Мертвые души

           Asthehorsesgallopontheirway,howdelightfullywilldrowsinesscomestealinguponyou,andmakeyoureyelidsdroop!Forawhile,throughyoursomnolence,youwillcontinuetohearthehardbreathingoftheteamandtherumblingofthewheels;butatlength,sinkingbackintoyourcorner,youwillrelapseintothestageofsnoring.Andwhenyouawake—behold!youwillfindthatfivestageshaveslippedaway,andthatthemoonisshining,andthatyouhavereachedastrangetownofchurchesandoldwoodencupolasandblackenedspiresandwhite,half-timberedhouses!Andasthemoonlightglintshitherandthither,almostyouwillbelievethatthewallsandthestreetsandthepavementsoftheplacearespreadwithsheets—sheetsshotwithcoal-blackshadowswhichmakethewoodenroofslookallthebrighterundertheslantingbeamsofthepaleluminary.Nowhereisasoultobeseen,foreveryoneisplungedinslumber.Yetno.Inasolitarywindowalightisflickeringwheresomegoodburgherismendinghisboots,orabakerdrawingabatchofdough.Onightandpowersofheaven,howperfectistheblacknessofyourinfinitevault—howlofty,howremoteitsinaccessibledepthswhereitliesspreadinanintangible,yetaudible,silence!Freshlydoesthelullingbreathofnightblowinyourface,untiloncemoreyourelapseintosnoringoblivion,andyourpoorneighbourturnsangrilyinhiscornerashebeginstobeconsciousofyourweight.Thenagainyouawake,butthistimetofindyourselfconfrontedwithonlyfieldsandsteppes.Everywhereintheascendantisthedesolationofspace.