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- Николай Гоголь
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At
one
particular
spot
the
steep
flank
of
the
mountain
range
is
covered
with
billowy
verdure
of
denser
growth
than
the
rest
;
and
here
the
aid
of
skilful
planting
,
added
to
the
shelter
afforded
by
a
rugged
ravine
,
has
enabled
the
flora
of
north
and
south
so
to
be
brought
together
that
,
twined
about
with
sinuous
hop-tendrils
,
the
oak
,
the
spruce
fir
,
the
wild
pear
,
the
maple
,
the
cherry
,
the
thorn
,
and
the
mountain
ash
either
assist
or
check
one
another
's
growth
,
and
everywhere
cover
the
declivity
with
their
straggling
profusion
.
Also
,
at
the
edge
of
the
summit
there
can
be
seen
mingling
with
the
green
of
the
trees
the
red
roofs
of
a
manorial
homestead
,
while
behind
the
upper
stories
of
the
mansion
proper
and
its
carved
balcony
and
a
great
semi-circular
window
there
gleam
the
tiles
and
gables
of
some
peasants
'
huts
.
Lastly
,
over
this
combination
of
trees
and
roofs
there
rises
--
overtopping
everything
with
its
gilded
,
sparkling
steeple
--
an
old
village
church
.
On
each
of
its
pinnacles
a
cross
of
carved
gilt
is
stayed
with
supports
of
similar
gilding
and
design
;
with
the
result
that
from
a
distance
the
gilded
portions
have
the
effect
of
hanging
without
visible
agency
in
the
air
.
And
the
whole
--
the
three
successive
tiers
of
woodland
,
roofs
,
and
crosses
whole
--
lies
exquisitely
mirrored
in
the
river
below
,
where
hollow
willows
,
grotesquely
shaped
(
some
of
them
rooted
on
the
river
's
banks
,
and
some
in
the
water
itself
,
and
all
drooping
their
branches
until
their
leaves
have
formed
a
tangle
with
the
water
lilies
which
float
on
the
surface
)
,
seem
to
be
gazing
at
the
marvellous
reflection
at
their
feet
.
Thus
the
view
from
below
is
beautiful
indeed
.
But
the
view
from
above
is
even
better
.
No
guest
,
no
visitor
,
could
stand
on
the
balcony
of
the
mansion
and
remain
indifferent
.
So
boundless
is
the
panorama
revealed
that
surprise
would
cause
him
to
catch
at
his
breath
,
and
exclaim
:
"
Lord
of
Heaven
,
but
what
a
prospect
!
"
Beyond
meadows
studded
with
spinneys
and
water-mills
lie
forests
belted
with
green
;
while
beyond
,
again
,
there
can
be
seen
showing
through
the
slightly
misty
air
strips
of
yellow
heath
,
and
,
again
,
wide-rolling
forests
(
as
blue
as
the
sea
or
a
cloud
)
,
and
more
heath
,
paler
than
the
first
,
but
still
yellow
.
Finally
,
on
the
far
horizon
a
range
of
chalk-topped
hills
gleams
white
,
even
in
dull
weather
,
as
though
it
were
lightened
with
perpetual
sunshine
;
and
here
and
there
on
the
dazzling
whiteness
of
its
lower
slopes
some
plaster-like
,
nebulous
patches
represent
far-off
villages
which
lie
too
remote
for
the
eye
to
discern
their
details
.
Indeed
,
only
when
the
sunlight
touches
a
steeple
to
gold
does
one
realise
that
each
such
patch
is
a
human
settlement
.
Finally
,
all
is
wrapped
in
an
immensity
of
silence
which
even
the
far
,
faint
echoes
of
persons
singing
in
the
void
of
the
plain
can
not
shatter
.
Even
after
gazing
at
the
spectacle
for
a
couple
of
hours
or
so
,
the
visitor
would
still
find
nothing
to
say
,
save
:
"
Lord
of
Heaven
,
but
what
a
prospect
!
"
Then
who
is
the
dweller
in
,
the
proprietor
of
,
this
manor
--
a
manor
to
which
,
as
to
an
impregnable
fortress
,
entrance
can
not
be
gained
from
the
side
where
we
have
been
standing
,
but
only
from
the
other
approach
,
where
a
few
scattered
oaks
offer
hospitable
welcome
to
the
visitor
,
and
then
,
spreading
above
him
their
spacious
branches
(
as
in
friendly
embrace
)
,
accompany
him
to
the
facade
of
the
mansion
whose
top
we
have
been
regarding
from
the
reverse
aspect
,
but
which
now
stands
frontwise
on
to
us
,
and
has
,
on
one
side
of
it
,
a
row
of
peasants
'
huts
with
red
tiles
and
carved
gables
,
and
,
on
the
other
,
the
village
church
,
with
those
glittering
golden
crosses
and
gilded
open-work
charms
which
seem
to
hang
suspended
in
the
air
?
Yes
,
indeed
!
--
to
what
fortunate
individual
does
this
corner
of
the
world
belong
?
It
belongs
to
Andrei
Ivanovitch
Tientietnikov
,
landowner
of
the
canton
of
Tremalakhan
,
and
,
withal
,
a
bachelor
of
about
thirty
.
Should
my
lady
readers
ask
of
me
what
manner
of
man
is
Tientietnikov
,
and
what
are
his
attributes
and
peculiarities
,
I
should
refer
them
to
his
neighbours
.
Of
these
,
a
member
of
the
almost
extinct
tribe
of
intelligent
staff
officers
on
the
retired
list
once
summed
up
Tientietnikov
in
the
phrase
,
"
He
is
an
absolute
blockhead
;
"
while
a
General
who
resided
ten
versts
away
was
heard
to
remark
that
"
he
is
a
young
man
who
,
though
not
exactly
a
fool
,
has
at
least
too
much
crowded
into
his
head
.
I
myself
might
have
been
of
use
to
him
,
for
not
only
do
I
maintain
certain
connections
with
St.
Petersburg
,
but
also
--
"
And
the
General
left
his
sentence
unfinished
.
Thirdly
,
a
captain-superintendent
of
rural
police
happened
to
remark
in
the
course
of
conversation
:
"
To-morrow
I
must
go
and
see
Tientietnikov
about
his
arrears
.
"
Lastly
,
a
peasant
of
Tientietnikov
's
own
village
,
when
asked
what
his
barin
was
like
,
returned
no
answer
at
all
.
All
of
which
would
appear
to
show
that
Tientietnikov
was
not
exactly
looked
upon
with
favour
.
To
speak
dispassionately
,
however
,
he
was
not
a
bad
sort
of
fellow
--
merely
a
star-gazer
;
and
since
the
world
contains
many
watchers
of
the
skies
,
why
should
Tientietnikov
not
have
been
one
of
them
?
However
,
let
me
describe
in
detail
a
specimen
day
of
his
existence
--
one
that
will
closely
resemble
the
rest
,
and
then
the
reader
will
be
enabled
to
judge
of
Tientietnikov
's
character
,
and
how
far
his
life
corresponded
to
the
beauties
of
nature
with
which
he
lived
surrounded
.
On
the
morning
of
the
specimen
day
in
question
he
awoke
very
late
,
and
,
raising
himself
to
a
sitting
posture
,
rubbed
his
eyes
.
And
since
those
eyes
were
small
,
the
process
of
rubbing
them
occupied
a
very
long
time
,
and
throughout
its
continuance
there
stood
waiting
by
the
door
his
valet
,
Mikhailo
,
armed
with
a
towel
and
basin
.
For
one
hour
,
for
two
hours
,
did
poor
Mikhailo
stand
there
:
then
he
departed
to
the
kitchen
,
and
returned
to
find
his
master
still
rubbing
his
eyes
as
he
sat
on
the
bed
.
At
length
,
however
,
Tientietnikov
rose
,
washed
himself
,
donned
a
dressing-gown
,
and
moved
into
the
drawing-room
for
morning
tea
,
coffee
,
cocoa
,
and
warm
milk
;
of
all
of
which
he
partook
but
sparingly
,
while
munching
a
piece
of
bread
,
and
scattering
tobacco
ash
with
complete
insouciance
.
Two
hours
did
he
sit
over
this
meal
,
then
poured
himself
out
another
cup
of
the
rapidly
cooling
tea
,
and
walked
to
the
window
.
This
faced
the
courtyard
,
and
outside
it
,
as
usual
,
there
took
place
the
following
daily
altercation
between
a
serf
named
Grigory
(
who
purported
to
act
as
butler
)
and
the
housekeeper
,
Perfilievna
.
Grigory
.
Ah
,
you
nuisance
,
you
good-for-nothing
,
you
had
better
hold
your
stupid
tongue
.
Perfilievna
.
Yes
;
and
do
n't
you
wish
that
I
would
?
