Мертві душі

           Atinyroomwithdiminutivecasementswhichwereneveropened,summerorwinter;aninvalidfatherinadressing-gownlinedwithlambskin,andwithanailingfootswathedinbandages—amanwhowascontinuallydrawingdeepbreaths,andwalkingupanddowntheroom,andspittingintoasandbox;aperiodofperpetuallysittingonabenchwithpeninhandandinkonlipsandfingers;aperiodofbeingeternallyconfrontedwiththecopy-bookmaxim,“Nevertellalie,butobeyyoursuperiors,andcherishvirtueinyourheart;”aneverlastingscrapingandshufflingofslippersupanddowntheroom;aperiodofcontinuallyhearingawell-known,stridentvoiceexclaim:“Soyouhavebeenplayingthefoolagain!”attimeswhenthechild,wearyofthemortalmonotonyofhistask,hadaddedasuperfluousembellishmenttohiscopy;aperiodofexperiencingtheever-familiar,butever-unpleasant,sensationwhichensueduponthosewordsastheboy’searwaspainfullytwistedbetweentwolongfingersbentbackwardsatthetips—suchisthemiserablepictureofthatyouthofwhich,inlaterlife,Chichikovpreservedbutthefaintestofmemories!Butinthisworldeverythingisliabletoswiftandsuddenchange;and,onedayinearlyspring,whentherivershadmelted,thefathersetforthwithhislittlesoninateliezshka37drawnbyasorrelsteedofthekindknowntohorsyfolkasasoroka,andhavingascoachmanthediminutivehunchbackwho,fatheroftheonlyserffamilybelongingtotheelderChichikov,servedasgeneralfactotumintheChichikovestablishment.