quietly, they immediately rang, like thin silver bells, and fell into your soul; And a thought flashed into my head: why is it really old? “Oh, I can’t take it anymore!” - she felt helpless and fell to the ground. He stood on his feet and marveled at her eyes: the candles were burned, and the golden heads glittered in the distance of the Kiev churches. In front of him lay a beautiful woman, with a unkempt, luxurious braid and long, arrow-like wings. Unpretentiously, she threw her bare hands on her offending sides and drove away the tears, her eyes drooping. Frozen, like a leaf of wood, Khoma: pity and some kind of wondrous praise and timidity, unknown to himself, overwhelmed him; he began to run with all his might. Along the way, his heart was beating restlessly, and he could not help but wonder what had recently seemed to make him weak. He no longer wanted to go to the farmstead and hurried to Kiev, thinking all the way about such an unreasonable idea. Bursakiv Mayzhe Nikky did not bounce in the MISTI: VSI ROZBITSHICE on farms, abstors on confusion, just without segon condicani, BOTOTAS OF LIMED INSHICH INSHICH, SIR, sour cream that dumplings of the head in the capeluh, not paying off the chaplars of pennies. The great house that rose, in which the bursa was located, was extremely empty, and how many philosophers did not scour all the coats and dipped all the holes and paste in the paste, but nowhere did they know a piece of lard Bo, hire an old knish, what , by the way, it was filled with students. The prote philosopher soon learned how to remedy his grief: Vin walked through the market, whistling three times, blinking at the very end at a young widow in a lifeless cap who was selling stitches, towels and wheels - and on the same day indignation with wheat dumplings, With a hammer... and, in a word, it’s impossible to overthink what happened at the table last night, let’s cover a small clay bottle in the middle of a cherry orchard. That same evening the philosopher was seen in the inn: lying on the bench, smoking the cradle, as before, and in front of everyone throwing gold at the Jewish innkeeper. There was a group of people standing in front of him. You marveled at those who came and looked at you with cold-blooded, satisfied eyes, and no longer thought at all about your unexpected destiny. Tim's senses widened over time that the daughter of one of the richest centurions, who lived fifty miles outside of Kiev, turned back one day from a walk, all beaten up, that the least amount of kindness to her father's house endures at death and Bazhanya showed up before her death , so that I can follow her and pray for three days after death by reading one of the Kiev seminarians: Homa Brut. The philosopher learned about this from the rector himself, who called him to his room and said that he would quickly hurry along the road, so that the eminent centurion would send people and carriages after him. The philosopher shuddered at some unknown feeling, which he himself could not dispel. Darkness told you that she was expecting bad things to happen to him. Without knowing why, I simply declared that I would not go. - Listen, domine Homo! - said the rector (in certain outbursts he explained himself even more than anything with his excuses), - you don’t have a damn thing about those who want to go or don’t want to go. I will tell you only those who still show your rice and are wise, then I will give you a slap on the back and otherwise look like a young birch tree so that you won’t need to walk. The philosopher, sniffing lightly behind his ear, vyishov, not saying a word, looming at the first time to put hope on his feet. In thought, he left the steep assemblies that led to the checks, planted with poplars, and sank, feeling the expressive voice of the rector, who was giving orders to his housekeeper and, perhaps, one of the centurion’s messengers for him. “I’ll give you some eggs for a grain,” said the rector, “and tell me that as soon as the books you write about are ready, I’ll send them right away.” I have already given them a copy for the scribe. But don’t forget, my dear, to give the sir that on the farms in them, I know, there is a rich fish, and especially sturgeon, then when the time comes, send it: here in the markets there is both trash and road. And you, Yavtukha, give the fellows a charm of a sleeping bag. Get the philosopher tied up, or else just now. “Bach, damn son! - thought the philosopher, - having sniffed out, the long-legged young man! Vin sіyshov іні having swung the wagon, as if mistaking the grain for a bread wine on wheels. In fact, it was as deep as a fire that could be scorched. This is the original Krakiv crew, in which hundreds of people are carrying goods all over the place, and they can still feel the rush of fairs. There were six healthy and healthy Cossacks, already a number of old people. Scrolls made of fine cloth with pencils showed what stinks the important and rich ruler had to endure. Small scars showed that the stink of the war was not without glory. Why bother? No matter what you do, you won’t be disappointed!” - the philosopher thought, turning towards the Cossacks and saying loudly: - Hello, brother-comrades! - Be healthy, Mr. Philosopher! - said the Cossacks. - So why do I get to sit with you? And the brika is worth it! - long ago, climbers. “Here you can only hire musicians, then you can dance.” - Yes, a proportional crew! - said one of the Cossacks, sitting on the bench with each other and the coachman, who tied his head with a gancher instead of a cap, as he was about to be thrown into a tavern. The other five at once from the philosopher climbed into the recesses and spread out on bags filled with various purchases, collected locally. “It would be great if you knew,” said the philosopher, “if, for example, you could buy this brick with some kind of goods - let’s say, with slick wedges: how many horses would that be?” “So,” the Cossack said, having rummaged, sitting on the treadmill, “the horses would need enough strength.” After such a satisfactory performance, the Cossacks respected the right to march all the way. The philosopher desperately wanted to find out more: who was this centurion, who was this centurion, what about his daughter, how she turned home in such an emergency manner and was at death and what kind of story is connected now from yo power, how they have and what to work in home? Vіn has fallen to them with food; All the Cossacks, perhaps, were also philosophers, because among the people they danced and smoked little wheels, lying on their sacks. Only one of them went wild to the top, sitting on the box, with a short order: “Wonder, Overko, you opened your eyes; As you wait for the bus on the Chukhrailivka road, don’t forget to wake up and wake up the other guys who are having trouble falling asleep.” After falling asleep, I finish speaking loudly. However, it became daytime, because as soon as the Veletenska brik approached the bus on the Chukhrailivsky road, they all shouted in one voice: “Stay!” Before that, Overka’s horses were so accustomed that they would kick themselves in front of the skin shredder. Unfazed on the speckled, lime-colored day, everyone left the bricks, collapsed into a low, muddy room, and the Jewish tavern, with signs of joy, rushed to receive their old acquaintances. The liquid brought under a hollow knuckle of kovbas and pork and, placing it on the table, immediately emerged from the fruit buried in the Talmud. Everyone sat down at the table. Clay mugs appeared in front of each of the guests. Philosopher Khoma takes part in the great party. And since the Little Russians, when they are walking, immediately start kissing or crying, then suddenly the whole house was filled with slogans: “Come on, Spiride, let’s go crazy!” - Come here, Darling, I’ll hug you! One Cossack, who was the eldest of all the others, with gray mustaches, put his hand under his cheek, and began to sing in his heart about the fact that in him there is no father, no mother, and that he has lost one in the world. The other was a great reasoner and calmly consoled him, saying: “Don’t cry, by God, don’t cry! What’s here... God only knows what it is.” One, in the name of Dorosh, becoming superciliously tsikavim and, turning to the philosopher Khom, spontaneously feeding him: - I would like to know what you have to say at the bursa: what is it that the same person reads in church, what else? - Don't eat it! - the reasoner said drawlingly, - let him be there, as it was. God knows what is required; God knows everything. “No, I want to know,” said Dorosh, “what is written there in those books.” Possibly, completely different, lower than that. - Oh, my God, my God! - saying this important mentor. - Why say that? This is already the will of God. What God has given cannot be changed. - I want to know everything that is not written. I'm going to bursa, by God, I'm going! Why do you think I won’t get hooked? I will embrace everything, everything! “Oh, my God, my God!..” said the comforter and lowered his head to the table, because he couldn’t rest his hands on his shoulders at all. Other Cossacks talked about gentlemen and about those who have a month in the sky. Philosopher Khoma, having done this kind of loosening of his heads, ventured to speed up and flow in. He immediately became furious with the gray Cossack, who summed it up for his father and mother: “Why are you crying, uncle,” he said, “I’m an orphan myself!” Let me go free, boys! What do you need me for? - Let's set him free! - the deeds hummed. - He is an orphan. Go wherever you want. - Oh, my God, my God! - after washing the toilet, raising his head. - Let him go! Let's go! And the Cossacks themselves wanted to lead him into the open field, but he, who showed his stubbornness, stopped them, saying: - Don’t worry: I want to talk to him about the burs. I'm going to Bursa myself... However, it is unlikely that this time could have happened, because if the philosopher decided to leave the table, then his legs became like wood and the doors to the room began to seem so impersonal to him that it was unlikely that he would know anything. Just that evening the whole company knew what they needed to do before they set off on the road. Having settled near the log, the stinks stretched out, defiling the horses and singing a song, the words and feelings of which could hardly be heard. Having driven for more than half the night, inevitably getting off the road, the memory of the stinks came down from the steep mountain into the valley, and the philosopher noticed on the sides a dense palisade, or mud, with low trees and trees. There was a great village, which belonged to the centurion. It was already far beyond the sun; the skies were dark, and small stars blinked away. There was no visible fire in the living house. The stinks were accompanied by a dog barking overhead. On both sides there were sheds and little buildings covered with straw. One of them, who was right in the middle, contradicts, being larger than the others and serving, as it seemed, to the centurion’s peregrinations. Brika sank in front of the small likeness of the stable, and our mandrivniks went to bed. The philosopher wants, however, to look back at the gentlemen’s mansion for a little while; Unless he had opened his eyes, nothing could appear in a clear view: instead of the booth, he appeared to be a witch; The rector came out of the pipe. The philosopher waved his hand and went to sleep. If the philosopher woke up, the whole day would be in Russia: the little lady died in Russia. The servants ran back and forth with their hands. The deyaks were crying. A crowd of people marveled at the parkan on the master's door, they might as well get some help. The philosopher began, as soon as possible, to look at those places that he could not see at night. The gentleman's little budinok was a low, small budova, like the people who lived in the old days in Little Russia. It was covered with straw. A small, sharp and high pediment with an end similar to the rising sun, all with blue and yellow leaves and red mixtures. The wines are hardened on oak pillars, up to half round and hexagonal at the bottom, with a wonderful turning at the top. Under this pediment there was a small ganok with lavas along its sides. On the sides of the booth there were hangings on the same individual stands. A tall pear tree with a pyramidal top and three-fold green leaves in front of the booth. A few rows of komors stood in the middle of the courtyard, facing the wide street that led to the booth. Behind the komors, right up to the gates, stood two lyokhas, one opposite the other, covered with straw. The three-piece wall of each of them is secured with low doors and painted with various images. On one of them there is a Cossack painted on it, sitting on a barrel and holding a cap over his head with the inscription: “I drink everything.” On the other flask, poured on all sides, for beauty, with your feet up on the ground, a pipe, tambourines and the inscription: “Wine is Cossack fun.” From the hills of one of the barns, a drum and copper pipes looked magnificently from the auditory window. There were two gates standing there. Everything showed that the gentleman loved to have fun and his followers often heard banquet cliques. Behind the gate there were two windmills. There were gardens behind the booth; And across the tops of the trees, only a few dark droplets of pipes were visible, hanging around in the green thicket of the huts. The entire village was located on a wide and level ledge of the mountain. From the opposite side everything was shadowed by a steep mountain and its base ended almost in the yard itself. When looking at it from below, it looked even steeper, and on the high top, the irregular stems of thin weeds were erased and black in the bright sky. Its bare, clayey appearance evokes the evil spirit. The bula there is all stained with plank washouts and grooves. On a steep slope, two houses were being washed in two places; Above one of them, the branches of a wide apple tree were scattered, supported by the roots of small tufts of filled earth. The apples, which were whipped by the wind, huddled in the gentleman's shelter. From the top the road wound along the entire mountain and, descending, came to the end of the village. If the philosopher has seen a terribly steep thing and guessed a better price, then he will believe that either the lord must have wiser horses, or the Cossacks must have merciful heads, if the drunken child must not fly uphill with his feet once om iz immeasurable baggage and baggage. The philosopher stood on the opposite side, and when he turned and looked at his back, he saw a completely different look. The settlements immediately migrated to the plain with taxes. Intangible bows arched into the distant expanse; The bright greenery of them was dark in the world in the distance, and whole rows of villages were blue in the distance, although their appearance was greater, less than twenty miles. On the right side of their bow were the mountains, and a small trace of the dark mountains and dark Dnieper in the distance. - Oh, what a glorious place! - Said the philosopher. - From here you can live, catch fish in the Dnieper and in the stakes, fish from snares and snares for little bustards and rabbits! That's why, I think, there was a lot of dust in these bows. Fruits can be dried and sold in a place without food, or, better yet, smoked from them; Moreover, a burner made of fruit is not comparable to any kind of stump. She doesn’t even bother to think about how they might get involved. You notice a small path behind the mud, completely covered with weeds that have grown. We mechanically put our foot on it, thinking in advance to just take a walk, and then quietly, between the huts, and wave into the field, as if raptly having felt on my shoulder to reach my hand. Standing behind him was the same old Cossack, who had so bitterly sung about the death of his father and mother and about his own identity. “You’re foolishly thinking, Mr. Philosopher, that you’re leaving the farm!” - said Vin. - There’s not such a mortgage here, so you can get in; Those roads are trash for pedestrians. And better go to the sir: he has been waiting for you for a long time in the room. - Let's go! Well... I’m pleased,” said the philosopher and followed the Cossack. A centurion, already in advanced age, with gray hair and a frown of confusion, was sitting in front of the table near the room, with his head in his hands. You were close to fifty years old; But the deep desperation in his appearance and the kind of pale-harsh color showed that his soul had been beaten and destroyed by rapt, into one piece, and all the wonderful merriment and peaceful life arose forever. When Khoma meets the old Cossack, he raises one hand and slightly nods his head to a low angle. Khoma and Cossack chattered shakily at the doors. -Who are you, what are your stars, and what is your title, good man? - the centurion said neither lagidno nor suvoro. — Z Bursakiv, philosopher Khoma Brut. - Who is your father? - I don’t know, noble sir.- And your mother? - I don’t know my mother. For good health, naturally, Bula Mother; But who, and the stars, and if she lived, by God, kindness, I don’t know. The centurion muttered and seemed to have lost his mind. - How did you get to know my daughter? - Without knowing, noble sir, by God, without knowing. I have not yet dealt with the panels as much as I have not lived in this world. Please don't say anything obscene. “Why didn’t you tell someone else to read it to you?” The philosopher lowered his shoulders: - God knows how to do this. It’s already on the right, that the gentlemen will sometimes want something that the most educated people can’t figure out; And when she said: “Ride, wizard, just like the master!” - Why aren’t you lying, Mr. Philosopher? - The axis on whose very place is loud and clear, as if I am making a mistake. “If you had only lived a little longer,” the centurion said sumptuously, “then perhaps I would have known everything.” “Don’t let anyone read me, let’s go, tattoo, immediately to the Kiev Seminary and bring the student Khoma Brut. Let me pray for three nights for my sinful soul. He knows...” And what he knows, I no longer feel. There, little blue one, she could only say, she died. You, good person, perhaps, knowing your holy lives and godly righteousnesses, and there, perhaps, I began to think about you. - Who? I? - said the student, entering the stage. - Am I holy? — having washed the wine, simply marveling at the centurion. - God is with you, sir! What are you saying? And I, I want to say it obscenely, walked to the bakery on the most special Thursday. - Well... perhaps it’s not without reason that it’s been so designated. From this day forward, you can publish your right. - I would say on your mercy... it is, of course, a human being, to understand the Holy Letter, perhaps for the sake of proportionality... only here it would be more appropriate to be a deacon or, for hire, a deacon. The people stink, and I know how much I should be afraid, but I... But my voice is not like that, and I myself am a damn thing. I don't see anything greedy about me. - Whatever you want, I will follow everything that my little dove told me, without harming anything. And if you have been praying for three nights on this day as a follow-up to prayers over her, then I will reward you; Otherwise the devil himself wouldn’t anger me. The remaining words were understood by the centurion so meaningfully that the philosopher understood their entire meaning. - Follow me! - Said the centurion. Stinks came out from the blue. The centurion opened the door to another room, which was opposite the first one. The philosopher stood on a tree in the dark, blew his nose, and stepped over the threshold with a kind of unknown fear. All the forgery was lined with red Chinese paper. Near the kutku, under the icons, on a high table lay a dead body, on a carpet of blue oxamite, decorated with gold fringe and pencils. Tall wax candles, entwined with viburnum, stood at the feet and at the heads, waving their kalamutne, ruined in the light of the day. The appearance of the dead woman was obscured from the view of the new, indifferent father, who was sitting in front of her, with his back to the door. The philosopher was struck by the words that he sensed: “I’m not talking about those pitiful ones, my dear daughter who hired me, who, in the color of their fates, without reaching the required century, to my troubles and grief, deprived the land. I’m so sorry, my dear, that I don’t know who, my fierce enemy, was the cause of your death. And if I knew who might think of anything to do to you or even say something unacceptable about you, I swear to God, not to betray any more of my children, since only one is as old as I am; not his father and mother, as it was still at the time of fate, and his body would have been thrown away for the birds and animals of the steppe to live on. Alas, woe to me, my Polish cape, my quail, my little darling, that I will live my life without courage, rubbing away the empty tears that flow from my old eyes, so that my enemy will have fun and laugh hover over the great old man... He frowned, and the cause of this was a burst of grief that burst forth in a flood of tears. The philosopher has created such uneasy confusion. He coughed and heard a muffled grunt, trying to clear some of his voice. The centurion turned around and pointed to the dead place in front of a small pile on which books lay. “I’ve been practicing for three nights,” the philosopher thought, “then the lord will offend me, swarming with pure worms.” He approached and, once again clearing his throat, began to read, without losing his thirst for respect and not daring to look at the face of the dead. Gliboka was silent and panicked. Vin noted that the centurion of the Viyshov. Turning his head completely to look at the dead woman... A thrill ran through his veins: in front of him lay a beautiful woman, as if she had been on the ground. It seemed as if no figurines had ever been created in such sharp and at the same time harmonious beauty. Vona lay there as if she were alive. Cholo, garne, tender, like snow, like sriblo, gave away, mislilo; eyebrows - in the middle of a sunny day, thin, straight, proudly rose above the flattened eyes, and the eyebrows fell like arrows onto the cheeks, which palafed with melting bananas; There are rubies, ready to laugh... But they, these very rices, are terribly poignant. He realized that his soul was beginning like a painful thread, and began to rap among the swirl of merry people and suddenly began to sing a song about the people’s misfortunes. The rubies of her lips, it seemed, boiled with blood to her very heart. The rapture that was terribly familiar appeared in this guise. - Witch! - shouting in a voice that was not his own, seeing the death in his eyes, all the wickedness and starting to read his prayers. It was the witch herself who had driven in the wine. When the sun began to fade, they carried the dead body to the church. The philosopher lifted the black, plaintive trumpet with one shoulder and felt the coldness on his shoulder, like ice. The centurion himself was in front, carrying with his hand the right side of the cramped dead box. The church, made of wood, blackened, decorated with green moss, with three cone-like domes, stood gloomily on the edge of the village. It was clear that there had been no service there for a long time. The candles were on fire just before the skin service. The truna was placed in the middle, opposite the roof itself. The old centurion kissed death once again, rushed out of the way with the carriers, giving the order to kindly please the philosopher and after the evening accompany him to the church. Having arrived in the kitchen, all the truns who were carrying them began to put their hands on the stove, so that the Little Russians began to hesitate, flickering. The hunger that the philosopher began to perceive at this hour, having thought about it for a moment, forgot about the death. Suddenly, the whole door gradually began to converge on the kitchen. The kitchen in the centurion's hut was similar to a club, where everything that was not hanging around the yard flocked, including the dogs that came with tails, that waved, right up to the doors for brushes and pomies. No matter where I am sent for any need, I will always rush into the kitchen in order to choose the quill on the lava and pick up the cradle. All the bachelors who lived in the hut, who lived in Cossack bags, lay here all day long on a bench, under a bench, on a rug - in a word, there were only so many people who could find a better place to lie down. Moreover, I forgot my hat in the kitchen, or a batig for other people’s dogs, or something similar. However, the largest gatherings took place until one hour in the evening, when the herdsman arrived to drive his horses into the paddock, and the drivers who brought cows for the milking, and all those who could not be raised as the day went on. During the evening, the balachki were prepared by the non-balaku people themselves. Here they talked about everything: about those who sewed new trousers, who were in the middle of the earth, and who became a wolf. There were a lot of bonmotists here, some of whom wouldn’t marry Little Russians. The philosopher sits with the others in a wide circle in the open air in front of the threshold of the kitchen. Suddenly, a woman in a red cap leaned out of the door, holding a hot pot of dumplings in both hands, and placed him in the middle of those who were preparing dinner. Kozhen got out of his wooden spoon, otherwise, through marriage, a wooden cheesecake. As soon as the birds began to crumble, more and more people began to crumble, and the great hunger of all the collected little things began to sink in, and who began to speak. Rozmova, of course, is too small to die. “Is it true,” said one young wizard, who had placed so many chinks and copper badges on his skin of a cradle bandage, so that it looked like a junk shop, “is it true that the lady, without being told, knew the evil spirits?” - Who? lady? - said Dorosh, already familiar with our philosopher. - There was a whole witch there! I swear that I am a witch! - Finish it all up, Darling! - said the other, who, during the hour of the journey, showed great readiness to console. - This is not ours on the right; God is with him. There's nothing about ce tlumachiti. Ale Dorosh does not speak at all. Just before that, having gone to the housekeeper for any necessary information, having filled two to two or three barrels, you sounded extremely cheerful and spoke without stopping. - What do you want? Should I have done it? - Vin said. - That one rode on me herself! Oh my God, I went! “Well, uncle,” said the young shepherd with the buzzers, “how can you recognize any signs of a witch?” “It’s not possible,” Dorosh said. - You don’t know; If you want to re-read all the psalms, you won’t know. - It’s possible, it’s possible, Darling. “Don’t tell me what,” said the stupid utishnik. “It was not without reason that God gave each individual a special name.” People who know science seem to think that the witch has a small tail. “If the woman is old, then she’s a witch,” said the gray-haired Cossack. - Oh, already you garni! - the woman came up, as she was pouring fresh dumplings from the miner at that hour, having cleaned herself, - freshly cooked boars. The old Cossack, whose name was Yavtukh, and whose nickname was Kovtun, heard a smile of satisfaction on his lips, noting that his words had been chained to the old man; and the cattle driver let out such a thick laugh that two beeps, having become one against the other, began to murmur at once. Rozmova, which had begun, was destroyed by the inexorable desire and the stubbornness of the philosopher to learn more about the centurion’s dead daughter. And to that, I hope to again bring him to the worst matter, rushing to his seat with these words: - I want to ask why the whole camp, sitting at supper, regards the lady as a witch? Well, why the hell did anyone become evil or spoil someone? “There were all sorts of things,” said one of those who were sitting, with smooth faces, extremely similar to a shovel. - Who can’t guess the dog Mikita, why... - What about the dog dog Mikita? - Said the philosopher. - Stay! “I’ll tell you about the dog Mikita,” said Dorosh. “I’ll tell you about Mikita,” the herd’s leader said, “because he’s my godfather.” “I’ll tell you about Mikita,” Spirid said. - Come on, let the spirit of revelation come! - NATO shouted. Spirid having started: - You, Mr. philosopher Khoma, don’t know Mikity. Oh, what a rare person she was! The dog used to know his skin like his own father. The current dog Mikola, who sits third behind me, is not suitable for supporting me. I want you to understand your right, otherwise it’s trash, damn it. - You speak well, good! - Dorosh said, nodding his head in praise. Having chewed Spirid: - Drink the hare swedishly, wipe the bottom of the nose from the nose. Buvalo, whistling: “Come on, Rozbiy! come on, Shvidka! - and he himself is on horseback for all his privacy - and it is no longer possible to recognize who has married whom: whether his dog is his or his dog’s. Whistle a quart of vodka and rap, otherwise it wouldn’t happen. Monster buv dog! Just recently I started looking at the little lady incessantly. Even if she got riveted into her, because she already enchanted him so much, only then did the man know, having become an old woman; becoming the devil knows; pff! It's obscene to say. “Good,” said Dorosh. - Just like the little lady, it used to be, look at him, then he lets the drive out of his hands, called Rozboi Brovkom, stumbles and breaks the treasury. One day the lady came to the herd, having cleaned the horse. Let me say, Mikitko, I’ll lay my tenderness on you. And here, you fool, and for the sake of this: it seems that not only your little one, but you yourself sit on me. The lady raised her legs, and as if she had shaken her head, her back and her white legs, it seemed as if the charm had shaken him. Vin, the fool, with his back bent and his hands clasped behind his bare legs, he began to gallop, as if across the whole field, and wherever they went, he could not say anything; just turned around and was still alive, and from that moment dried up like a cod; And when they arrived at the camp, there was nothing left but a pile of ashes and an empty bucket: everything was on fire; burning by itself. And such a former dog cannot be known in the whole world. When Spirid finished his talk, whispers began to flow from both sides about the bravery of the great dog. - And you didn’t hear about Shepchikha? - Dorosh said, brutalizing Homi.- No. - Yege-ge-ge! So you, the Bursa, apparently don’t have much to think about. Well, listen! We have a Cossack Sheptun in the village. Garny Cossack! You can love to steal and shave without drinking water, good Cossack. Your house is not that far away. Just as we were about to sit down to dinner, Whisperer and the woman, having finished the evening meal, went to bed; when it was a good hour, Shepchikha lay down on the bedspread, and Whisperer lay down on the rock in front of the hut; no: The Whisperer is on a bench in the hut, and the Whisperer is on the bench. “And Shepchikha lay down not on the lava, but on the underside,” the woman walked up, standing on the threshold and resting her hand on her cheek. I looked at her kindly, then looked down, then looked at her again, and, having washed for a little while, said: “If I throw off my sleeping bag to you in front of everyone, then I won’t be kind.” This guarding is not enough. The old woman finished and never interrupted the language. Dorosh said: “And in the cart that hung in the middle of the house, lay a river baby - I don’t know whether it was human or female.” Shepchikha lay there, and then she felt a dog scratching behind the door and howling as if she wanted to run out of the house. Vona was angry: because the women are such bad people, if you hang out from behind the doors of the monk for a night, then your soul will be gone before five. Well, he thinks, let me hit the damned dog in the face, maybe you can stop whining, - and, taking the poker, she went out to open the doors. Before she could finish, the dog rushed between her legs and right up to the baby's pram. She whispers that this is no longer a dog, but a lady. If only the lady had already looked like that, as she knew, there would be nothing else; and the axis of the river and the furnishings: it was all blue, the eyes were burning like a vugilla. She buried the child, bit her throat and began to drink blood. The little whisperer screamed: “Oh, too much!” - ta z hati. Just hope that the blue doors are locked. Over there on the mountain; sit and tremble, bad woman, and then wait for the lady to go before her and to the hill; she rushed at her and began to bite the bad woman. Already the Whisperer pulled out his wife with a wound, all bitten and blue. And the next day the bad woman died. So the axis, as it is structured, is in peace! Even if you want the master’s aftertaste, if it’s a witch, then it’s a witch. After such a confirmation, Dorosh looked around complacently and stuck his finger in his pipe, preparing it to fill with tubing. The matter about the witch became inextricable. Before that, the witch, in sight of the mud of the son, arrived right up to the very door of the hut; She stole another’s hat and pipe; I cut off the braids of rich girls in the village; in others, buckets of blood dripped out. Once there, the whole company became confused and chattered, saying that they had already started talking, since they had already finished nothing in the yard. Everyone began to wander around at night, either in the kitchen, or in the barns, or in the middle of the yard. - Anu, Mr. Homo! “Now it’s time for us to go to the deceased,” said the gray Cossack, turning into a philosopher, and all four, including Spirid and Dorosh, walked to the church, gathering in packs of dogs that were anonymous on the street and like grizzly bears. and clubs. The philosopher, unimpressed by those who came to fortify himself with a good cup of an overcoat, sensing the secret timidity that was approaching the world as the stench approached the illuminated church. Revelations and strange stories, as we felt, contributed even more to the work of his disappearance. The darkness under the mud and trees began to subside; the place became bare. The stinks entered behind the old church fence into a small courtyard, behind which there was not a tree and only an empty field and a dark, dark bow appeared. Three Cossacks left Khomoy at the same time in steep descents to the ganok and entered the church. Here the stench deprived the philosopher, who urged him to safely dispose of his burdens, and closed the doors behind him at the order of the master. The philosopher has lost himself. At first he sighed, then he stretched, then he groaned at his offending hands, and then he got surprised. In the middle stood a black truna. The candles glowed in front of the black images. The light from them illuminated the iconostasis and slightly the middle of the church. In the distance, the porch was shrouded in darkness. The tall, ancient iconostasis has already shown great age; It was cut through and covered with gold, and it shone with only sparks. The gilding has fallen off in one place, and completely blackened in others; The faces of the saints completely darkened and looked as if they were gloomy. The philosopher looked around again. “Well,” he said, “what is there to be afraid of?” People don’t even dare come here, and despite the dead and those who left this world, I have such prayers that as soon as I read them, I can’t even touch the stench with my finger. Nothing! - he repeated, waving his hand, - readable. Approaching the chrylos, add a splint of candles to the candle. “It’s good,” the philosopher thought, “we need to light up the whole church so that it can be seen as early as day.” Oh, what a shame, you can’t have a cradle near the temple of God! And having begun to stick wax candles to all the cornices, layers and images, without damaging them, and immediately the whole church was filled with light. As the sky burned, the darkness became intense, and the gloomy images gazed gloomily at the ancient ornate frames that had sparkled with gilding. He went to the extent of teasing, fearfully marveling at the guise of a dead woman and could not help but squash, trembling a little, his eyes. So scary, so beautiful! You turned out and want to go out; but because of the wondrous tenderness, because of the wondrous sensitive feeling that does not deprive a person especially in the hour of fear, he could not bear to look at her as he walked, and then, having seen that same trepidation, he looked again. In truth, the sharp beauty of the deceased seemed terrible. Perhaps the truth would not have struck such a panicked fear, as if it were something conniving. There was nothing dark, kalamut, or dead in these rices. He was alive, and the philosophers would never have marveled at his flattened eyes. It seemed to me that a tear was rolling from the back of her right eye, and when she hit her cheek, she realized that there was a drop of blood. You quickly go to the krylos, lighting up the book, to encourage yourself by starting to read in your deepest voice. His voice struck the church trees and became deaf and deaf for a long time. Of course, without a moonlight, wheezing in a thick bass in a completely dead silence and seeming almost wild to tell the reader himself. “What are you afraid of? - he thought to himself. “Don’t get up from your troubles, for you will be afraid of God’s word.” Let's lie down! What kind of Cossack am I if I got angry? Well, having seen the sign, it appears scary. And sniff Tyutyun: oh, good Tyutyun! Monster tutyun! Garniy Tyutyun! Prote, burning the skin side, looked askance at the trun, and fleetingly seemed to whisper to you: “Axle, axle!” The axle will rise, the axle will look out of your arms!” Ale tisha bula is dead. Truna stood unmoved. The candles poured out a flood of light. The church is illuminated at night, with a dead body and without the soul of people! The voice grew louder and began to sing in discordant voices, hoping to drown out the excesses of fear. Having turned his eyes to the throne through the skin, he asked fleetingly: “What, how can we rise, when will you arise?” Ale truna did not collapse. If you want any kind of sound, if there is a living essence, let the flower curl up into the bundle! There was almost a faint crackling sound of a distant candle, or the faint sound of a drop of wax falling lightly onto the foundation. “Well, how are you going to get up?..” Vona lowered her head. He looked wildly and rubbed his eyes. But he definitely doesn’t lie down anymore, but sits by his trune. He opened his eyes and returned to the throne again with passion. Vaughn stood up... walking through the church with flattened eyes, constantly spreading her arms, wanting to make someone angry. There you go straight to the new one. Out of fear, he baptized himself. I began to read prayers and cast spells, which one monk began to teach, who has spent all his life on his own and unclean spirits. She stood on the boundary line; but it was clear that she had a lot of strength to cross it, and she was all blue, like a person who had already died for many days. Khoma couldn’t bring himself to look at her. She was scary. Vaughn slammed her teeth into her teeth and crushed her dead eyes. Ale, without saying anything, with a story - which expressed her three-fold accusation - she turned into another bak and, stretching out her hands, spit on the skin of her feet and kuts, trying to catch Khoma. Nareshti mumbled, wagging her finger, and lay down by her trumpet. The philosopher still could not come to you and looked at the life of the witches with fear. When the trumpet began to rumble from its place and whistle, it began to fly throughout the entire church, the crosses in all directions going back and forth. The philosopher held it above his head, but suddenly realized that he could not seal the stake he had baptized, and had strengthened his spell. Truna grimaced in the middle of the church and lost her inviolability. The corpse reappeared new, blue, green. Then I felt a distant cry of a song. The corpse sank into the tunnel and became filled with a corpse. The philosopher’s heart beat and began to beat like hail; But, with a loud cry of encouragement, he finished reading the last few pages that he had read before. At first dawn they came to replace his little boy and the gray Yavtukh, who at that time was directing the planting of the church elders. Arriving at the end of the night, the philosopher could not fall asleep for a long time, but then got tired, and slept until lunchtime. When he woke up, the whole night seemed to him like something he had experienced in his sleep. You were given a quart of sleeping bag to strengthen your strength. During lunch, she quickly got loose, adding so much respect to the old pig; However, about his presence in the church, he didn’t dare to talk about something unknown to everyone, and to the well-trained witnesses: “So, there were all sorts of miracles.” The philosopher is one of those people who, whenever they become indignant, an extraordinary philanthropy springs from them. Vin, lying with his pipe in his teeth, marveling at everyone’s extremely sweet eyes and constantly spitting ubik. After lunch, the philosopher was completely at ease. Vin was inspired to crush the whole village, having become familiar with the whole village; They kicked him out of two huts; One pretty young lady gave him quite a good shove on the back, when she decided to smack and cluck, what kind of material did she wear for her shirt and plaid. As the evening approached for more than an hour, the philosopher became thoughtful. A year before the evening, the entire door was gathered to play porridge or in kragli - a row of skittles, where instead of the cul the long sticks are played, and the one who, having won, has the right to rise to another top. This gra became very impressive for the spyers: often the driver, wide, like a baby, climbed on top of the pig shepherd, tall, short, with a wrinkled face. Once again, the driver presented his back, and Dorosh, gathered on it, again saying: “What a healthy beak!” Sitting on the threshold of the kitchen were those who were so handsome. The stinks marveled extremely seriously, the smoking cradles, as if the young ones laughed in their hearts at the witty words of the chaser Spirid. Khoma desperately tried to get involved in this group: a dark thought, like a flower, sat in his head. Over the course of the evening, there was no attempt to amuse myself, but the fear had disappeared from anyone at once from the darkness that spread across the sky. - Anu, it’s time for us, Mr. Bursak! - a well-known gray Cossack told him, leaving the place at the same time from Dorosh. - We go to work. Khoma was immediately led to the church; Once again they deprived him of one and locked the doors behind him. As soon as he lost one, fear began to reappear in his chest. Once again, we saw dark images, glittering frames and the familiar black trumpet that stood in the menacing silence and unruly middle of the church. “Well,” he said, “now it’s not surprising to me.” Now it’s even more scary the first time. So! It’s just a little more scary the first time, but now it’s not worse; It’s not scary at all. He hastily stood on the wing, christened his neck, rinsed the spell and began to read aloud, daring not to lift his eyes from the book and not to lose respect for anything. It’s been almost a year since I read the book and started to get very tired and cough. He raised his mouth and first raised his nose to his nose, looking up at the trumpet with a smile. Yogo's heart grew cold. The corpse was already standing in front of him at the very boundary and standing next to him, his eyes turned green. The student shuddered, and the cold sensitively ran through his veins. Having lowered his eyes to the book, starting to read his prayers and curses out loud, and feeling like a corpse, hitting the corpse again with his teeth and waving his arms, eagerly to bury him. Ale, having mowed down the three with one eye, having looked at the fact that the corpse was not there, catching it, standing there, and, perhaps, could not see it. She began to mutter dully and began to whisper terrible words with her dead lips; The stench snorted hoarsely, like the slime of boiling tar. What the stench meant, I couldn’t say, except there was something worse in it. The philosopher realized in fear that she was afraid of the spell. The wind blew through the church from the rain, and it felt like there were a lot of wings in the sky to fly. I felt like they were beating their wings against the broken church windows and in the shuttered frames, like they were scraping the heather with their claws along the crawl space, and like an incurable force was smashing at the door and wanted to break in. Nogo’s heart was beating strongly all hour; having flattened his eyes, reading all the curses and prayers. There was a rap that whistled in the distance: there was a distant cry of a stump. The former philosopher paused and became restless in spirit. Those who left to replace the philosopher found him still alive. Vin leaned his back against the wall and, with his eyes wide open, marveled unflinchingly at the Cossacks who were harassing him. You were led and encouraged the whole way. Having arrived in a gentle manner, he became afraid and ordered himself to hand over a quart of sleeping bag. Having drunk it, he smoothed the hair on his head and said: “There’s a lot of bad stuff in this world!” And such fears are extinguished - well... - At which the philosopher waved his hand. A group of people, who had gathered together, lowered their heads, feeling such words. This poor cotton boy, whom all the people scurried about, had the right to respect in his place, if it came to cleaning the flock or drawing water, this poor cotton man had already opened his mouth. At this hour, a not-quite-summer granny was passing by in a tight-fitting stock, which revealed her round and sizable tabir, the assistant of an old cook, a terrible coquette, who had previously found herself pinned before her eyes. pka: either a piece of stitching, or a clove, or a papyrus thread. , as if there was nothing else. - Good afternoon, Homo! - said Vaughn, having amused the philosopher. - Ah ah ah! what's wrong with you? - she squealed, clasping her hands. - How bad is the woman? - Oh, my God! You've sat all over! - Hey, hey! That seems like the truth! - Having washed Spirid, you are amazed at the new saw. - You definitely sat down, like our old Yavtukh. The philosopher, sensing this, escaped with a burn in the kitchen, de vin noticing sticking to the wall, clogged with flies, the knitted fabric of the mirror, before which there were forget-me-nots, periwinkles and a garland of capes, which showed the recognition of his for the toilet there is a purple yoke. With a sigh, he realized the truth of their words: half of his hair, in fact, turned white. Homa Brut hung his head and began to think. “I’ll go to the master,” he said, “let’s tell him everything and explain that I don’t want to read anymore.” Let him send me straight to Kiev. With such thoughts, he straightened his path to the master’s house. The centurion sat in the middle of his room; the same hopeless turmoil that had previously existed in his guise, remaining in the new one until now. His cheeks only sunk a lot earlier. It was clear that he had lived very little of their lives, or, perhaps, never bothered with them. The supernatural brightness gave him a sense of unruliness. “Hello, my goodness,” he said, greeting Khoma, who stood with his hat in his hands across the doors. - How are you doing? Is everything okay? - Safely, safely. Such devilry exists that when you pick up your hat, you run away wherever you go.- How so? - That’s your daughter, sir... For good measure, of course, it belongs to the lord’s family; You won’t be able to change your mind from anyone; Let it not be said in anger, may God rest my soul...- What is it, donka? — let Satan come to her. Such fears are caused by the fact that Scripture is not safe. - Read, read! It was not for nothing that Vona called out to you. There you were, my little dear, about your soul and wanted to banish every filthy thought with your prayers. - Your Vlada, sir: by God, she carried it! - Read, read! - the centurion continued in that very informative voice. - Now you have lost one night. You earn the Christian right, and I will reward you. - If only there were no fences... Whatever you want, sir, I can’t read! — having spoken decisively to Khoma. - Listen, philosopher! - said the centurion, and his voice became bitter and nasty, - I don’t like these ideas. You can work with your bursa. But it’s not like that in me: as soon as I see it, it’s not like the rector. Do you know what garni skinny kanchuki are? - You don’t know! - said the philosopher, lowering his voice. - Everyone knows that such skinned ends are unbearable for many reasons. - So. You still don’t know how my boys soar! - the centurion said grimly, rising to his feet, and exposing him to a commanding and fierce expression, which revealed all the untidy character of his character, sleep deprived of confusion at any hour. “I’ll first steam it, then burn it with my sleeping bag, and then I’ll start again.” Go, go! correct your right! If you don’t vipravish, you won’t get up; and vipravish - a thousand ducats! “Wow! ta tse grab! - the philosopher thought, walking out. - There is nothing to fry from this. Stay, stay, buddy: I’ll make my face so tan that you won’t be able to see me with your dogs.” And Khoma began to tick relentlessly. It was only this last year that everyone began to climb into the hay under the sheds and, with their mouths open, let out such a hustle and whistling that the pans' trust sounded like a factory. This is the hour for instructions. Navit Yavtukh flattened his eyes and stretched out in front of the sun. The philosopher, with fear and trepidation, quietly fell into the master's garden, it seemed to him that it would be safer and easier to run into the field. This garden, as before, was terribly neglected and, therefore, subtly absorbed into the secret secrets of the skin. Including only one path, trodden for the ruler's needs, everything else was covered with cherries that grew thickly, elderberries, burdocks, with their tall stems with tough horny cones sticking up to the very top. The hops covered, in a merging manner, the top of all the stringy collected trees and tea gardens and piled over them the dust that fell on the mud and fell from it like curly snakes at the same time as the wild field flowers. Behind the mud that served as the boundary of the garden, there was a whole forest of weeds, in which, it seemed, no one had bothered to look, and the scythe would fly into friends, as if it wanted to stick with the forest of its thick stem, which is its tree. whether. Whenever a philosopher wanted to step over the mud, his teeth chattered and his heart beat so hard that he himself began to bite. The floor of his long-lasting clothes seemed to be stuck to the ground, the bottom of it being covered with flowers. Whenever he stepped through the mud, he heard a voice crackling in his ear with a deafening whistle: “Where, where?” The philosopher winked at the weeds and rushed to roll, constantly tripping over the old roots and crushing the moles with their feet. He realized that, having got out of the weeds, he was about to cross the field, behind some thick black thorns, and he respected himself for being careless and having passed some time, for his own indulgences, thinking of clearing the way straight to Kiev. The field ran across the field and fell into thick thorns. He climbed through the thorns, having lost the tar of his coat on the sharp thorn of his skin, and landed on a small hollow. The willow's branches, which had split, sometimes spread as far as the ground. A small dzherelo vibrated, as clean as wood. The philosopher’s first task was to lie down and drink, because he felt the unbearable spell. - Good water! - he said, his lips pursing. - Here you can prefer. - No, let’s better run forward: there will be no pursuit! These words mooned over the ears. Vin looked around: standing in front of him was Yavtukh. “Devil Yavtukh! - the philosopher thought in his heart. “I would have taken you by the feet... I would have beaten your vile peak and everything that is not on you with an oak block.” “Having given you such a foolish way,” Yavtukh said in the distance, “it would be better to choose the road that I took: I’ll go straight back.” But before that, the frock coat is bad. And the cloth is garnet. How much do you pay for an arshin? However, we walked for an hour and got home. The philosopher, shaky, followed Yavtukh. “Now the witch is cursed to give me a Pfeiffer,” he thought. - So, what am I telling the truth? What am I afraid of? Why am I not a Cossack? Even if you read for two nights, God will help you for the third. Apparently, the cursed witch has accumulated quite a lot of sins, so the evil spirits stand behind her.” These were the thoughts that occupied him when he entered the army. Having encouraged himself with such respect, he begged Dorosh, who, under the additional protection of the key keeper, at the entrance to the lady's algae, pulled out the fusel juice, and offended friends, sitting under the barn, pulled out the crumbs without drinking Idra, also a philosopher, rose to his feet and shouted: “Musicians ! definitely musicians! - and, not having finished listening to the musicians, he began to dance the tropaka in the middle of the courtyard on the cleared ground. They danced until the hour of noon arrived, and the door that surrounded him, as is common in such outbursts, at the heads, they spat and went to walk, saying: “It’s like how long the people have been dancing!” The philosopher immediately went to bed, and a good rolling of cold water could wake him up for supper. During the evening meal we talked about those who are Cossacks and how they shouldn’t be afraid of anything in the world. “It’s an hour,” said Yavtukh, “we’re walking.” “Sirnik on your tongue, damned father!” - the philosopher thought, getting to his feet, saying:- Let's go. Walking along the road, the philosopher constantly looked at all sides and lightly spoke to his guides. Ale Yavtukh movchav; Dorosh himself is not balakuchy. The night was hot. The wolves were playing in the distance. And the naughty dog's bark seems to be scary. “It seems that it’s different: it’s not like that,” Dorosh said. Yavtukh movchav. The philosopher didn’t know how to say anything. The stench approached the church and stood under the old wooden crypt, which showed how little more the Volodar had to say about God and his soul. Yavtukh and Dorosh, as before, left, and the philosopher lost himself. Everything was just the same. Everything had that same ghastly, familiar look. Vin frowned. In the middle stood the trune of the greedy witch, just as indestructible. “I won’t be afraid, by God, I won’t be afraid!” - he said, having baptized himself as before, beating himself a stake, and began to think of all his spells. The silence was terrible; The candles flickered and poured light over the entire church. The philosopher turned over one arch, then turned over the other and noted that he was not reading what was written in the book. We crossed each other in fear and began to sleep. A little bit encouraged him: the reading moved forward, and the arches blinked one after another... Raptom... in the middle of the silence... with a crack, the slick lid of the trine burst and the death died. More terrible than ever. His teeth collided terribly nearby, his lips began to murmur on the boats, and, screaming wildly, the spell rushed off. The cowlick went up the church, the icons fell to the ground, and the broken icons flew down to the beast. The doors burst from their hinges, and the incurable power of the miracles flew into the Church of God. A terrible noise from the cry and from the trash of pasurians filled the whole church. Everything was flying and dying, searching everywhere for the philosopher. Homi Viyshov has a surplus of hops in his head. We just crossed ourselves and read abyyak prayers. And suddenly I felt how the evil spirits rushed at him, almost smothering him with the ends of his wings and his final tails. I don’t have the heart to look at them; standing tall, like a monster standing all over the wall with her tangled hair, like a fox; Across the line of hair, two eyes marveled terribly, eyebrows raised slightly. Above him hung what looked like a majestic fur, with a thousand pincers and scorpion yews extending from the middle. The black earth hung on them like claws. Everyone marveled at him, joked and could not help him, sharpened by the secret stake. - Visit Viya! Follow Viem! - the words flickered. And suddenly there was silence in the church; in the distance it was felt that the hair was curling again, and the important croaks that were mooning around the church were constantly mooning; glancing sideways, looking at the wine, scho lead yakus prisadkuvat, arc, clumsy man. All life is on the black land. Like a sinewy, mitzne root, you could see his legs and arms covered with earth. Walking heavily, the shokhvilini stumbled. For a long time the arms were lowered to the ground. Noting Khom with horror that he had denounced the new disease. They brought him under his arms and placed him directly in the place where Khoma stood. - Raise my shoulders: I don’t care! - Viy said in an underground voice - and the whole crowd rushed to raise his eyebrows. "Don't be surprised!" - whispered some inner voice of the philosopher. Without being patient and looking. - Axis vin! - Yelling out and inserting a slimy finger on him. And everything, no matter how hard it was, rushed towards the philosopher. The breathlessness grimaced onto the ground, and the spirit immediately flew out of fear. There was a moon cry. Then there was another cry; The dwarves sensed the first. The foul spirits rushed at random, at the windows and doors, in order to fly out as soon as possible, but that was not the case: so they lost the stench there, stuck at the doors and windows. The priest, who has grown up, has hesitated, having become so desecrated of God’s holiness and not daring to serve a panakhida in such a place. So the church was forever lost with its miracles, which were stuck in the doors and windows, overgrown with forest, roots, weeds, wild thorns; And now no one knows the way to it. As soon as the process reached Kiev and the theologian Khalyava sensed that this was the fate of the philosopher Homi, then a whole year was given over to think about it. During that time, great changes arose from him. Happily, he laughed: after completing the course of science, he was hired as the bell ringer of the most important tsentry, and every time he might come back with a broken nose, because the villagers went to the tsentry and were extremely disorganized. - Do you know what happened to Khoma? - Tiberius Gorobets, who at that time was already a philosopher and had fresh hair, said, having reached a new point. “God gave it to you,” said the ringer Freebie. - We go to the tavern and guess your soul! The young philosopher, who, with the fervor of an enthusiast, began to claim his rights, so that on his new trousers, his surdus, and his hat were infused with alcohol and coconut rinds, and at the same time showed readiness. - Wonderful man Khoma! - said the bell-ringer, when the Kulgavy tavern placed the third kukhol in front of him. - She was a noble person! But I knew it for no reason. “And I know why I knew it: through those who were afraid.” And if she were not afraid, the witch could not have gained anything from him. You only need to cross each other and spit on its tail, then nothing will happen. I already know everything. Even in Kiev, all the women who sit in the bazaar are all witches. At this point the bell ringer nodded his head at the sign for good. Ale, having noticed that his tongue could not understand the desired word, he carefully moved up from the table and, with a grudge on his side, tried to meet in the most distant place in Buryana. Moreover, without forgetting, with a lot of money, to buy an old boot sole that was lying on the lava.

This is a colossal creation of the common people. Such names are used by the Little Russians to call the chief of the dwarves, whose eyes always go to the very ground. This whole story is a popular retelling. I don’t want to change it in any way and I recognize it with the same simplicity as I feel.

This tvir is transferred to the suspense bath. It was written by an author who died over seventy years ago, and publications survived or posthumously, and more than seventy years have passed since the moment of publication. You can freely become a victor, be it any person, without any permission, without paying the author's wine.

Mikola Vasilyovich Gogol is the most famous Russian writer. Do what we know from the school lava. We all remember his “Evenings on the Dikanki Farm”, “Dead Souls” and other works. In 1835, Gogol completed his mystical story “Viy”. A short summary of the story will help you refresh your memory of the main points of the plot. The story stands close to the creativity of the writer. Viy is an old Slavic demonic essence. Vono could kill you with just one glance. Gogol’s image and infusion into his story. The TV series “Viy” was not well-reviewed by critics at the time. Belinsky called the story “fantastic,” with a hint of bark. Ale himself Mikola Vasilovich gave great significance to this creation. Having reworked it several times, there are many details of the description of the greedy Kazkov stories that befell the main character. The story was published in the collection "Mirgorod".

“Viy”, Gogol (short passage): entry

Finding vacancies for students at the Kiev Seminary - vacancies when all students go home. They go home in groups, paying for the road with spiritual songs. Three students: the philosopher Khoma Brut, the theologian Khalyava and the rhetorician Tiberius Gorodets - get lost on the road. At night, the stench comes up to the abandoned farm, where they knock on the first house and let them spend the night. The old lady wishes to let them in from the washroom, so that the stench will lie in various places. Bruta's house means he's staying at the empty sheep shed. Without catching up, flatten your eyes, go to school, as you are too old to enter. Its look seems ominous. He understands that there is a witch in front of him. Stara comes up to the new one and quickly plops down on your shoulder. The philosopher can’t help but feel embarrassed, as if he’s already flying across the night sky with a witch on his back. Khoma is drawn to the whispers of prayer and realizes that the old woman is weaker under him. Having chosen the moment, he licks the cursed witch, sits on it and begins to want its log. The woman falls to the ground, and the philosopher continues to beat her. Stogin is mooning, and Khoma Brut is crying that a young beauty is lying in front of him. Fear makes you run away.

“Viy”, Gogol (short passage): development of the story

Suddenly, the rector of the seminary calls Khoma to himself and informs him about those that a rich centurion from a distant farm had sent for him a wagon and six healthy Cossacks to take the seminarian to read prayers over his late daughter, who turned I got beaten up from walking. When a student is brought to the village, the centurion feeds him, where he can get to know his daughter. And the lady’s bajan will remain - so that the seminarian Khoma Brut read it. The student seems to know nothing about him. If you pour her in the trun, with fear it means that she is the same witch, just like she was watering the log. Over the evening, the villagers tell Khomi different stories about the death of the little lady. Many of them noted that the devil was going on with her. Before nightfall, the seminarian is taken to the church, where there is a trumpet, and locked up there. Having reached the kliros, Khoma sits down until she is tired and begins to read prayers out loud. Until the end of the night, the witch gets up from her work and tries to find the student. The dry colo does not allow her to earn money. Khoma reads prayers on her last breath. Here you can hear the cry of a song, and the witch turns around to trumpet. The lid will slam shut. The next day, the seminarian asks the centurion to let him go home. If he sees you in this place, he is tempted to leave the farm. They catch him and take him to the church again until nightfall and lock him up. There Khoma, who had not yet gotten up to sit on the chair, said that the witch had again gotten up from her work and went to church - she was wondering. Vaughn is reciting a spell. Ale Colo again does not allow her to capture the philosopher. Brutus senses that unhealed evil spirits are breaking into the church. With the remaining strength he reads prayers. You can hear the cry of a song, and everyone knows. Vranci Khoma is taken out of the church.

"Viy", Gogol (short passage): unraveling

The hour has arrived on the third night of the reading of prayers by the seminarian at the church. The same colo kidnaps Khoma. The witch is crazy. Having managed to get to the church, he tries to find the student’s crowd. The rest continues to read prayers, trying not to marvel at the spirits. Then the witch shouts: “Bring Viya!” It’s important to walk up to the church and enter the attached miracle with great eyelids that cover your eyes. The inner voice repeats to Khomi that it is impossible to marvel at Viya. It's a miracle that my eyelids should be opened. The evil spirits rush to obey this order. The seminarian, without tiring, glances at Viy. He respects him and points at him with his slimy finger. All the evil spirits rush at Khoma, who immediately revives the spirit. You can hear the cry of a stump. The Jews are rushing to get out of the church. But then there was another scream, the first stench was not felt. The evil spirits do not reach Peter. The Church is no longer able to stand with the evil spirits that are stuck in the cracks. No one will come here again. After all these pods, Freebies and Tiberius Gorodets, having learned about the important role of Homi, will guess the soul of the one who is pishov. The stench is to be afraid of the spirit that died in fear.

TV "Viy" is not included until the compulsory literature education program in out-of-state schools. Alas, we won't be so happy. This mystical story allows us to enter into the atmosphere of ancient Kazkov legends (a short summary is given here). Gogol wrote “Viy” in the last century. Todi tvir called out a lot of meanings and ideas. This is our hour to read with no less trepidation.

(Povist)

Mikola Vasilovich Gogol.

Having soundly struck the Kiev Front until the end of the seminar ringing, which was still hanging at the Brethren Monastery, then from this place the schoolchildren and students hurried away. Grammarians, rhetoricians, philosophers and theologians, with their crops under their crops, wandered to the classroom. The grammars were even smaller; as they walked, they danced around one another and barked among themselves in the finest treble; the stench was ever present in the dirty or stale cloths, and the stench of them was always full of all sorts of filth; like: grandmothers, whistles, broken from the feathers, half-eaten pie, and sometimes with small piles, of which one, rapping in the midst of the unexpected silence in the classroom, delivering to his patron, quite often fell into offended hands, and nodes and cherry slices. The rhetoric turned out to be more solid: the cloth in them was often completely intact, but then on the surface there was always some embellishment in the appearance of the rhetorical stitch: either one eye went under the very forehead, or instead of a lip there was a whole bulb, or Another sign; They said and swore among themselves in a tenor voice. Philosophers took a whole octave lower: there was nothing in their casseroles, creamy tatyun rinds. The stink reserves were not exhausted and everything that was caught was eaten; In front of them, a cradle and a sleeping coat were seen so far away that a craftsman, passing by, snarled for a long time, sniffing like a hound dog, sniffing.

The market at this hour was just starting to break down, and traders with bagels, buns, pork belly and poppy seeds sighed in despair for the excuses of these, some of which were made of thin cloth or some kind of paper material.

- Panich! panic! come here! come here! - said the stinks from the ears. - Axis bagels, muffins, vertiches, loaves of garni! By God, garni! on honey! I baked it myself.

The friend, having picked it up for a long time, twisted it from the dough, shouted: - Axis Burulka! panic, buy a bean.

- Don’t buy anything from her: marvel at how dirty she is - she has no filth, and her hands are unclean...

All philosophers and theologians were afraid of smelling the stench, because philosophers and theologians have always loved the brothers only as a test and before the whole life. the doors are filled with contaminated lavas. The class was filled with raptures of different voices: the audience listened to their students; the treble treble of the grammar was lost right at the treble of the glass, inserted at the small window, and the glass was perhaps similar to the sound itself; A lot of good rhetoricians, whose mouth and lips are responsible for accepting philosophy. There was a bass hum, and just a little far away: Boo, Boo, Boo, Boo... The auditors, listening to the lesson, marveled with one eye under the lava, where a bun, or a dumpling, or a garbuz nasin could be seen from the swarm of a light student.

If all this time began to come a little earlier, and if they knew that the professors would be later than the original, then, in advance, they planned to fight, and in which battle everyone, the crown and the censor, were to blame. 'We are committed to order and morality Learn everything. . Two theologians began to talk about how a battle was about to take place: that the leather class should stand up for itself especially, and that all those responsible would be divided into two halves: the bursa and the seminary. Each time, the grammarians began to take precedence over everything, and the rhetoricians were generously handed in, the stinks already ran away and stood on the heights to guard the battle. Then came philosophy with long black hair, and opinions and theologians, with greedy trousers and thick necks.

It ended up that theology beat everyone, and philosophy, sensitive sides, was crowded into the classroom and settled on the lavas.

The professor, who entered the classroom and fought himself in similar battles, in one case, from the heated faces of his listeners, recognized that he was in disgrace, and at that hour, when he spoke rhetoric sharply on his fingers, in another class The senior professor with wooden spatulas in the hands of philosophy.

The theologians had a completely different rank: they, according to the words of the theologian professor, watched over the world of great peas that lay in short skinned ends.

On the Holy Day, seminarians and students went home with nativity scenes. Sometimes they played a comedy, and this time a certain theologian, at the age of little more than the lowest form of the Kiev dzvinitsa, representing Herodias or Pentephriya, the squad of the Egyptian courtier, appeared. In the city they stinked of a piece of linen, or a bag of millet, or half a boiled gander.

All this people, both the seminary and the bursa, seem to have a waning hostility among themselves, being extremely poor in food for food and also extremely unpretentious; so that it would be completely impossible to smell how many skins from them, having eaten dumplings during the evening; And therefore, the kind donations of possible rulers were extremely sufficient. This is the Senate, which was formed from philosophers and theologians, directing grammar and rhetoric under the direction of one philosopher, and sometimes coming in itself, with bags on their shoulders, to devastate other cities.

And watermelon porridge appeared in Bursa. The senators ate so much of the kavuns that day that the next day the auditors sensed that they had two lessons instead of one: one sounding like a whine, the other muttering at the senator’s boat. The Bursa and the seminary wore all sorts of frock coats that have lasted until this hour: the word is technical, which meant - further heels.

There was a vacancy for the seminary - an hour from the Red Month, when the bursa was released into the booths. Then grammarians, philosophers and theologians traveled the whole great road. Whoever didn’t wash his head, he destroyed all of his comrades. Philosophers and theologians were at their best when they began to read and prepare the children of possible people, and paid for those new needs, and sometimes for a frock coat. The whole gang was weighed down by a whole camp; I cooked my own porridge and spent the night in the field. A leather bag was carried along with it, which contained one shirt and a pair of ones. The theologians were especially gentle and careful: so as not to wear them out, they threw them off, hung them on clubs and carried them on their shoulders, especially if they were bruised. The stinkers, with their trousers tucked up to their knees, fearlessly sprinkled the cabbage with their feet. They quickly woke up from the side of the hut, immediately turned away from the high road and, approaching the hut, which had been settled for others, stood in a row in front of the windows and began to sing the cant with their whole mouths. The owner of the house, an old Cossack villager, heard them for a long time, leaned his hands on both of them, then cried and said, screaming to his friends: “Woman! those that schoolchildren sing may be even more reasonable; Give him some lard and what’s in us!” And a whole bowl of dumplings was lying next to the bag. A fair bit of lard, a piece of scorch, and some knitted chicken were mixed at once. Fortified by such a reserve of grammar, rhetoric, philosophers and theologians again explored the path. The further away the stench went, the more they changed. All of them may have wandered around the huts, and some of Father’s nests have been lost for others.

Once, during the hour of such a mandriv, three students turned away from the high road in order to stock up on provisions at the first farm they came across, since their bag had long since been empty. Tse buli: theologian Freebie, philosopher Khoma Brut and rhetorician Tiberius Gorobets.

The theologian was a tall, broad-shouldered man and had an extremely wondrous gift: everything that was not lying there was, damn it, inevitably stolen. In other cases, his character was extremely gloomy, and when he got drunk, he was in the weeds, and the seminary cost him a great deal to know there.

The philosopher Khoma Brut was in the mood for fun. Loved to lie down and smoke the cradle. As soon as I had a beer, I immediately hired musicians and danced the tropak.

Having often tasted great peas, but only with philosophical wisdom, it seems that no matter what you eat, you won’t be disappointed.

Rhetor Tiberiy Gorobets has not yet won the right to wear a vest, drink sleeping bags, and smoke wheels. He bore only a herring, and therefore his character at that time had developed little; However, judging by the big lumps on the forehead that he often visited in class, one could assume that he would be a good warrior.

The theologian Khalyava and the philosopher Khoma often pulled him by the forelock as a sign of their intercession and lived like a deputy.

It was already evening when the stinkers turned away from the road. The sun is shining, and the warmth of the day has already disappeared in the wind. The theologians and philosophers came out with little bastards and chicken cradles; The rhetorician Tiberius Gorobets beat the heads of the bushes that grew along the edges of the road with his club. The road ran between scattered groups of oak trees and groves that covered the meadow. Gentle and small mountains, green and round, like domes, sometimes interspersed the plain. Niva, which appeared in two villages, with a visible life gave the nobility that soon a village might appear. It’s already been more than a year since the stench of the grain haze has passed, and now its life has not been drained. The daylight has already completely darkened the sky, and just at sunset there is a surplus of red treasure.

- What the hell! - said the philosopher Khoma Brut, - it seemed to everyone that soon there would be a khutir.

The theologian washed, marveled at the surroundings, then again took his cradle from his mouth, and everything was destroyed.

- Oh-god! - Having said, I stammered again, the philosopher. - Not a fist is visible.

By this hour it was already night and night was still dark. Small glooms strengthened the gloom, and, judging by all the signs, it was impossible to keep track of the days or months. The students noticed that the stinks had gathered along the road and had long since left the road.

The philosopher, shaking his legs on all sides, said to the people very often: “Where is the road?”

The theologian mumbled and, having thought about it, said: - So, nothing is dark.

The rhetorician killed him and tried to pave the road with his back, only to have his hands buried in fox holes. There was only one steppe through which, it seemed, no one had traveled. The mandrivniks were still trying to move forward, but the same wild thing was passing through. The philosopher tried to hum, but his voice completely fell silent on all sides and was not of the same tone. For a little while now, I just felt a slight stagnation, similar to the Victoire.

- Bach, why is there anything timid here? - Said the philosopher.

- What? get lost and spend the night in the field! - said the theologian and climbed into the bowels of the bowels and lit his cradle again. Alas, the philosopher could not help with this. You will always have to grab a bunch of bread and a pound of lard and feel your unbearable selfishness once in a while. Before that, not caring about his joyful reward, the philosopher was afraid of a few woks.

“No, Freebie, it’s not possible,” said Vin. - How can you, without strengthening yourself with anything, stretch out and lie down like a dog? Let's try again; Maybe we’ll come across some kind of life and I’d like to drink a glass of vodka from nothing.

At the word “palnik,” the theologian spat his lips and said: “It’s inevitable that you’ll lose nothing in the field.”

The students walked forward, and, to their great joy, a bark was heard from the station. Having listened from every side, the stench wafted through the door and, after a few minutes had passed, they began to drink.

- Khutir! By God, khutir! - Said the philosopher.

The servants were not fooled: after about an hour the stench began to permeate the small hut, which consisted of only two huts that were located in that very yard. There was fire shining in the windows. A dozen angry trees were washed away under the mud. Looking through the cracked plank gateway, the students slammed the door, filling it with crazy carts. The mirrors glanced at the sky.

- Watch, brothers, don’t stand up! Whatever, I’ll get an overnight stay.

Three men inveterately banged at the gate and shouted: “Witches.”

The doors in one house creaked, and through the ridge, the students swung in front of them an old woman in a leather jacket.

-Who's there? - She screamed, coughing dully.

- Let me go, grandma, spend the night. We got lost on the roads. The field is as bad as a hungry stomach.

-What kind of people are you?

- Those are ugly people: the theologian Freebie, the philosopher Brutus and the rhetorician Gorobets.

“It’s not possible,” the old woman muttered, “I have a lot of people at the door, and all the corners in the house are occupied.” Where will I take you? Such tall and healthy people! My house will fall apart if I house such people. I know many philosophers and theologians. As soon as you start accepting such drunkards, you won’t be in the yard. Let's go! let's go! There is no place for you here.

- Have mercy, grandma! How is it possible for Christian souls to come to nothing? Do you want to accommodate us? And if we somehow, as if something else is being created, then forbid we should dry our hands, and so it will be, God only knows. Axis scho.

She was old, it seemed, and had faded a little.

“Okay,” she said, turning dark, “I’ll let you in; I’ll just put everyone in different places: otherwise my heart won’t be at peace if you lie together.

- It’s your will; “Let’s not worry,” the students said.

The gate creaked and stench came from the door.

“Well, grandma,” said the philosopher, walking behind the old one, “so, as it seems... By God, it’s different in the stomach to drive wheels.” From the very morning I wanted to have cod in my mouth.

- Bach, whatever you want! - said the old woman. - There is nothing in me, there is nothing like that, and the stove was not heated today.

“And we would have already paid for everything,” the philosopher continued, “tomorrow, as a last resort, in cash.” So,” he continued to chew quietly, “the devil will cut you off in two.

- Go, go! and be pleased with what is given to you. The axis of the devil brought all kinds of panic.

The philosopher Khoma became angry at such words. Ale raptom smelled the smell of dried fish. Having looked at the theologian’s trousers, which he ordered, and having noticed that the majestic fish tail had been washed from his porridge: the theologian had already begun to pick up from a cart of whole crucian carp. And the fragments of the wine have failed without any kind of crust, but only behind the gear, and, having completely forgotten about their carcass, having already looked at what could be done differently, without the risk of missing the path of the broken wheel, - then the philosopher Khoma for putting your hand into your kishen, like I have my power, I grabbed the crucian carp.

[1This is a colossal creation of the common people. Such names are used by the Little Russians to call the chief of the dwarves, whose eyes always go to the very ground. This whole story is a popular retelling. I don’t want to change it in any way and I recognize it with the same simplicity as I feel. (Note by N.V. Gogol.)]

Having soundly struck the Kiev Front until the end of the seminar ringing, which was still hanging at the Brethren Monastery, then from this place the schoolchildren and students hurried away. Grammarians, rhetoricians, philosophers and theologians[ 2Grammar and rhetoric - teachers of young classes in theological seminaries; philosophers and theologians are high school students. Here are some notes from S.I. Mashinsky], with their boots under the crops, they walked to the classroom. The grammars were even smaller; as they walked, they danced around one another and barked among themselves in the finest treble; the stench was ever present in the dirty or stale cloths, and the stench of them was always full of all sorts of filth; like: grandmothers, whistles, splintered from feathers, half-eaten pie, and sometimes small humps, of which one, rapping in the midst of the unexpected silence in the classroom, delivering to his patron quite a few fields. 3Pali - seminary expression: a blow to the hands with a ruler.] in the wrong hand, and sometimes cherry slices. The rhetoric turned out to be more solid: the cloth in them was often completely intact, but then on the surface there was always some embellishment in the appearance of the rhetorical stitch: either one eye went under the very forehead, or instead of a lip there was a whole bulb, or Another sign; They said and swore among themselves in a tenor voice. Philosophers took a whole octave lower: there was nothing in their casseroles, creamy tatyun rinds. The stink reserves were not exhausted and everything that was caught was eaten; In front of them stood a cradle and a sleeping bag, sometimes as far away as a craftsman, passing every now and then, for a long time, sniffing, sniffing like a hound dog, in the wind.

The market at this hour was just starting to break down, and traders with bagels, buns, pork belly and poppy seeds sighed in despair for the excuses of these, some of which were made of thin cloth or some kind of paper material.

- Panich! panic! come here! come here! - said the stinks from the ears. - Axis bagels, muffins, vertiches, loaves of garni! By God, garni! on honey! I baked it myself!

Another woman, who had lifted the dough twisted from the dough, shouted:

- Axis Burulka! Panic, buy a Burulka!

- Don’t buy anything from her: marvel at how dirty she is - she has no filth, and her hands are unclean...

All philosophers and theologians were afraid to smell the stench, because philosophers and theologians have always loved the brothers only as a trial and for the whole life

Upon arriving at the seminary, the entire team was distributed in classes, which were located in low, spacious rooms with small windows, wide doors and clouded lava. Klas was filled with raptures of loud voices: audience 4Auditors are students of senior classes who were trusted to revise the knowledge of students of younger classes.] listened to their teachers; the treble treble of the grammar was lost right at the treble of the glass, inserted at the small window, and the glass was perhaps similar to the sound itself; A lot of good rhetoricians, whose mouth and lips are responsible for accepting philosophy. There was a bass hum, and just a little far away: Boo, Boo, Boo, Boo... The auditors, listening to the lesson, marveled with one eye under the lava, where a bun, or a dumpling, or a garbuz nasin could be seen from the swarm of a light student.

If all this time began to come a little earlier, and if they knew that the professors would be later than the original, then, in advance, they planned to fight, and in which battle everyone, the crown and the censor, were to blame. 'We are committed to order and morality Learn everything. . Two theologians began to talk about how a battle was about to take place: that the leather class should stand up for itself especially, and that all those responsible would be divided into two halves: the bursa and the seminary. Each time, the grammarians began to take precedence over everything, and the rhetoricians were generously handed in, the stinks already ran away and stood on the heights to guard the battle. Then came philosophy with long black hair, and opinions and theologians, with greedy trousers and thick necks. It ended up that theology beat everyone, and philosophy, sensitive sides, was crowded into the classroom and settled on the lavas. The professor, who entered the classroom and fought himself in similar battles, in one case, from the heated faces of his listeners, recognized that he was in disgrace, and at that hour, when he spoke rhetoric sharply on his fingers, in another class The senior professor with wooden spatulas in the hands of philosophy. The theologians were in a completely different rank: they, according to the words of the theologian professor, watched over the world of great peas that lay in short skinned ends 5Kanchuk - batig.].

On the holy day, seminarians and students went home with nativity scenes 6The nativity scene is an old Lyalkov theater.]. Sometimes they played a comedy, and this time a certain theologian, at the age of little more than the lowest form of the Kiev dzvinitsa, representing Herodias or Pentephriya, the squad of the Egyptian courtier, appeared. In the city they stinked of a piece of linen, or a bag of millet, or half a boiled gander.

All this people, both the seminary and the bursa, seem to have a waning hostility among themselves, being extremely poor in food for food and also extremely unpretentious; so that it would be completely impossible to smell how many skins from them, having eaten dumplings during the evening; And therefore, the kind donations of possible rulers were extremely sufficient. This is the Senate, which was formed from philosophers and theologians, directing grammar and rhetoric under the direction of one philosopher, and sometimes coming in itself, with bags on their shoulders, to devastate other cities. And watermelon porridge appeared in Bursa. The senators ate so much of the kavuns that day that the next day the auditors sensed that they had two lessons instead of one: one sounding like a whine, the other muttering at the senator’s boat. The Bursa and the seminary wore all sorts of frock coats that have lasted until this hour: the word is technical, which meant - further heels.

There was a vacancy for the seminary - an hour from the Red Month, when the bursa was released into the booths. Then grammarians, philosophers and theologians traveled the whole great road. Whoever didn’t wash his head, he destroyed all of his comrades. Philosophers and theologians were at their best when they began to read and prepare the children of possible people, and paid for those new needs, and sometimes for a frock coat. The whole gang was weighed down by a whole camp; I cooked my own porridge and spent the night in the field. A leather bag was carried along with it, which contained one shirt and a pair of ones. The theologians were especially gentle and careful: so as not to wear them out, they threw them off, hung them on clubs and carried them on their shoulders, especially if they were bruised. The stinkers, with their trousers tucked up to their knees, fearlessly sprinkled the cabbage with their feet. They quickly woke up from the side of the hut, immediately turned away from the high road and, approaching the hut, which had been settled for others, stood in a row in front of the windows and began to sing the cant with their whole mouths. 7Kanti - spiritual songs.]. The owner of the house, an old Cossack villager, heard them for a long time, leaned his hands on both of them, then cried and said, screaming to his friends: “Woman! those that schoolchildren sing may be even more reasonable; Give them some lard and what’s in us!” And a whole bowl of dumplings was lying next to the bag. A big piece of lard, a bunch of scones 8Palyanitsya – wheat bread.], and the inodes and the tied trigger were moved at the same time. Fortified by such a reserve of grammar, rhetoric, philosophers and theologians again explored the path. The further away the stench went, the more they changed. All of them may have wandered around the huts, and some of Father’s nests have been lost for others.

Once, during the hour of such a mandriv, three students turned away from the high road in order to stock up on provisions at the first farm they came across, since their bag had long since been empty. Tse buli: theologian Freebie, philosopher Khoma Brut and rhetorician Tiberius Gorobets.

The theologian was a tall, broad-shouldered man and had an extremely wondrous gift: everything that was not lying there was, damn it, inevitably stolen. In other cases, his character was extremely gloomy, and when he got drunk, he was in the weeds, and the seminary cost him a great deal to know there.

The philosopher Khoma Brut was in the mood for fun. Loved to lie down and smoke the cradle. As soon as I had a beer, I immediately hired musicians and danced the tropak. Having often tasted great peas, but only with philosophical wisdom, it seems that no matter what you eat, you won’t be disappointed.

Rhetor Tiberiy Gorobets has not yet won the right to wear a vest, drink sleeping bags, and smoke wheels. Vіn wearing only oseledets[ 9Oseledets - a long piece of hair on his head, enough to wrap around his ear; in sensi - oseledets.], and therefore his character at that time developed little; However, judging by the big lumps on the forehead that he often visited in class, one could assume that he would be a good warrior. The theologian Khalyava and the philosopher Khoma often pulled him by the forelock as a sign of their intercession and lived like a deputy.

It was already evening when the stinkers turned away from the road. The sun is shining, and the warmth of the day has already disappeared in the wind. The theologians and philosophers came out with little bastards and chicken cradles; The rhetorician Tiberius Gorobets beat the heads of the bushes that grew along the edges of the road with his club. The road ran between scattered groups of oak trees and groves that covered the meadow. Gentle and small mountains, green and round, like domes, sometimes interspersed the plain. Niva, which appeared in two villages, with a visible life gave the nobility that soon a village might appear. It’s already been more than a year since the stench of the grain haze has passed, and now its life has not been drained. The daylight has already completely darkened the sky, and just at sunset there is a surplus of red treasure.

- What the hell! - said the philosopher Khoma Brut, - it seemed to everyone that soon there would be a khutir.

The theologian washed, marveled at the surroundings, then again took his cradle from his mouth, and everything was destroyed.

- Oh-god! - Having said, I stammered again, the philosopher. - Not a fist is visible.

By this hour it was already night and night was still dark. Small glooms strengthened the gloom, and, judging by all the signs, it was impossible to keep track of the days or months. The students noticed that the stinks had gathered along the road and had long since left the road.

The philosopher, swinging his legs on all sides, said very often:

- Where is the road?

The theologian mumbled and, having thought about it, said:

- Yes, nothing is dark.

The rhetorician killed him and tried to pave the road with his back, only to have his hands buried in fox holes. There was only one steppe through which, it seemed, no one had traveled. The mandrivniks were still trying to move forward, but the same wild thing was passing through. The philosopher tried to hum, but his voice completely fell silent on all sides and was not of the same tone. For a little while now, I just felt a slight stagnation, similar to the Victoire.

- Bach, why is there anything timid here? - Said the philosopher.

- What? get lost and spend the night in the field! - said the theologian and climbed into the bowels of the bowels and lit his cradle again. Alas, the philosopher could not help with this. You will always have to grab a bunch of bread and a pound of lard and feel your unbearable selfishness once in a while. Before that, not caring about his joyful reward, the philosopher was afraid of a few woks.

“No, Freebie, it’s not possible,” said Vin. - How can you, without strengthening yourself with anything, stretch out and lie down like a dog? Let's try again; Maybe we’ll come across some kind of life and I’d like to drink a glass of vodka from nothing.

At the word “palnik”, the theologian spat an ubik and said:

- Of course, you will lose nothing in the field.

The students walked forward, and, to their great joy, a bark was heard from the station. Having listened from every side, the stench wafted through the door and, after a few minutes had passed, they began to drink.

- Khutir! By God, khutir! - Said the philosopher.

The servants were not fooled: after about an hour the stench began to permeate the small hut, which consisted of only two huts that were located in that very yard. There was fire shining in the windows. A dozen angry trees were washed away under the mud. Looking through the cracked plank gate, the students opened the door, looking crazy. 10Chumaks are Ukrainian traders who transported them to Crimea, and the inhabitants brought fish and fish.] carts. The mirrors glanced at the sky.

- Watch, brothers, don’t stand up! Whatever, I’ll get you an overnight stay!

Three men fought fiercely at the gate and shouted:

- Come on!

The doors in one house creaked, and through the ridge, the students swung in front of them an old woman in a leather jacket.

-Who's there? - She screamed, coughing dully.

- Let me go, grandma, spend the night. We got lost on the roads. The field is as bad as a hungry stomach.

-What kind of people are you?

- Those are ugly people: the theologian Freebie, the philosopher Brutus and the rhetorician Gorobets.

“It’s not possible,” the old woman muttered, “I have a lot of people at the door, and all the corners in the house are occupied.” Where will I take you? What a tall and healthy people! My house will fall apart if I house such people. I know many philosophers and theologians. As soon as you start accepting such drunkards, you won’t be in the yard. Let's go! let's go! There is no place for you here.

- Have mercy, grandma! How is it possible for Christian souls to come to nothing? Do you want to accommodate us? And if we somehow, as if something else is being created, then forbid we should dry our hands, and so it will be, God only knows. Axis what!

She was old, it seemed, and had faded a little.

“Okay,” she said, turning dark, “I’ll let you in; I’ll just put everyone in different places: otherwise my heart won’t be at peace if you lie together.

- It’s your will; “Let’s not worry,” the students said.

The gate creaked and stench came from the door.

“Well, grandma,” said the philosopher, walking behind the old one, “so, as it seems... By God, it’s different in the stomach to drive wheels.” From the very morning I wanted to have cod in my mouth.

- Bach, whatever you want! - said the old woman. - There is nothing in me, there is nothing like that, and the stove was not heated today.

“And we would have already paid for everything,” the philosopher continued, “tomorrow, as a last resort, in cash.” So,” he continued quietly, “the devil are taking this away in two!”

- Go, go! and be pleased with what is given to you. The devil has brought such low panic!

The philosopher Khoma became angry at such words. Ale raptom smelled the smell of dried fish. Having looked at the theologian’s trousers, which he ordered, and having noticed that the majestic fish tail had been washed from his porridge: the theologian had already begun to pick up from a cart of whole crucian carp. And the fragments of the wine have failed without any kind of crust, but only behind the gear, and, having completely forgotten about their carcass, having already looked at what could be done differently, without the risk of missing the path of the broken wheel, - then the philosopher Khoma for putting your hand into your kishen, like I have my power, I grabbed the crucian carp.

The old woman placed the students: she put the rhetorician in the hut, she locked the theologian in an empty closet, and the philosophers also brought out the empty sheep barn.

The philosopher, having lost one of the crucian's throats, looked around the wicker wall of the barn, pushed his foot into the muzzle of the pig stuck from the other barn and turned on the other side to fall asleep dead. With a bang, the low doors opened, and the old woman, having become sick, went to the barn.

- Well, grandma, what do you need? - Said the philosopher.

Ale old woman went straight to him with her crooked hands.

“Heh-hum! - the philosopher thought. - Just don't, my dear! outdated." Having slipped in the trouts, they were served, but the old woman, without ceremony, came again to the new one.

- Listen, grandma! - said the philosopher, - now he is a painter; But I’m such a person that I don’t want to disgrace myself for a thousand pieces of gold.

Ale Stara opened her arms and caught him without saying a word.

The philosophers became afraid, especially when they noticed that their eyes shone with such an unexpected sparkle.

- Grandma! what are you doing? Go, go with God! - Shouting out.

Ale stara did not say a word and grabbed it with her hands. She got to her feet, determined to run away, but the old woman stood in the doorway and stared at him with a glare and began to approach him again.

The philosopher wanted to stretch his hands, but, on the surface, noting that his hands could not give in, his legs did not collapse; And I was afraid that my voice would come out without sounding from my lips: the words fell on my lips without a sound. You just felt how his heart was beating; Then, as if the old woman had reached him, she clasped her hands, bent her head, huddled down on his back, hit him with a broom on his side, and, pulling up like a horse, carried him on your shoulders. It all happened so quickly that the philosopher immediately became embarrassed and clasped his hands behind his knees, eagerly rubbing his feet; Already the stench, having smelled it to a great extent, rose to freedom and began to cut the hairs of the Swede Circassian runner. Once the stinks of the village had already passed and a flat ravine appeared before them, and a black forest, like a vugilla, stretched out to the side, then only saying to himself: “Hey, that’s a witch.”

There is probably a monthly crescent of light in the sky. The timid snow, like a dripping blanket, lay lightly and dimly on the ground. Foxes, bows, sky, valleys - everything seemed to fall asleep with crushed eyes. The wind would blow here at least once. The freshness of the night had a damp warmth. The shadows of the trees and bushes, like comets, fell in sharp wedges onto the gentle plain. Such was the situation when the philosopher Khoma Brut galloped with an immature apex on his back. Having sensed something milky, unpleasant, and at once the licorice felt like it was approaching my heart. He lowered his head down and saw that the grass that was just below his feet seemed to grow deep and far away and that there was a clearness above it, like a Girsky spring, water, and the grass seemed to be the bottom of some light, clear-cut right up to the depths of the sea; You know, it’s clear that he was fighting again with the old one who was sitting on his back. It was as if instead of a month the sun shone there like the sun; I felt like the little bells, shaking their heads, rang. Vіn buchiv, as if a mermaid was writhing from behind the sedge, her back and leg flashed, her bulge, her spring, everything was created in a flash and trembling. Vaughn turned around to the new one - and the axis of its guise, with eyes bright, sparkling, hospitable, from the stump pierced into the soul, what was already approaching the new one, what was on the surface and, muffled by the brilliant laughter, moved away - and the axis spread over on your back, i The gloomy peppers, matte, like porcelain, not covered with glaze, shone before the sun along the edges of their white, elastic-soft stake. The water around the small bulbs, like beads, drizzled over them. There you are, all trembling and laughing by the water.

Should you drink it or not? Do you dream about this in reality? What's there? Wind and music: ringing, ringing, and blowing, and approaching, and rushing into the soul like an unbearable thrill...

"What's that?" - thinking the philosopher Khoma Brut, marveling at the humiliation, bearing down on all the confusion. Sweat was pouring out of the hail. When you smelled the sweetness of licorice, you felt like a piercing, like a languid, terrible malt. It often seemed to him that his heart was no longer in him, and out of fear he grabbed his hand. Sickness, destruction, having begun to think of everything I knew, prayers. Having gone through all the curses against perfumes - and felt like a refreshment; Having realized that his baby was beginning to become lazier, the witch seemed to be pressing weaker on his back. The thick grass stuck out to him, and he no longer learned anything unexpected from her. A bright sickle of light in the sky.

“Good!” - the philosopher Khoma thought and began to cast a curse out loud. You will find the sparkle to be as smooth as possible by wiping out from under the old one and burying your black on its back. The old woman ran away so quickly that the leader could barely catch his breath. The earth fell away beneath him. Everything was clear in the monthly light, although in the uncertain light. The valleys were smooth, but everything was blurred and blurry in his eyes. He gathered up the log that was lying on the road, and began to beat the old one with all his might. I could see wild screams over there; At first they were angry and menacing, then they became weaker, more accepting, more frequent, and then quietly, they suddenly rang like thin silver bells and pierced their soul; And a thought flashed into my head: why is it really old? “Oh, I can’t take it anymore!” - She saw the snow and fell to the ground.

He stood on his feet and marveled at her eyes: the candles were burned, and the golden heads glittered in the distance of the Kiev churches. In front of him lay a beautiful woman, with a unkempt, luxurious braid and long, arrow-like wings. Unpretentiously, she threw her bare hands on her offending sides and drove away the tears, her eyes drooping.

Frozen, like a leaf of wood, Khoma: pity and some kind of wondrous praise and timidity, unknown to himself, overwhelmed him; he began to run with all his might. Along the way, his heart was beating restlessly, and he could not help but wonder what had recently seemed to make him weak. He no longer wanted to go to the farmstead and hurried to Kiev, thinking all the way about such an unreasonable idea.

Bursakiv Mayzhe Nikky did not bounce in the MISTI: VSI ROZBITSHICE on farms, abstors on confusion, just without segon condicani, BOTOTAS OF LIMED INSHICH INSHICH, SIR, sour cream that dumplings of the head in the capeluh, not paying off the chaplars of pennies. The great house that was waiting in which the bursa was located was extremely empty, and how many philosophers had not scoured all the coats and had soaked all the holes and mouths in the dust, but nowhere did they know anything sala or hire an old knish 11Knish – baked bread made from beard wheat.], which, zzvichiy, is occupied by students.

However, the philosopher soon learned how to remedy his grief: he walked, whistling, three times around the market, blinking at the very end at the sight of a young widow in a yellow cap. 12Eyeglass - a row of cap.], who sold stitches, towels and wheels, - and on the same day of feasting with wheat dumplings, chicken... and, in a word, it is impossible to over-suck what was at the table, we will serve a small clay bottle in the middle of the cherry orchard. That same evening the philosopher was seen in the inn: lying on the bench, smoking the cradle, as before, and in front of everyone throwing gold at the Jewish innkeeper. There was a group of people standing in front of him. You marveled at those who came and looked at you with cold-blooded, satisfied eyes, and no longer thought at all about your unexpected destiny.

* * *

Tim's senses widened over time that the daughter of one of the richest centurions, who lived fifty miles outside of Kiev, turned back one day from a walk, all beaten up, that the least amount of kindness to her father's house endures at death and Bazhanya showed up before her death , so that I can follow her and pray for three days after death by reading one of the Kiev seminarians: Homa Brut. The philosopher learned about this from the rector himself, who called him to his room and said that he would quickly hurry along the road, so that the eminent centurion would send people and carriages after him.

The philosopher shuddered at some unknown feeling, which he himself could not dispel. Darkness told you that she was expecting bad things to happen to him. Without knowing why, I simply declared that I would not go.

- Listen, domine 13Dominus (lat.) - Lord.] Khoma! - Having said the rector (in some cases, he explained himself even more than with his own excuses), - you don’t care about those who want to go or don’t want to go. I will tell you only those who still show your rice and are wise, then I will give you a slap on the back and otherwise look like a young birch tree so that you won’t need to walk.

The philosopher, sensing the little things behind his mind, the viishov, not saying a word, looming in his order at the first opportunity, put his hope on his feet. In thought, he got off from the steep assemblies that led to the door, lined with poplars, and frowned, feeling the rector’s voice expressively, giving an order to his housekeeper and perhaps one of the centurion’s messengers for him.

“I’ll give you some eggs for a grain,” said the rector, “and tell me that as soon as the books you write about are ready, I’ll send them right away.” I have already given them a copy for the scribe. But don’t forget, my dear, to give the gentleman that on their farm, I know, they have some fresh fish, and especially sturgeon, then send it when the time comes: here in the markets there is both trash and road. And you, Yavtukha, give the fellows a charm of a sleeping bag. Get the philosopher tied up, or else just now.

“Bach, damn son! - the philosopher thought to himself, - having sniffed out, the long-legged young man!

Vin sіyshov іні having swung the wagon, as if mistaking the grain for a bread wine on wheels. In fact, it was as deep as a fire that could be scorched. This is the original Krakiv crew, in which hundreds of people are carrying goods all over the place, and they can still feel the rush of fairs. There were six healthy and healthy Cossacks, already a number of old people. Scrolls made of fine cloth with pencils showed what stinks the important and rich ruler had to endure. Small scars showed that the stink of the war was not without glory.

Why bother? No matter what you do, you won’t be disappointed!” - the philosopher thought to himself, turning towards the Cossacks and saying loudly:

- Hello, brother-comrades!

- Be healthy, Mr. Philosopher! - said the Cossacks.

- So I don’t get to sit with you at the same time? And the brika is worth it! - Having chewed the wine, climb in. “Here you can only hire musicians, then you can dance.”

- Yes, a proportional crew! - said one of the Cossacks, sitting on the bench with each other and the coachman, who tied his head with a gancher instead of a cap, as he was about to be thrown into a tavern. The other five at once from the philosopher climbed into the recesses and spread out on bags filled with various purchases, collected locally.

“It would be great if you knew,” said the philosopher, “if, for example, you could buy this brick with some kind of goods - let’s say, with slick wedges: how many horses would that be?”

“So,” the Cossack said, having rummaged, sitting on the bench, “a sufficient number of horses would be needed.”

After such a satisfactory performance, the Cossacks respected the right to march all the way.

The philosopher desperately wanted to find out more: who was this centurion, who was this centurion, what about his daughter, how she turned home in such an emergency manner and was at death and what kind of story is connected now from yo power, how they have and what to work in home? Vіn has fallen to them with food; All the Cossacks, perhaps, were also philosophers, because among the people they danced and smoked little wheels, lying on their sacks. Only one of them went wild to the top, sitting on the box, with a short order: “Wonder, Overko, you opened your eyes; As you wait for the bus on the Chukhrailivka road, don’t forget to wake up and wake up the other guys who are having trouble falling asleep.” After falling asleep, I finish speaking loudly. However, it became daytime, because as soon as the Veleten brik approached the bus on the Chukhrailivsky road, everyone shouted in one voice: “Stay!” Before that, Overka’s horses were so accustomed that they would kick themselves in front of the skin shredder. Unfazed on the speckled, lime-colored day, everyone left the bricks, collapsed into a low, muddy room, and the Jewish tavern, with signs of joy, rushed to receive their old acquaintances. The liquid brought under a hollow knuckle of kovbas and pork and, placing it on the table, immediately emerged from the fruit buried in the Talmud. Everyone sat down at the table. Clay mugs appeared in front of each of the guests. Philosopher Khoma takes part in the great party. And since the Little Russians, when they are walking, immediately start kissing or crying, then suddenly the whole house was filled with slogans: “Come on, Spiride, let’s go crazy!” - “Come here, Darling, I’ll hug you!”

One Cossack, who was the eldest of all the others, with gray mustaches, put his hand under his cheek, and began to talk in his heart about how there was no father in him, no mother, and that he had lost one in the world. The other was a great reasoner and calmly consoled him, saying: “Don’t cry, by God don’t cry! What’s here... God only knows what it is.” One, in the name of Dorosh, becoming superciliously tsikavim and, turning to the philosopher Khom, spontaneously feeding him:

- I would like to know what you are hearing at the bursa: what is it with the same person who reads at the church, and what do I hear about the other?

- Don't eat it! - the reasoner said drawlingly, - let him be there, as if he were there. God knows what is required; God knows everything.

“No, I want to know,” said Dorosh, “what is written in those books.” Possibly, completely different, lower than that.

- Oh, my God, my God! - saying this important mentor. – And what are we talking about? It’s already God’s will. What God has given cannot be changed.

- I want to know everything that is not written. I'm going to bursa, by God, I'm going! Why do you think I won’t get hooked? I will embrace everything, everything!

- Oh, my God, my God!.. - said the comforter and lowered his head onto the table, because he could not rest his hands on his shoulders.

Other Cossacks talked about gentlemen and about those who have a month in the sky.

Philosopher Khoma, having done this kind of loosening of his heads, ventured to speed up and flow in. He immediately became furious with the gray Cossack, who summed it up for his father and mother:

“Why are you crying, uncle,” he said, “I’m an orphan myself!” Let me go free, lads! What do you need me for?

- Let's set him free! - the deeds hummed. - Adje is an orphan. Go wherever you want.

- Oh, my God, my God! - after rinsing the urchin, raising his head. - Let him go! Let's go!

And the Cossacks themselves wanted to lead him into the open field, but he, who showed his stubbornness, stopped them, saying:

- Don’t worry: I want to talk to him about the burs. I'm going to bursa myself.

However, it is unlikely that this time could have happened, because if the philosopher decided to leave the table, then his legs became like wood and the doors to the room began to seem so impersonal to him that it was unlikely that he would know anything.

Just that evening the whole company knew what they needed to do before they set off on the road. Having settled near the log, the stinks stretched out, defiling the horses and singing a song, the words and feelings of which could hardly be heard. Having driven for more than half the night, inevitably getting off the road, the memory of the stinks came down from the steep mountain into the valley, and the philosopher noticed on the sides a dense palisade, or mud, with low trees and trees. There was a great village, which belonged to the centurion. It was already far beyond the sun; the skies were dark, and small stars blinked away. There was no visible fire in the living house. The stinks were accompanied by a dog barking overhead. On both sides there were sheds and little buildings covered with straw. One of them, who was right in the middle, contradicts, being larger than the others and serving, as it seemed, to the centurion’s peregrinations. Brika sank in front of the small likeness of the stable, and our mandrivniks went to bed. The philosopher wants, however, to look back at the gentlemen’s mansion for a little while; Unless he had opened his eyes, nothing could appear in a clear view: instead of the booth, he appeared to be a witch; The rector came out of the pipe. The philosopher waved his hand and went to sleep.

If the philosopher woke up, the whole day would be in Russia: the little lady died in Russia. The servants ran back and forth with their hands. The deyaks were crying. A crowd of people marveled at the parkan on the master's door, they might as well get some help.

The philosopher began, as soon as possible, to look at those places that he could not see at night. The gentleman's little budinok was a low, small budova, like the people who lived in the old days in Little Russia. It was covered with straw. A small, sharp and high pediment with an end similar to the rising sun, all with blue and yellow leaves and red mixtures. The wines are hardened on oak pillars, up to half round and hexagonal at the bottom, with a wonderful turning at the top. Under this pediment there was a small ganok with lavas along its sides. On the sides of the booth there were hung on the same stands, sometimes [ 14Inde – podekudi.] torsion. A tall pear tree with a pyramidal top and three-fold green leaves in front of the booth. A few rows of komors stood in the middle of the courtyard, facing the wide street that led to the booth. Behind the komors, right up to the gates, stood two lyokhas, one opposite the other, covered with straw. The three-piece wall of each of them is secured with low doors and painted with various images. On one of them there is a Cossack painted on it, sitting on a barrel and holding a cap over his head with the inscription: “I drink everything.” On the other flask, poured from both sides, for beauty, while standing with your feet burning, there is a pipe, tambourines and the inscription: “Wine is Cossack fun.” From the hills of one of the barns, a drum and copper pipes looked magnificently from the auditory window. There were two gates standing there. Everything showed that the gentleman loved to have fun and his followers often heard banquet cliques. Behind the gate there were two windmills. There were gardens behind the booth; And across the tops of the trees, only a few dark droplets of pipes were visible, hanging around in the green thicket of the huts. The entire village was located on a wide and level ledge of the mountain. From the opposite side everything was shadowed by a steep mountain and its base ended almost in the yard itself. When looking at it from below, it looked even steeper, and on the high top, the irregular stems of thin weeds were erased and black in the bright sky. Its bare, clayey appearance evokes the evil spirit. The bula there is all stained with plank washouts and grooves. On a steep slope, two houses were being washed in two places; Above one of them, the branches of a wide apple tree were scattered, supported by the roots of small tufts of filled earth. The apples, which were whipped by the wind, huddled in the gentleman's shelter. From the top the road wound along the entire mountain and, descending, came to the end of the village. If the philosopher has seen a terribly steep thing and guessed a better price, then he will believe that either the lord must have wiser horses, or the Cossacks must have merciful heads, if the drunken child must not fly uphill with his feet once om iz immeasurable baggage and baggage. The philosopher stood on the opposite side, and when he turned and looked at his back, he was given a completely different look. The settlements immediately migrated to the plain with taxes. Intangible bows arched into the distant expanse; The bright greenery of them was dark in the world in the distance, and whole rows of villages were blue in the distance, although their appearance was greater, less than twenty miles. On the right side of their bow were the mountains, and a small trace of the dark mountains and dark Dnieper in the distance.

- Oh, what a glorious place! - Said the philosopher. - From here you can live, catch fish in the Dnieper and in the stakes, fish from snares and fishnets for little bustards and curlews! That's why, I think, there was a lot of dust in these bows. Fruits can be dried and sold in a place without food, or, better yet, smoked from them; Moreover, a burner made of fruit is not comparable to any kind of stump. She doesn’t even bother to think about how they might get involved.

You notice a small path behind the mud, completely covered with weeds that have grown. We mechanically put our foot on it, thinking in advance to just take a walk, and then quietly, between the huts, and wave into the field, as if raptly having felt on my shoulder to reach my hand.

Standing behind him was the same old Cossack, who had so bitterly sung about the death of his father and mother and about his own identity.

“You’re foolishly thinking, Mr. Philosopher, that you’re leaving the farm!” - Vin said. - There’s no such thing as a mortgage, so you can get in; Those roads are trash for pedestrians. And better go to the sir: he has been waiting for you for a long time in the room.

- Let's go! Well... I’m pleased,” said the philosopher and followed the Cossack.

A centurion, already in advanced age, with gray hair and a frown of confusion, was sitting in front of the table near the room, with his head in his hands. You were close to fifty years old; But the deep desperation in his appearance and such a pale-harsh color showed that his soul had been beaten and destroyed by rapt, into one piece, and all the joy and noisiness of life had disappeared forever. When Khoma meets the old Cossack, he raises one hand and slightly nods his head to a low angle.

Khoma and Cossack chattered shakily at the doors.

-Who are you, what are your stars, and what is your title, good man? - The centurion said neither kindly nor harshly.

- Z Bursakiv, philosopher Khoma Brut.

- Who is your father?

- I don’t know, noble sir.

- And your mother?

– I don’t know my mother. For good health, naturally, Bula Mother; But who, and the stars, and if she lived, by God, kindness, I don’t know.

The centurion muttered and seemed to have lost his mind.

- How did you get to know my daughter?

- Without knowing, noble sir, by God, without knowing. I have not yet dealt with the panels as much as I have not lived in this world. Please don't say anything obscene.

- Why didn’t she tell someone else to read it, but you yourself?

The philosopher lowered his shoulders:

- God knows how to explain this. It’s already on the right, that the gentlemen will sometimes want something that the most educated people can’t figure out; And when she said: “Ride, wizard, just like the master!”

- Why aren’t you lying, Mr. Philosopher?

- Axis on this very place, let it thunder so loudly that I make a mistake.

“If you had only lived a little longer,” the centurion said sumptuously, “then perhaps I would have known everything.” “Don’t let anyone read me, let’s go, tattoo, immediately to the Kiev Seminary and bring the student Khoma Brut. Let me pray for three nights for my sinful soul. He knows...” And what he knows, I no longer feel. There, little blue one, she could only say, she died. You, good person, perhaps, knowing your holy lives and godly righteousnesses, and there, perhaps, I began to think about you.

- Who? I? - said the student, entering the show. - Am I holy? - having washed the wine, simply marveling at the centurion’s eyes. - God is with you, sir! What are you saying? And I, I want to say it obscenely, walked to the bakery on the most special Thursday.

- Well... perhaps it’s not for nothing that it’s been assigned that way. From this day forward, you can publish your right.

- I would say on your mercy... there, of course, every human being, understood the Holy Scripture, perhaps for the sake of proportionality... only here it would be more fitting to need a deacon or, if you hire me, a dyke. The people stink, and I know how much I should be afraid, but I... But my voice is not like that, and I myself am a damn thing. I don't see anything greedy about me.

- Whatever you want, I will follow everything that my little dove told me, without harming anything. And if you have been praying for three nights on this day as a follow-up to prayers over her, then I will reward you; Otherwise the devil himself wouldn’t anger me.

The remaining words were understood by the centurion so meaningfully that the philosopher understood their entire meaning.

- Follow me! - Said the centurion.

Stinks came out from the blue. The centurion opened the door to another room, which was opposite the first one. The philosopher stood on a tree in the dark, blew his nose, and stepped over the threshold with a kind of unknown fear. All the forgery was lined with red Chinese paper. Near the kutku, under the icons, on a high table lay a dead body, on a carpet of blue oxamite, decorated with gold fringe and pencils. Tall wax candles, entwined with viburnum, stood at the feet and at the heads, waving their kalamutne, ruined in the light of the day. The appearance of the dead woman was obscured from the view of the new, indifferent father, who was sitting in front of her, with his back to the door. The philosopher was struck by the words that he sensed:

- I’m not talking about those pitiful ones, my dear daughter who hired me, who, in the color of their fates, without reaching the required century, to my troubles and grief, deprived the land. I’m so sorry, my dear, that I don’t know who, my fierce enemy, was the cause of your death. And if I knew who could think of anything to do to you, or even say something unacceptable about you, then, I swear to God, I will not pay more for my children, since only he is as old as I am; not his father and mother, as it was still at the time of fate, and his body would have been thrown away for the birds and animals of the steppe to live on. Alas, woe is me, my Polish cape[ 15The cape is a nigtik (kvitka).], my little quail, my little bird, that I will decide to live my life without peace, rubbing away the empty tears that flow from my old eyes, so that my enemy will have fun and laugh at the good old man...

He frowned, and the cause of this was a burst of grief that burst forth in a flood of tears.

The philosopher has created such uneasy confusion. He coughed and heard a muffled grunt, trying to clear some of his voice.

The centurion turned around and pointed to the dead place in front of a small pile on which books lay.

“I’ve been practicing for three nights,” the philosopher thought, “then the lord will offend me, swarming with pure worms.”

He approached and, once again clearing his throat, began to read, without losing his thirst for respect and not daring to look at the face of the dead. Gliboka was silent and panicked. Vin noted that the centurion of the Viyshov. Turning his head completely to look at the dead woman...

A thrill ran through his veins: in front of him lay a beautiful woman, as if she had been on the ground. It seemed as if no figurines had ever been created in such sharp and at the same time harmonious beauty. Vona lay there as if she were alive. Cholo, garne, tender, like snow, like sriblo, gave away, mislilo; eyebrows - in the middle of a sunny day, thin, straight, proudly rose above the flattened eyes, and the eyebrows, which fell like arrows onto the cheeks, were scorched by the heat of the melting banyas; There are rubies, ready to laugh... But in them, in the same rice, it becomes terribly poignant. He realized that his soul was beginning like a painful thread, and began to rap among the swirl of merry people and suddenly began to sing a song about the people’s misfortunes. The rubies of her lips, it seemed, boiled with blood to her very heart. The rapture that was terribly familiar appeared in this guise.

It was the witch herself who had driven in the wine.

When the sun began to fade, they carried the dead body to the church. The philosopher lifted the black, plaintive trumpet with one shoulder and felt the coldness on his shoulder, like ice. The centurion himself was in front, carrying with his hand the right side of the cramped dead box. The church, made of wood, blackened, decorated with green moss, with three cone-like domes, stood gloomily on the edge of the village. It was clear that there had been no service there for a long time. The candles were on fire just before the skin service. The truna was placed in the middle, opposite the roof itself. The old centurion kissed death once again, rushed out of the way with the carriers, giving the order to kindly please the philosopher and after the evening accompany him to the church. Having arrived in the kitchen, all the clothes they were carrying began to put their hands to the roughness, so that the Little Russians began to hesitate, having flickered.

The hunger that the philosopher began to perceive at this hour, having thought about it for a moment, forgot about the death. Suddenly, the whole door gradually began to converge on the kitchen. The kitchen in the centurion's hut was similar to a club, where everything that was not hanging around the yard flocked, including the dogs that came with tails, that waved, right up to the doors for brushes and pomies. No matter where I am sent for any need, I will always rush into the kitchen in order to choose the quill on the lava and pick up the cradle. All the bachelors who lived in the hut, who lived in Cossack bags, lay here all day long on a bench, under a bench, on a rug - in a word, there were only so many people who could find a better place to lie down. Moreover, I forgot my hat in the kitchen, or a batig for other people’s dogs, or something similar. However, the largest gatherings took place until one hour in the evening, when the herdsman arrived to drive his horses into the paddock, and the drivers who brought cows for the milking, and all those who could not be raised as the day went on. During the evening, the balachki were prepared by the non-balaku people themselves. Here they talked about everything: about those who sewed new trousers, who were in the middle of the earth, and who became a wolf. There were a lot of bonmotists here 16Bonmotist - sergeant; (French Bon mot - gostrot).], which does not marry between Little Russians.

The philosopher sits with the others in a wide circle in the open air in front of the threshold of the kitchen. Suddenly, a woman in a red cap leaned out of the door, holding a hot pot of dumplings in both hands, and placed him in the middle of those who were preparing dinner. Kozhen got out of his wooden spoon, otherwise, through marriage, a wooden cheesecake. As soon as the birds began to crumble, more and more people began to crumble, and the great hunger of all the collected little things began to fall into disarray, and many began to be dispelled. Rozmova, of course, is too small to die.

“Is it true,” said one young wizard, who had placed so many chinks and copper badges on his skinned cradle bandage, so that it looked like a junk shop, “is it true that the lady, without being told, knew the evil spirits?”

- Who? lady? - said Dorosh, already known to us before our philosopher. - There was a whole witch there! I swear that I am a witch!

- Finish it all up, Dorosh! - Having said the other, every hour of the road showed a great readiness to console. - This is not ours on the right; God is with him. There's nothing about ce tlumachiti.

Ale Dorosh does not speak at all. Just before that, having gone to the housekeeper for any necessary information, having filled two to two or three barrels, you sounded extremely cheerful and spoke without stopping.

- What do you want? Should I have done it? - Vin said. - That one rode on me herself! Oh my God, I went!

“Well, uncle,” said the young wizard with the buzzers, “how can you recognize any signs of a witch?”

“It’s not possible,” Dorosh said. - You don’t know; If you want to re-read all the psalms, you won’t know.

- It’s possible, it’s possible, Darling. “Don’t tell me what,” said the stupid utishnik. - It was not for nothing that God gave each person a special name. People who know science seem to think that the witch has a small tail.

“If the woman is old, then she’s a witch,” said the gray-haired Cossack.

- Oh, already garni and you! - the woman came up, as she was pouring fresh dumplings from the miner at that hour, having cleaned herself, - freshly cooked boars.

The old Cossack, whose name was Yavtukh, and whose nickname was Kovtun, heard a smile of satisfaction on his lips, noting that his words had been chained to the old man; and the cattle driver let out such a thick laugh that two beaks, standing one against the other, began to murmur at once.

Rozmova, which had begun, was destroyed by the inexorable desire and the stubbornness of the philosopher to learn more about the centurion’s dead daughter. And to that, I hope to again bring him to the worst matter, rushing to his seat with these words:

- I want to ask why the whole camp, sitting at supper, regards the lady as a witch? Well, why the hell did anyone become evil or spoil someone?

“There were all sorts of things,” said one of those who were sitting, with a smooth face, extremely similar to a shovel.

- Who can’t guess the dog Mikita, why...

- What about the dog Mikita? - Said the philosopher.

- Stay! “I’ll tell you about the dog Mikita,” said Dorosh.

“I’ll tell you about Mikita,” said the herdsman, “because he’s my godfather.”

“I’ll tell you about Mikita,” Spirid said.

- Come on, let Spirid reveal! - shouted to the NATO team.

Spirid having started:

- You, Mr. philosopher Khoma, don’t know Mikity. Oh, what a rare person she was! The dog used to know his skin like his own father. The current dog Mikola, who sits third behind me, is not suitable for supporting me. I want you to understand your right, otherwise it’s trash, damn it.

- You speak well, good! - Dorosh said, nodding his head in praise.

Having chewed Spirid:

- Swish the hare, wipe the bottom of the nose from the nose. Buvalo, whistling: “Come on, Rozbiy! come on, Shvidka! - and he himself is on horseback for all his privacy, - and it is no longer possible to know who married whom: whether he is a dog or his dog. Whistle a quart of vodka and rap, otherwise it wouldn’t happen. Monster buv dog! Just recently I started looking at the little lady incessantly. Even if she got riveted into her, because she already enchanted him so much, only then did the man know, having become an old woman; becoming the devil knows; pff! It's obscene to say.

“Good,” Dorosh said.

- Just like the little lady, it used to be, look at him, then he lets the drive out of his hands, called Rozboi Brovkom, stumbles and breaks the treasury. One day the lady came to the herd, having cleaned the horse. Let me tell you, Mikitko, I’ll lay my tenderness on you. And here, you fool, and for the sake of this: it seems that not only your little one, but you yourself sit on me. The lady raised her legs, and as if she had shaken her head, her back and her white legs, it seemed as if the charm had shaken him. Vin, the fool, with his back bent and his hands clasped behind his bare legs, he began to gallop, as if across the whole field, and wherever they went, he could not say anything; just turned around and was still alive, and from that moment dried up like a cod; And when they arrived at the camp, there was nothing left but a pile of ashes and an empty bucket: everything was on fire; burning by itself. And such a former dog cannot be known in the whole world.

When Spirid finished his talk, whispers began to flow from both sides about the bravery of the great dog.

- Have you heard anything about Shepchikha? - Dorosh said, brutalizing Homi.

- Yege-ge-ge! So you, the Bursa, apparently don’t have much to think about. Well, listen! We have a Cossack Sheptun in the village. Garny Cossack! You can love to steal and shave without drinking water, good Cossack. Your house is not that far away. Just as we were about to sit down to dinner, Whisperer and the woman, having finished the evening meal, went to bed; when it was a good hour, Shepchikha lay down on the bedspread, and Whisperer lay down on the rock in front of the hut; no: The Whisperer is on a bench in the hut, and the Whisperer is on the bench.

“And Shepchikha lay down not on the lava, but on the underside,” the woman came up, standing on the threshold and resting her hand on her cheek.

I looked at her kindly, then looked down, then looked at her again and, after washing for a while, said:

“If I throw off your sleeping bag for you in front of everyone, then I won’t be kind.”

This guarding is not enough. The old woman finished and never interrupted the language.

Dorosh said:

- And in the bassinet that hung in the middle of the house, lay a river baby - I don’t know whether it was human or female. Shepchikha lay there, and then she felt a dog scratching behind the door and howling as if she wanted to run out of the house. Vona was angry; Because the women are such bad people that if you hang out from behind the doors of a monk at night, then your soul will be gone before five. Well, he thinks, let me hit the damned dog in the face, maybe you can stop whining, - and, taking the poker, she went out to open the doors. Before she could finish, the dog rushed between her legs and right up to the baby's pram. She whispers that this is no longer a dog, but a lady. If only the lady had already looked like that, as she knew, there would be nothing else; And the axis of the river and the furnishings: it was all blue, and the eyes were burning like a vugilla. She buried the child, bit her throat and began to drink blood. The little whisperer screamed: “Oh, too much!” – ta z hati. Just hope that the blue doors are locked. Over there on the mountain; sit and tremble, bad woman, and then wait for the lady to go before her and to the hill; she rushed at her and began to bite the bad woman. Already the Whisperer pulled out his wife with a wound, all bitten and blue. And the next day the bad woman died. So the axis, as it is structured, is in peace! Even if you want the master’s aftertaste, if it’s a witch, then it’s a witch.

After such a confirmation, Dorosh looked around complacently and stuck his finger in his pipe, preparing it to fill with tubing. The matter about the witch became inextricable. Kozhen, with his black, hastened to reveal. Before that, the witch, in sight of the mud of the son, arrived right up to the very door of the hut; She stole another’s hat and pipe; I cut off the braids of rich girls in the village; in others, buckets of blood dripped out.

Finally, the whole company became confused and began to chatter, saying that they had already chatted too much, since they had finished nothing in the yard. Everyone began to wander around at night, either in the kitchen, or in the barns, or in the middle of the yard.

- Anu, Mr. Homo! Now the time has come for us to go to the deceased, - said the gray Cossack, turning into a philosopher, and all four, including Spirid and Dorosh, walked to the church, gathering in packs of dogs that were anonymous on the street and like the evil grizzlies of them no club.

The philosopher, unimpressed by those who came to fortify himself with a good cup of sleeping bag, was aware of the fear that was approaching as the stench approached the illuminated church. Revelations and strange stories, as we felt, contributed even more to the work of his disappearance. The darkness under the mud and trees began to subside; the place became bare. The stinks entered behind the old church fence into a small courtyard, behind which there was not a tree and only an empty field and a dark, dark bow appeared. Three Cossacks left Khomoy at the same time in steep descents to the ganok and entered the church. Here the stench deprived the philosopher, who urged him to safely dispose of his burdens, and closed the doors behind him at the order of the master.

The philosopher has lost himself. At first he sighed, then he stretched, then he groaned at his offending hands, and then he got surprised. In the middle stood a black truna. The candles glowed in front of the black images. The light from them illuminated the iconostasis and slightly the middle of the church. In the distance, the porch was shrouded in darkness. The tall, ancient iconostasis has already shown great age; It was cut through and covered with gold, and it shone with only sparks. The gilding has fallen off in one place, and completely blackened in others; The faces of the saints completely darkened and looked as if they were gloomy. The philosopher looked around again.

“Well,” he said, “what is there to be afraid of?” People can’t come here, but despite the dead and those who left this world, I have such prayers that as soon as I read them, I can’t even touch the stench with my finger. Nothing! - he repeated, waving his hand, - readable!

Approaching the chrylos, add a splint of candles to the candle.

“It’s good,” the philosopher thought, “we need to light up the whole church so that it can be seen as early as day.” Oh, what a shame, you can’t have a cradle in the temple of God!”

And having begun to stick wax candles to all the cornices, layers and images, without damaging them, and immediately the whole church was filled with light. As the sky burned, the darkness became intense, and the gloomy images gazed gloomily at the ancient ornate frames that had sparkled with gilding. He went to the extent of teasing, fearfully marveling at the guise of a dead woman and could not help but squash, trembling a little, his eyes.

So scary, so beautiful!

You turned out and want to go out; but because of the wondrous tenderness, because of the wondrous sensitive feeling that does not deprive a person especially in the hour of fear, he could not bear to look at her as he walked, and then, having seen that same trepidation, he looked again. In truth, the sharp beauty of the deceased seemed terrible. Perhaps the truth would not have struck such a panicked fear, as if it were something conniving. There was nothing dark, kalamut, or dead in these rices. He was alive, and the philosophers would never have marveled at his flattened eyes. It seemed to me that a tear was rolling from the back of her right eye, and when she hit her cheek, she realized that there was a drop of blood.

You quickly go to the krylos, lighting up the book, to encourage yourself by starting to read in your deepest voice. His voice struck the church trees and became deaf and deaf for a long time. Of course, without a moonlight, wheezing in a thick bass in a completely dead silence and seeming almost wild to tell the reader himself.

“What are you afraid of? - he thought to himself. “And you won’t get up from your troubles, for you will be afraid of God’s word.” Let's lie down! What kind of Cossack am I if I got angry? Well, having drunk the pledge, that’s why it turns out to be scary. And sniff Tyutyun: oh, good Tyutyun! Monster tutyun! Garniy Tyutyun!

Prote, burning the skin side, looked askance at the trun, and fleetingly seemed to whisper to you: “Axle, axle!” The axle will rise, the axle will look out of your arms!”

Ale tisha bula is dead. Truna stood unmoved. The candles poured out a flood of light. The church is illuminated at night, with a dead body and without the soul of people!

Ale truna did not collapse. If you want any kind of sound, if there is a living essence, let the flower curl up into the bundle! There was almost a faint crackling sound of a distant candle, or the faint sound of a drop of wax falling lightly onto the foundation.

“Well, how are you going to get up?..”

Vona lowered her head.

He looked wildly and rubbed his eyes. But he definitely doesn’t lie down anymore, but sits by his trune. He opened his eyes and returned to the throne again with passion. Vaughn stood up... walking through the church with flattened eyes, constantly spreading her arms, wanting to make someone angry.

There you go straight to the new one. Out of fear, he baptized himself. I began to read prayers and cast spells, which one monk began to teach, who has spent all his life on his own and unclean spirits.

She stood on the boundary line; but it was clear that she had a lot of strength to cross it, and she was all blue, like a person who had already died for many days. Khoma couldn’t bring himself to look at her. She was scary. Vaughn slammed her teeth into her teeth and crushed her dead eyes. Ale, without saying anything, with a story - which expressed her third appearance - she turned into another bak and, spreading her arms, spit on the skin of her feet and kuts, trying to catch Khoma. Nareshti mumbled, wagging her finger, and lay down by her trumpet.

The philosopher still could not come to you and looked at the life of the witches with fear. When the trumpet began to rumble from its place and whistle, it began to fly throughout the entire church, the crosses in all directions going back and forth. The philosopher held it above his head, but suddenly realized that he could not seal the stake he had baptized, and had strengthened his spell. Truna grimaced in the middle of the church and lost her inviolability. The corpse reappeared new, blue, green. Then I felt a distant cry of a song. The corpse sank into the tunnel and became filled with a corpse.

The philosopher’s heart beat and began to beat like hail; But, with a loud cry of encouragement, he finished reading the last few pages that he had read before. At first dawn they came to replace his little boy and the gray Yavtukh, who at that time was directing the planting of the church elders.

Arriving at the end of the night, the philosopher could not fall asleep for a long time, but then got tired, and slept until lunchtime. When he woke up, the whole night seemed to him like something he had experienced in his sleep. You were given a quart of sleeping bag to strengthen your strength. During lunch, she quickly got loose, adding so much respect to the old pig; However, about his presence in the church, he didn’t dare to talk about something unknown to everyone, and to the well-trained witnesses: “So, there were all sorts of miracles.” The philosopher is one of those people who, whenever they become indignant, an extraordinary philanthropy springs from them. Vin, lying with his pipe in his teeth, marveling at everyone’s extremely sweet eyes and constantly spitting ubik.

After lunch, the philosopher was completely at ease. Vіn was inspired to crush the whole village, to get to know everyone from everything; They kicked him out of two huts; One pretty young lady gave him quite a good shove on the back, when she decided to smack and cluck, what kind of material did she wear for her shirt and plaid. As the evening approached for more than an hour, the philosopher became thoughtful. A year before the evening, the entire door was gathered to play porridge or in kragli - a row of skittles, where instead of the cul the long sticks are played, and the one who, having won, has the right to rise to another top. This gra became even more impressive for the spyers: often the driver, wide as a baby, climbed on top of the pig shepherd, tall and short, with a wrinkled face. Once again, the driver presented his back, and Dorosh, gathered on it, again saying: “What a healthy beak!” Sitting on the threshold of the kitchen were those who were so handsome. The stinks marveled extremely seriously, the smoking cradles, as if the young ones laughed in their hearts at the witty words of the chaser Spirid. Khoma desperately tried to get involved in this group: a dark thought, like a flower, sat in his head. For so many evenings, I couldn’t manage to amuse myself, but at the same time I took away my fear from the darkness that spread all over the sky.

- Anu, it’s time for us, Mr. Bursak! - the famous gray Cossack told him, leaving the place at the same time from Dorosh. - We go to work.

Khoma was immediately led to the church; Once again they deprived him of one and locked the doors behind him. As soon as he lost one, fear began to reappear in his chest. Once again, we saw dark images, glittering frames and the familiar black trumpet that stood in the menacing silence and unruly middle of the church.

“Well,” he said, “now it’s not surprising to me.” Now it’s even more scary the first time. So! It’s just a little more scary the first time, but now it’s not worse; It’s not scary at all.

He hastily stood on the wing, christened his neck, rinsed the spell and began to read aloud, daring not to lift his eyes from the book and not to lose respect for anything. It’s been almost a year since I read the book and started to get very tired and cough. He raised his face from his pocket and first raised his head to his nose, looking up at the trumpet with a smile. Yogo's heart grew cold.

The corpse was already standing in front of him at the very boundary and standing next to him, his eyes turned green. The student shuddered, and the cold sensitively ran through his veins. Having lowered his eyes to the book, starting to read his prayers and curses out loud, and feeling like a corpse, hitting the corpse again with his teeth and waving his arms, eagerly to bury him. Ale, having mowed down the three with one eye, having looked at the fact that the corpse was not there, catching it, standing there, and, perhaps, could not see it. She began to mutter dully and began to whisper terrible words with her dead lips; The stench snorted hoarsely, like the slime of boiling tar. What the stench meant, I couldn’t say, except there was something worse in it. The philosopher realized in fear that she was afraid of the spell.

The wind blew through the church from the rain, and it felt like there were a lot of wings in the sky to fly. I felt like they were beating their wings against the broken church windows and in the shuttered frames, like they were scraping the heather with their claws along the crawl space, and like an incurable force was smashing at the door and wanted to break in. Nogo’s heart was beating strongly all hour; having flattened his eyes, reading all the curses and prayers. There was a rap that whistled in the distance: there was a distant cry of a stump. The former philosopher paused and became restless in spirit.

Those who left to replace the philosopher found him still alive. Vin leaned his back against the wall and, with his eyes wide open, marveled unflinchingly at the Cossacks who were harassing him. You were led and encouraged the whole way. Having arrived in a gentle manner, he became afraid and ordered himself to hand over a quart of sleeping bag. Having drunk it, he smoothed the hair on his head and said:

- There is a lot of bad stuff in this world! And fears are still being extinguished - well... - At which the philosopher waved his hand.

A group of people, who had gathered together, lowered their heads, feeling such words. This poor cotton boy, whom all the people scurried about, had the right to respect in his place, if it came to cleaning the flock or drawing water, this poor cotton man had already opened his mouth.

At this hour, a not-quite-summer granny was passing by in a tight-fitting stock, which revealed her round and sizable tabir, the assistant of an old cook, a terrible coquette, who had previously found herself pinned before her eyes. pka: either a piece of stitching, or a clove, or a papyrus thread. , as if there was nothing else.

- Good afternoon, Homo! - Said Vaughn, having impressed the philosopher. - Ah ah ah! what's wrong with you? - She screamed, clasping her hands.

- What is it, bad woman?

- Oh, my God! You've sat all over!

- Yege-ge! That seems like the truth! - Having seen Spirid, you admire him respectfully. - You definitely posiviv, like our old Yavtukh.

The philosopher, sensing this, escaped with a burn in the kitchen, de vin noticing sticking to the wall, clogged with flies, the knitted fabric of the mirror, before which there were forget-me-nots, periwinkles and a garland of capes, which showed the recognition of his for the toilet there is a purple yoke. With a sigh, he realized the truth of their words: half of his hair, in fact, turned white.

Homa Brut hung his head and began to think.

“I’ll go to the master,” they said, “we’ll tell him everything and explain.” I don’t want to read anymore. Let him send me straight to Kiev.

With such thoughts, he straightened his path to the master’s house.

The centurion sat in the middle of his room; the same hopeless turmoil that had previously existed in his guise, remaining in the new one until now. His cheeks only sunk a lot earlier. It was clear that he had lived very little of their lives, or, perhaps, never bothered with them. The supernatural brightness gave him a sense of unruliness.

- Good afternoon, dear God[ 17Heavenly - badolakha.], - he said, smiling at Khoma, who stood with his hat in his hands as he walked through the doors. - How are you doing? Is everything okay?

- Safely, safely. Such devilry exists that when you pick up your hat, you run away wherever you go.

- How so?

- That’s your daughter, sir... For good measure, of course, it belongs to the lord’s family; I won’t cross-read this with anyone, unless it’s said in anger, God rest my soul...

- What about it, donka?

- she let Satan come to her. Such fears are caused by the fact that Scripture is not safe.

- Read, read! It was not for nothing that Vona called out to you. There you were, my little dear, about your soul and wanted to banish every filthy thought with your prayers.

- Your Vlada, sir: by God, she carried it!

- Read, read! - The centurion continued in that very encouraging voice. - You have now lost one night. You earn the Christian right, and I will reward you.

- If only there were no fences... Whatever you want, sir, I can’t read! - having spoken to Khoma Rishuche.

- I don’t know! - The philosopher said, lowering his voice. - Everyone knows that such skinny endings are: with great volume, the river is unbearable.

- So. You still don’t know how my boys soar! - the centurion said sternly, rising to his feet, and exposing him to a commanding and fierce expression, which revealed all the untidy character of his character, sleeping only for that hour with confusion. - I’ll first steam it, then spray it with a finger, and then I’ll do it again. Go, go! correct your right! If you don’t vipravish, you won’t get up; and vipravish - a thousand ducats!

“Wow! ta tse grab! - the philosopher thought, walking out. - There’s no need to fry anything. Stay, stay, buddy: I’ll make my face so tan that you won’t be able to see me with your dogs.”

And Khoma began to tick relentlessly. It was only this last year that everyone began to climb into the hay under the sheds and, with their mouths open, let out such a hustle and whistling that the pans' trust sounded like a factory. This is the hour for instructions. Navit Yavtukh flattened his eyes and stretched out in front of the sun. The philosopher, with fear and trepidation, quietly fell into the master's garden, it seemed to him that it would be safer and easier to run into the field. This garden, as before, was terribly neglected and, therefore, subtly absorbed into the secret secrets of the skin. Including only one path, trodden for the ruler's needs, everything else was covered with cherries that grew thickly, elderberries, burdocks, with their tall stems with tough horny cones sticking up to the very top. The hops covered, in a merging manner, the top of all the stringy collected trees and tea gardens and piled over them the dust that fell on the mud and fell from it like curly snakes at the same time as the wild field flowers. Behind the mud that served as the boundary of the garden, there was a whole forest of weeds, in which, it seemed, no one had bothered to look, and the scythe would fly into friends, as if it wanted to stick with the forest of its thick stem, which is its tree. whether.

Whenever a philosopher wanted to step over the mud, his teeth chattered and his heart beat so hard that he himself began to bite. The floor of his long-lasting clothes seemed to be stuck to the ground, the bottom of it being covered with flowers. Whenever he stepped through the mud, he heard a voice crackling in his ear with a deafening whistle: “Where, where?” The philosopher winked at the weeds and rushed to roll, constantly tripping over the old roots and crushing the moles with their feet. He realized that, having got out of the weeds, he was about to cross the field, behind some thick black thorns, and he respected himself for being careless and having passed some time, for his own indulgences, thinking of clearing the way straight to Kiev. The field ran across the field and fell into thick thorns. He climbed through the thorns, having lost the tar of his coat on the sharp thorn of his skin, and landed on a small hollow. The willow's branches, which had split, sometimes spread as far as the ground. A small dzherelo vibrated, as clean as wood. The philosopher’s first task was to lie down and drink, because he felt the unbearable spell.

- Good water! - Having said “Vin”, he wipes his lips. - Here you can prefer.

- No, let’s better run forward: the chase will be nervous!

These words mooned over the ears. Vin looked around: standing in front of him was Yavtukh.

“Devil Yavtukh! - the philosopher thought to himself in his heart. “I would have taken you by the feet... I would have beaten your vile peak, and everything that is not on you, with an oak block.”

“Having given you such a foolish way,” Yavtukh said in the distance, “it would be better to choose the road that I took: I’ll go straight back.” But before that, the frock coat is bad. And the cloth is garnet. How much do you pay for an arshin? However, we took a walk to finish our day, it’s time to get home.

The philosopher, shaky, followed Yavtukh. “Now the witch is cursed to give me to Pfeiffer 18Pfeiffer (German) – pepper.], - Vin thought. - So, what am I telling the truth? What am I afraid of? Why am I not a Cossack? Even after reading for two nights, God help me for a third. Apparently, the cursed witch has accumulated quite a lot of sins, so the evil spirits stand behind her.”

These were the thoughts that occupied him when he entered the army. Having encouraged himself with such respect, he begged Dorosh, who, under the additional protection of the key keeper, at the entrance to the lady's algae, pulled out the fusel juice, and offended friends, sitting under the barn, pulled out the crumbs without drinking Idra, also a philosopher, rose to his feet and shouted: “Musicians ! definitely musicians! - And, not having finished listening to the musicians, I started to dance the tropaka in the middle of the courtyard on the cleared place. They danced until the hour of noon arrived, and the door that surrounded him, as is common in such outbursts, at the heads, they spat and went to walk, saying: “It’s like how long the people have been dancing!” The philosopher immediately went to bed, and a good rolling of cold water could wake him up for supper. During the evening meal we talked about those who are Cossacks and how they shouldn’t be afraid of anything in the world.

“It’s time,” said Yavtukh, “let’s go.”

“Syrnik on your tongue, batter[ 19Knur - boriv.]!” - the philosopher thought, getting to his feet, saying:

- Let's go.

Walking along the road, the philosopher constantly looked at all sides and lightly spoke to his guides. Ale Yavtukh movchav; Dorosh himself is not balakuchy. The night was hot. The wolves were playing in the distance. And the naughty dog's bark seems to be scary.

“It seems that it’s different: it’s not like that,” Dorosh said.

Yavtukh movchav. The philosopher didn’t know how to say anything.

The stench approached the church and the old wooden crypt entered under it, which showed how little more than Volodar could tell about God and his soul. Yavtukh and Dorosh, as before, left, and the philosopher lost himself. Everything was just the same. Everything had that same ghastly, familiar look. Vin frowned. In the middle stood the trune of the greedy witch, just as indestructible. “I won’t be afraid, by God, I won’t be afraid!” - Having said “Vin”, having baptized, as before, he beat himself, and began to think of all his spells. The silence was terrible; The candles flickered and poured light over the entire church. The philosopher turned over one arch, then turned over the other and noted that he was not reading what was written in the book. We crossed each other in fear and began to sleep. A little bit encouraged him: the reading moved forward, and the arches blinked one after another. Raptom... in the middle of the silence... with a crack, the crack of the lid of the trine burst and the dead rose. More terrible than ever. His teeth collided terribly nearby, his lips began to murmur on the boats, and, screaming wildly, the spell rushed off. The cowlick went up the church, the icons fell to the ground, and the broken icons flew down to the beast. The doors burst from their hinges, and the incurable power of the miracles flew into the church of God. A terrible noise from the cry and from the trash of pasurians filled the whole church. Everything was flying and dying, searching everywhere for the philosopher.

Homi Viyshov has a surplus of hops in his head. We just crossed ourselves and read abyyak prayers. And suddenly I felt how the evil spirits rushed at him, almost smothering him with the ends of his wings and his final tails. I don’t have the heart to look at them; standing tall, like a monster standing all over the wall with her tangled hair, like a fox; Across the line of hair, two eyes marveled terribly, eyebrows raised slightly. Above him hung in the air what looked like a majestic fur, with a thousand pincers and scorpion presses stretching from the middle. The black earth hung on them like claws. Everyone marveled at him, joked and could not help him, sharpened by the secret stake.

- Visit Viya! Follow Viem! - the words flickered.

And suddenly there was silence in the church; in the distance it was felt that the hair was curling again, and the important croaks that were mooning around the church were constantly mooning; glancing sideways, looking at the wine, scho lead yakus prisadkuvat, arc, clumsy man. All life is on the black land. Like a sinewy, mitzne root, you could see his legs and arms covered with earth. Walking heavily, the shokhvilini stumbled. For a long time the arms were lowered to the ground. Noting Khom with horror that he had denounced the new disease. They brought him under his arms and placed him directly in the place where Khoma stood.

- Raise my shoulders: I don’t care! - Viy said in an underground voice - and the whole crowd rushed to raise his shoulders.

"Don't be surprised!" - the inner voice of the philosopher whispers. Without being patient and looking.

- Axis vin! - Yelling out and inserting a slimy finger on him. And as soon as possible, they rushed at the philosopher. The breathlessness grimaced onto the ground, and the spirit immediately flew out of fear.

There was a moon cry. Then there was another cry; The dwarves sensed the first. The foul spirits rushed at random, at the windows and doors, in order to fly out as soon as possible, but that was not the case: so they lost the stench there, stuck at the doors and windows. The priest who has grown up, hesitantly, having become so desecrated of God’s holiness and not daring to serve a panakhida in such a place. So the church was forever lost with its miracles, which were stuck in the doors and windows, overgrown with forest, roots, weeds, wild thorns; And now no one knows the way to it.

* * *

As soon as the process reached Kiev and the theologian Khalyava sensed that this was the fate of the philosopher Homi, then a whole year was given over to think about it. During that time, great changes arose from him. Happily, he laughed: after completing the course of science, he was hired as the bell ringer of the most important tsentry, and every time he might come back with a broken nose, because the villagers went to the tsentry and were extremely disorganized.

- What did you do with Khomoy? - Tiberius Gorobets, who at that time was already a philosopher and had fresh hair, said, having reached the next stage.

“God gave it to you,” said the ringer Freebie. - We go to the tavern and guess your soul!

The young philosopher, who, with the fervor of an enthusiast, began to claim his rights, so that on his new trousers, his surdus, and his hat were infused with alcohol and coconut rinds, and at the same time showed readiness.

- Nice man Khoma! - said the bell-ringer, when the Kulgavy tavern placed the third kukhol in front of him. - She was a noble person! But I knew it for no reason.

- And I know why I knew it: through those who were afraid. And if she were not afraid, the witch could not have gained anything from him. You only need to cross each other and spit on its tail, then nothing will happen. I already know everything. Even in Kiev, all the women who sit in the bazaar are all witches.

At this point the bell ringer nodded his head at the sign for good. Ale, having noticed that his tongue could not understand the desired word, he carefully moved up from the table and, with a grudge on his side, tried to meet in the most distant place in Buryana. Moreover, without forgetting, with a lot of money, to buy an old boot sole that was lying on the lava.

...Heaved a loud cry. Then there was another cry; The dwarves sensed the first. The foul spirits rushed at random, at the windows and doors, in order to fly out as soon as possible, but that was not the case: so they lost the stench there, stuck at the doors and windows. The priest who has grown up, hesitantly, having become so desecrated of God’s holiness and not daring to serve a panakhida in such a place. So the church was forever lost with its miracles, which were stuck in the doors and windows, overgrown with forest, roots, weeds, wild thorns; And now no one knows the way to it.

Mikola Vasilovich Gogol

Mirgorod. Part of a friend.

Viy

Having soundly struck the Kiev Front until the end of the seminar ringing, which was still hanging at the Brethren Monastery, then from this place the schoolchildren and students hurried away. Grammarians, rhetoricians, philosophers and theologians, with their crops under their crops, wandered to the classroom. The grammars were even smaller; as they walked, they danced around one another and barked among themselves in the finest treble; the stench was ever present in the dirty or stale cloths, and the stench of them was always full of all sorts of filth; like: grandmothers, whistles, broken from the feathers, half-eaten pie, and sometimes with small piles, of which one, rapping in the midst of the unexpected silence in the classroom, delivering to his patron, quite often fell into offended hands, and nodes and cherry slices. The rhetoric turned out to be more solid: the cloth in them was often completely intact, but then on the surface there was always some embellishment in the appearance of the rhetorical stitch: either one eye went under the very forehead, or instead of a lip there was a whole bulb, or Another sign; They said and swore among themselves in a tenor voice. Philosophers took a whole octave lower: there was nothing in their casseroles, creamy tatyun rinds. The stink reserves were not exhausted and everything that was caught was eaten; In front of them stood a cradle and a sleeping bag, sometimes as far away as a craftsman, passing every now and then, for a long time, sniffing, sniffing like a hound dog, in the wind.

The market at this hour was just starting to break down, and traders with bagels, buns, pork belly and poppy seeds sighed in despair for the excuses of these, some of which were made of thin cloth or some kind of paper material.

- Panich! panic! come here! come here! - said the stinks from the ears. - Axis bagels, muffins, vertiches, loaves of garni! By God, garni! on honey! I baked it myself!

Another woman, who had lifted the dough twisted from the dough, shouted:

- Axis Burulka! Panic, buy a Burulka!

- Don’t buy anything from her: marvel at how dirty she is - she has no filth, and her hands are unclean...

All philosophers and theologians were afraid to smell the stench, because philosophers and theologians have always loved the brothers only as a trial and for the whole life.

Upon arriving at the seminary, the entire team was distributed in classes, which were located in low, spacious rooms with small windows, wide doors and clouded lava. The class was filled with raptures of different voices: the audience listened to their students; the treble treble of the grammar was lost right at the treble of the glass, inserted at the small window, and the glass was perhaps similar to the sound itself; A lot of good rhetoricians, whose mouth and lips are responsible for accepting philosophy. There was a bass hum, and just a little far away: Boo, Boo, Boo, Boo... The auditors, listening to the lesson, marveled with one eye under the lava, where a bun, or a dumpling, or a garbuz nasin could be seen from the swarm of a light student.

If all this time began to come a little earlier, and if they knew that the professors would be later than the original, then, in advance, they planned to fight, and in which battle everyone, the crown and the censor, were to blame. 'We are committed to order and morality Learn everything. . Two theologians began to talk about how a battle was about to take place: that the leather class should stand up for itself especially, and that all those responsible would be divided into two halves: the bursa and the seminary. Each time, the grammarians began to take precedence over everything, and the rhetoricians were generously handed in, the stinks already ran away and stood on the heights to guard the battle. Then came philosophy with long black hair, and opinions and theologians, with greedy trousers and thick necks. It ended up that theology beat everyone, and philosophy, sensitive sides, was crowded into the classroom and settled on the lavas. The professor, who entered the classroom and fought himself in similar battles, in one case, from the heated faces of his listeners, recognized that he was in disgrace, and at that hour, when he spoke rhetoric sharply on his fingers, in another class The senior professor with wooden spatulas in the hands of philosophy. The theologians were in a completely different rank: they, according to the words of the theologian professor, watched over the world of great peas that lay in short skinned ends