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- Николай Гоголь
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- Мертвые души
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- Стр. 141/232
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Turning
towards
the
door
,
as
though
for
the
purpose
of
going
and
carrying
out
his
orders
,
Selifan
halted
and
added
:
"
That
skewbald
,
barin
--
you
might
think
it
well
to
sell
him
,
seeing
that
he
is
nothing
but
a
rascal
?
A
horse
like
that
is
more
of
a
hindrance
than
a
help
.
"
"
What
?
Do
you
expect
me
to
go
NOW
to
the
market-place
and
sell
him
?
"
"
Well
,
Paul
Ivanovitch
,
he
is
good
for
nothing
but
show
,
since
by
nature
he
is
a
most
cunning
beast
.
Never
in
my
life
have
I
seen
such
a
horse
.
"
"
Fool
!
Whenever
I
may
wish
to
sell
him
I
SHALL
sell
him
.
Meanwhile
,
do
n't
you
trouble
your
head
about
what
does
n't
concern
you
,
but
go
and
fetch
a
blacksmith
,
and
see
that
everything
is
put
right
within
two
hours
.
Otherwise
I
will
take
the
very
hair
off
your
head
,
and
beat
you
till
you
have
n't
a
face
left
.
Be
off
!
Hurry
!
"
Selifan
departed
,
and
Chichikov
,
his
ill-humour
vented
,
threw
down
upon
the
floor
the
poignard
which
he
always
took
with
him
as
a
means
of
instilling
respect
into
whomsoever
it
might
concern
,
and
spent
the
next
quarter
of
an
hour
in
disputing
with
a
couple
of
blacksmiths
--
men
who
,
as
usual
,
were
rascals
of
the
type
which
,
on
perceiving
that
something
is
wanted
in
a
hurry
,
at
once
multiplies
its
terms
for
providing
the
same
.
Indeed
,
for
all
Chichikov
's
storming
and
raging
as
he
dubbed
the
fellows
robbers
and
extortioners
and
thieves
,
he
could
make
no
impression
upon
the
pair
,
since
,
true
to
their
character
,
they
declined
to
abate
their
prices
,
and
,
even
when
they
had
begun
their
work
,
spent
upon
it
,
not
two
hours
,
but
five
and
a
half
.
Meanwhile
he
had
the
satisfaction
of
experiencing
that
delightful
time
with
which
all
travellers
are
familiar
--
namely
,
the
time
during
which
one
sits
in
a
room
where
,
except
for
a
litter
of
string
,
waste
paper
,
and
so
forth
,
everything
else
has
been
packed
.
But
to
all
things
there
comes
an
end
,
and
there
arrived
also
the
long-awaited
moment
when
the
britchka
had
received
the
luggage
,
the
faulty
wheel
had
been
fitted
with
a
new
tyre
,
the
horses
had
been
re-shod
,
and
the
predatory
blacksmiths
had
departed
with
their
gains
.
"
Thank
God
!
"
thought
Chichikov
as
the
britchka
rolled
out
of
the
gates
of
the
inn
,
and
the
vehicle
began
to
jolt
over
the
cobblestones
.
Yet
a
feeling
which
he
could
not
altogether
have
defined
filled
his
breast
as
he
gazed
upon
the
houses
and
the
streets
and
the
garden
walls
which
he
might
never
see
again
.
Presently
,
on
turning
a
corner
,
the
britchka
was
brought
to
a
halt
through
the
fact
that
along
the
street
there
was
filing
a
seemingly
endless
funeral
procession
.
Leaning
forward
in
his
britchka
,
Chichikov
asked
Petrushka
whose
obsequies
the
procession
represented
,
and
was
told
that
they
represented
those
of
the
Public
Prosecutor
.
Disagreeably
shocked
,
our
hero
hastened
to
raise
the
hood
of
the
vehicle
,
to
draw
the
curtains
across
the
windows
,
and
to
lean
back
into
a
corner
.
While
the
britchka
remained
thus
halted
Selifan
and
Petrushka
,
their
caps
doffed
,
sat
watching
the
progress
of
the
cortege
,
after
they
had
received
strict
instructions
not
to
greet
any
fellow-servant
whom
they
might
recognise
.
Behind
the
hearse
walked
the
whole
body
of
tchinovniks
,
bare-headed
;
and
though
,
for
a
moment
or
two
,
Chichikov
feared
that
some
of
their
number
might
discern
him
in
his
britchka
,
he
need
not
have
disturbed
himself
,
since
their
attention
was
otherwise
engaged
.
In
fact
,
they
were
not
even
exchanging
the
small
talk
customary
among
members
of
such
processions
,
but
thinking
exclusively
of
their
own
affairs
,
of
the
advent
of
the
new
Governor-General
,
and
of
the
probable
manner
in
which
he
would
take
up
the
reins
of
administration
.
Next
came
a
number
of
carriages
,
from
the
windows
of
which
peered
the
ladies
in
mourning
toilets
.
Yet
the
movements
of
their
hands
and
lips
made
it
evident
that
they
were
indulging
in
animated
conversation
--
probably
about
the
Governor-General
,
the
balls
which
he
might
be
expected
to
give
,
and
their
own
eternal
fripperies
and
gewgaws
.
Lastly
came
a
few
empty
drozhkis
.
As
soon
as
the
latter
had
passed
,
our
hero
was
able
to
continue
on
his
way
.
Throwing
back
the
hood
of
the
britchka
,
he
said
to
himself
:
"
Ah
,
good
friend
,
you
have
lived
your
life
,
and
now
it
is
over
!
In
the
newspapers
they
will
say
of
you
that
you
died
regretted
not
only
by
your
subordinates
,
but
also
by
humanity
at
large
,
as
well
as
that
,
a
respected
citizen
,
a
kind
father
,
and
a
husband
beyond
reproach
,
you
went
to
your
grave
amid
the
tears
of
your
widow
and
orphans
.
Yet
,
should
those
journals
be
put
to
it
to
name
any
particular
circumstance
which
justified
this
eulogy
of
you
,
they
would
be
forced
to
fall
back
upon
the
fact
that
you
grew
a
pair
of
exceptionally
thick
eyebrows
!
"
