Мертвые души
Chapter 7
Butthosebootssplitwithinafortnight,andbroughtdownuponyourheaddireshowersofmaledictions;withtheresultthatgraduallyyourshopgrewemptyofcustomers,andyoufelltoroamingthestreetsandexclaiming,‘Theworldisaverypoorplaceindeed!ARussiancannotmakealivingforGermancompetition.’Well,well!‘ElizabetaVorobei!’ButthatisaWOMAN’Sname!HowcomesSHEtobeonthelist?ThatvillainSobakevitchmusthavesneakedherinwithoutmyknowingit.”
“‘GrigoriGoiezhai-ne-Doiedesh,’”hewenton.“WhatsortofamanwereYOU,Iwonder?Wereyouacarrierwho,havingsetupateamofthreehorsesandatiltwaggon,leftyourhome,yournativehovel,forever,anddepartedtocartmerchandisetomarket?WasitonthehighwaythatyousurrenderedyoursoultoGod,ordidyourfriendsfirstmarryyoutosomefat,red-facedsoldier’sdaughter;afterwhichyourharnessandteamofrough,butsturdy,horsescaughtahighwayman’sfancy,andyou,lyingonyourpallet,thoughtthingsoveruntil,willy-nilly,youfeltthatyoumustgetupandmakeforthetavern,thereafterblunderingintoanicehole?Ah,ourpeasantofRussia!Neverdoyouwelcomedeathwhenitcomes!”
“Andyou,myfriends?”continuedChichikov,turningtothesheetwhereonwereinscribedthenamesofPlushkin’sabscondedserfs.“Althoughyouarestillalive,whatisthegoodofyou?Youarepracticallydead.
