Gogol evenings on a farm near Dikanka read a summary. Gogol evenings on a farm near dikanka a short story

Kramarenko Alexander

The material contains the history of the creation of the work and a presentation.

Download:

Preview:

The history of the creation of the novellas "Evenings on a Farm near Dikanka"(slide 1)

1. As you know, Gogol spent his childhood near the village of Dikanka.(slide 2) This place is unique, many consider it mystical. Ukraine has always been distinguished by its special flavor.

2. Gogol had bold idea- write a cycle of stories on Ukrainian themes(slide 3) ... The writer began working on it in 1829, and in 1831 the first book "Evenings ..." was published, and a year later - the second. The result is an amazing collection of stories about a beautiful place in Ukraine.

1. It includes 8 works,(slide 4) which are divided into 2 books. The first includedSorochinskaya fair , The evening before Ivan Kupala , May Night or Drowned Woman , and Missing letter .

In the second - Terrible revenge, Ivan Fedorovich and his aunt, Enchanted place and The Night Before Christmas.

2. It is known that the writer used not only Ukrainian historical legends, (slide5) which his family and friends helped him to collect, but also other sources.

1. Evenings at a farm near Dikanka were greeted with positive reviews from critics. They noted the diversity, brightness, amazing humor, national flavor and folk legends.(slide 6) A.S. Pushkin wrote: “I have just read the Evenings near Dikanka. They astonished me. This is real fun, sincere, unconstrained, without pretense, without stiffness. And in some places what poetry! .. "

2. The action of the works is free(slide 7) is transferred from the 19th century to the 17th, and then to the 18th, and again to the 17th, and again returns us to the 19th.

Gogol conveyed in his stories genuine gaiety, prostate and truthfulness.

Gogol's humor (slide 8) makes us laugh, because humor is an image of heroes in a funny way, laughter is cheerful, benevolent. Even evil forces depicted not scary, but funny. This can be especially seen in the story "The Night Before Christmas".

1. In this story, Gogol(slide 9) it is impossible to accurately describe the way of life, outfits, Ukrainian folklore of that time. The writer was inspired by popular beliefs,(slide 10) associated with this holiday, because it is on the night of Christmas that a variety of miracles occur.

Preview:

To use the preview of presentations, create yourself a Google account (account) and log into it: https://accounts.google.com

Slide captions:

The history of the creation of "Evenings on a farm near Dikanka"

Ukraine is an amazing, unique, mystical place. Inspired by various beliefs and legends.

The writer began working on a cycle of stories in 1829, and in 1831. the first book "Evenings on a Farm near Dikanka" was published, and a year later - the second. The result is an amazing collection of stories.

First book: 1. Sorochinskaya fair 2. Evening on the eve of Ivan Kupala 3. May night or The Drowned Woman 4. The Missing Letter Book Two: 1. Terrible Revenge 2. Ivan Fedorovich and His Aunt 3. The Enchanted Place 4. The Night Before Christmas

Gogol and family. Gogol in a circle of friends Friends and relatives helped the writer to collect historical legends.

“I have just read the Evenings near Dikanka. They astonished me. This is real gaiety, sincere, unconstrained, without pretense, without stiffness. And in some places what poetry! ... "A.S. Pushkin

XIX XVII XVIII XVII XIX

Gogol's humor Humor is an image of Heroes in a funny way, laughter is more cheerful, Benevolent.

"Christmas Eve"

If we talk about the first books of Nikolai Gogol, and at the same time exclude from the mention the poem "Gantz Kuchelgarten", which was published under a pseudonym, the cycle Evenings on a farm near Dikanka is Gogol's first book, which consists of two parts. The first part of the cycle was published in 1831, and the second in 1832.

In short, many call this collection "Gogol's Evenings". As for the time of the writing of these works, Gogol wrote Evenings on a farm near Dikanka in the period 1829-1832. And according to the plot, these stories seem to have been collected and published by the pasichnik Rudy Panko.

A brief analysis of the Evenings cycle on a farm near Dikanka

The Evenings cycle on a farm near Dikanka is interesting because the events that take place take the reader from century to century. For example, "Sorochinskaya Yarmarka" describes the events of the 19th century, from where the reader finds himself in the 17th century, moving on to reading the story "Evening on the Eve of Ivan Kupala". Further, the stories "May Night, or the Drowned Woman", "The Lost Letter" and "The Night Before Christmas" relate to the time of the 18th century, and then the 17th century follows again.

Both parts of the cycle Evenings on a farm near Dikanka are united by the stories of the clerk's grandfather Foma Grigorievich, who seems to combine the events of his life with the past, the present, the past and the fiction. However, speaking about the analysis in the Evening on a farm near Dikanka, it should be said that Nikolai Gogol does not interrupt the flow of time on the pages of his cycle, on the contrary, time merges into a spiritual and historical whole.

What stories are included in the cycle Evenings on a farm near Dikanka

The cycle includes two parts, each of which has four stories. Please note that on our website in the Summary section, you can in a simple form in short time get acquainted with the summary of each story included in the Evenings cycle on a farm near Dikanka.

In addition, each summary accompanies short description works indicating the date of its writing, characteristic features and the time to read the very summary.

7f39f8317fbdb1988ef4c628eba02591

Sorochinskaya fair

The action takes place at a fair in the town of Sorochinets. The inhabitants of the surrounding villages gather for it. Solopiy Cherevik and his daughter Paraska come to the fair. At the fair, a boy is wooing her, Cherevik agrees, but his wife opposed such a hasty decision. At the fair, a red scroll is noticed - the symbol of a curse. According to legend, every year a devil in a pig's guise looks for a scroll at the fair. Such a story began to tell Cherevik to his guests, how suddenly it crashed in the house window frame and a pig's face appeared. Everything was mixed in the house, the guests fled.

The evening before Ivan was bathing. The story told by the deacon of the *** church.

The beautiful daughter of the Cossack Korzh fell in love with the boy Petrus. But Korzh drove him away. And the daughter was decided to marry a rich Pole. Petrus in a shank meets Basavryuk. As it turned out, he turned into a man in order to tear off treasures with the help of young people. Petrus, not knowing, agrees to help him find a fern flower on the night of Ivan Kupala. As a result, Petrus encounters all kinds of evil spirits and witches in the forest. After that, he starts to go crazy. People who once ran into Petrus' house find only ashes in his place. In it, the local commissar orders to give consent to the marriage of Levkus to Hanna.

May night, or drowned woman

The story is about two lovers - Hanna and Levka. His father is against the marriage. Levko tells the girl a story about a lady who was not loved by her stepmother-witch. Pannochka threw herself into the water and became the main one over the drowned women. Levko says goodbye to Ganna. After a while, in the dark, he hears a conversation between his beloved and a man who scolds Levko. The strangers turns out to be his father. Levko with the boys decides to teach him a lesson. A stone flies into the house to the head. Instead of the instigator, Kalenik was caught by mistake. And the hero goes to the house of the lady, sings a song and agrees to play a game. He unmistakably distinguishes the witch among the drowned. As a reward from the lady, he receives a note addressed to the father-head.

Christmas Eve

The night before Christmas is the traditional time for Christmas carols. All young boys and girls take to the streets. The blacksmith Vakula is in love with the daughter of the Cossack Chub, who is rich enough. The devil, who hates the blacksmith, steals the moon in the hope that he will not go to Oksana in the dark. Vakula, all the same, goes to Chub's house, where the beautiful Oksana taunts him. He declares that he will become the wife of a blacksmith if he brings her the slippers like those of the queen. Chance helps Vakula. He manages to catch the devil. He orders him to take him to St. Petersburg for the cherviches. The blacksmith manages to get a reception from the queen, she gives him the coveted shoes. The whole village rejoices at the return of Vakula, he is playing a wedding with Oksana.

Terrible revenge

Many guests gathered at the wedding of the son of the Esaul Gorobets. Among them are Danilo Burulbash with his wife Katerina and their little son. In the midst of the wedding, Gorobets brought out two icons to bless the young. At that moment, a sorcerer appeared in the crowd, but immediately disappeared, frightened by the icons. The next day, when the heroes returned home, Katerina tells her husband about her dream that her father was a sorcerer .. Danilo decides to check his father-in-law and watches him in his house. Fears are confirmed, the sorcerer is chained in the basement, and Katerina disowns him. But he regretted it and let him go. Poles help the sorcerer, they burn the surroundings, Danilo is killed in the battle. Then the sorcerer, having come to Katherine in a different guise, kills her. After that, the sorcerer goes to the Carpathians, but he himself accepts death on the way.

Ivan Fedorovich Shponka and his aunt

Ivan Fedorovich Shponka, who served in an infantry regiment, receives news from his aunt that she is no longer able to keep an eye on the estate. The hero receives his resignation and goes to Gadyach. On the way to the tavern, the hero meets Grigory Storchenko. The aunt, the meeting with which turned out to be very warm, sends Ivan Fedorovich to Khortyn for a donation. There he again meets his friend Storchenko, who should have a document on the estate. Storchenko tries to assure Shponka that there was no donation. The bread-salted owner tries to divert the conversation to other topics, introduces Ivan Fedorovich to the young ladies-sisters. Returning to his aunt, Shponka tells her about the quirky Storchenko. The relatives decide to go to him together. This concludes the story.

An enchanted place. The story told by the deacon of the *** church

The action takes place in the village. The head of the family left to trade, his wife, young sons and grandfather remained at home. In the evening, the Chumaks, old acquaintances of my grandfather, drove up to the house. The feast began. The grandfather went to dance. But suddenly, having reached a certain place, he stopped and could not move his legs. He began to look around - he could not find out where he was, everything seemed unfamiliar. Grandfather identified a path in the dark, suddenly saw a light. I thought it was a treasure, and decided to leave a note at this place in the form of a broken branch. The next day, the grandfather went to look for that place, but it rained, and he had to return home. The next day, my grandfather discovered that place and began to dig it. Suddenly, an evil spirit prevailed around, voices were heard, a mountain hung over his head. With the cauldron dug out, the grandfather rushed to run. But there was nothing but rubbish in it. The grandfather decided that that place was bewitched and did not go there again.

Part one

Foreword

“What kind of fancy is this: Evenings on a Farm near Dikanka? What is this "Evenings"? And he threw some kind of pasichnik into the light! Thank God! still little have they stripped the feathers of the geese and drained the rags onto the paper! Still few people, of every rank and rabble, have their fingers stained in ink! Hunt also pulled the pasichnik to drag along after the others! Really, there is so much printed paper that you can't think of anything to wrap in it soon. "

Heard, heard my prophetic all these speeches for a month! That is, I say that our brother, a farmer, should stick his nose out of his backwoods into the big world - my priests! It's the same as, it happens, sometimes you go into the chambers of the great lord: everyone will surround you and go to fool you. Still nothing, even if it is the highest servility, no, some ragged boy, look - rubbish who digs on backyard, and he will stick; and begin to stamp their feet from all sides. “Where, where, why? go, man, go! .. "I'll tell you ... But what to say! It is easier for me to go to Mirgorod twice a year, where for five years now, neither the judge from the Zemstvo court nor the venerable priest has seen me, than to appear in this great light... And it seemed - do not cry, give an answer.

With us, my dear readers, do not be said in anger (you may be angry that the beekeeper speaks to you easily, as if to some matchmaker or godfather) - it has been a habit in our farms for a long time: as soon as when the work in the field ends, the peasant will climb up to rest for the whole winter on the stove and our brother will hide his bees in a dark cellar, when you see no more cranes in the sky or pears on a tree - then, only evening, probably somewhere in the end a light dawns on the streets, laughter and songs are heard from afar, a balalaika strum, and sometimes a violin, talk, noise ... This is with us evening dresses! They are, if you please, they are like your balls; only it cannot be said that at all. If you are going to balls, it is precisely in order to turn your legs and yawn in your hand; but here a crowd of girls will gather in one hut, not for a ball at all, with a spindle, with combs; and at first they seem to be busy with business: the spindles are noisy, songs are pouring, and each of them does not raise her eyes to the side; but as soon as the boys with a fiddler come into the hut - a cry will rise, a shawl will start, there will be dances and such things will start that it is impossible to tell.

But the best thing is when everyone gets together in a tight bunch and starts making riddles or just talking. Oh my god! Why not tell! Where do they not dig up antiquities! What fears they will not inflict! But nowhere, perhaps, so many wonders were told as at the evenings at Rudy Pank's pasichnyk. For what the laity called me Rudy Pank - by God, I can't say. And my hair seems to be more gray now than red. But we, do not be so angry, have such a custom: as people give someone a nickname, it will remain forever and ever. Sometimes, on the eve of a holiday, kind people would gather for a visit, in a pasichnikov's shack, sit down at the table - and then I ask only to listen. And then to say that the people were not just a dozen, not some kind of peasant farmers. Yes, maybe someone else, and a taller pasichnik, would be honored by a visit. For example, do you know the clerk of the Dikan church, Foma Grigorievich? Eh, head! What stories he knew how to let go! You will find two of them in this book. He never wore a motley dressing gown, which you will find on many country clerks; but come to him on weekdays, he will always welcome you in a robe made of thin cloth, the color of chilled potato jelly, for which he paid in Poltava almost six rubles per arshin. From his boots, in our country no one will tell in the whole farm that the smell of tar can be heard; but everyone knows that he cleaned them with the best lard, which, I think, some peasant would gladly put into his porridge. Nor will anyone say that he has ever wiped his nose with the liner of his robe, as other people of his rank do; but he took out from his bosom a neatly folded white handkerchief, embroidered along all the edges with red threads, and, having corrected what followed, folded it again, as usual, in the twelfth share and hid it in the bosom. And one of the guests ... Well, he already had such a panic that even now he could dress up as assessors or podkomoria. Sometimes, he would put his finger in front of him and, looking at the end of it, would go to tell - pretentiously and cunningly, as in printed books! Sometimes you listen, listen, and meditation will attack. You don’t understand anything for the life of me. Where did he get such words from! Foma Grigorievich once made him a glorious adage about this: he told him how a schoolboy who had learned to read and write with some clerk came to his father and became such a Latinist that he even forgot our Orthodox language. All words collapse on mustache His shovel is a shovel, a woman is a grandmother. Now, it happened once, they went with their father into the field. The Latin man saw a rake and asks his father: "What is it, daddy, what do you think it is called?" Yes, and he stepped, with his mouth open, with his foot on the teeth. He did not have time to collect the answer, as the pen, swinging, rose and - grab his forehead. “Damn rake! - shouted the schoolboy, grabbing his forehead with his hand and jumping on an arshin, - how the devil would have pushed their father off the bridge, they beat painfully! " So that's how! I remembered the name too, my dear! The intricate storyteller did not like such a saying. Without saying a word, he got up from his place, spread his feet in the middle of the room, bent his head slightly forward, thrust his hand into the back pocket of his pea caftan, pulled out a snuffbox, round under varnish, snapped his finger on the painted face of some Busurman general, and, seizing a considerable a portion of tobacco, pounded with ash and leaves, the lovage brought it with a yoke to his nose and pulled out the whole pile with his nose on the fly, without even touching thumb, - and still not a word; but when he reached into another pocket and took out a blue paper handkerchief in cages, then he just grumbled to himself almost a saying: “Do not throw beads in front of pigs” ... “There is now a quarrel,” I thought, noticing that Thomas Grigorievich, and so it took shape to give zero. Fortunately, my old woman guessed to put a hot kniche with butter on the table. Everyone got down to business. Foma Grigorievich's hand, instead of showing the shish, reached out to the knisha, and, as always, they began to praise the mistress of the mistress. We also had one storyteller; but he (there would be no need to remember him by night) dug out such horror stories that the hair went over the head. I didn’t put them here on purpose. Still scare kind people so that the pasichnik, God forgive me, as the devil, everyone will be afraid. Let it be better, how I will live, if God willing, until the new year and will publish another book, then it will be possible to torment people from the other world and divas that were happening in the old days in the Orthodox side of ours. Between them, perhaps, you will find the tales of the Pasichnik himself, which he used to tell his grandchildren. If only they listened and read, but I, perhaps, - damn laziness only to rummage - will be typed even for ten such books.

Yes, that happened and forgot the most important thing: as you, gentlemen, go to me, then straight away take the path along the high road to Dikanka. I deliberately put it on the first sheet so that they could get to our farm as soon as possible. I think you've heard enough about Dikanka. And then to say that the house there is cleaner than some Pasichnikov kuren. And there is nothing to say about the garden: in your Petersburg, it is true, you will not find such a thing. Arriving in Dikanka, ask only the first boy you come across, grazing geese in a dirty shirt: "And where does Rudy Panko live?" - "And there!" - he will say, pointing his finger, and, if you like, will take you to the farm itself. I ask, however, not to put your hands back too much and, as they say, trick, because the roads through our farms are not as smooth as in front of your mansions. Foma Grigorievich, in the third year, arriving from Dikanka, nevertheless came to see the failure with his new tartayka and a bay mare, despite the fact that he himself ruled and that from time to time he put on purchased ones over his eyes.

But as soon as you come to visit, we will serve melons such as you may not have eaten when you were old; but honey, and I will worry, you will not find a better one in the farms. Imagine that, as you bring in the honeycomb, the spirit will go all over the room, it is impossible to imagine what it is: pure, like a tear or dear crystal that happens in earrings. And what pies my old woman will feed! What a cake if you only knew: sugar, perfect sugar! And the oil just flows down your lips when you start eating. Just think, really: what are these women not craftswomen for! Have you ever drunk, gentlemen, pear kvass with thorns or dumplings with raisins and plums? Or has it happened to you sometimes to eat mud with milk? My God, what dishes are there in the world! When you start to eat, it is delightful, and full of it. Indescribable sweetness! Last year ... But why am I really loose? .. Come just, come as soon as possible; and we will feed so that you will tell both the counter and the transverse.

Pasichnyk Rudy Panko.

Just in case, so that they do not remember me with an unkind word, I am writing here, in alphabetical order, those words that are not clear to everyone in this book.

Bandura, instrument, kind of guitar.

Batoug, whip.

Sore, scrofula.

Cooper, bocharr.

Bagel, round pretzel, ram.

Buryak, beet.

Bukhanets, small bread.

Vinnytsia, distillery.

Galushki, dumplings.

Hunger Slave, poor man, boby.

Gopak, Little Russian dances.

Gorlitsa,?

Dyvchina, young woman.

Divchata, girls.

Dizha, tub.

Dribushki, small braids.

Domovina, coffin.

Doula, shish.

Ducat, a kind of medal, worn around the neck.

Znakhor, knowledgeable, magician.

Woman, wife.

Zhupan, kind of caftan.

Kaganets, kind of lamps.

Rivets, convex planks, of which the barrel is made.

Knish, a kind of baked bread.

Kobza, musical instrument.

Comora, barn.

Ship, headdress.

Kuntush, top vintage dress.

Cow, wedding bread.

Kuchol, clay mug.

Bold didko, brownie, demon.

Cradle, a tube.

Makitra, the pot in which the poppy is rubbed.

Macagon, a pestle for rubbing poppy.

Malachai, whip.

A bowl, wooden plate.

Well done, married woman.

Recruited hired worker.

Naymychka, hired female worker.

Hustler, a long clump of hair on the head, wrapped around the ear.

Ochipok, a kind of cap.

Pampus, a dish of dough.

Pasichnik, beekeeper.

The boy, guy.

Plakhta, women's underwear.

Peklo, hell.

Repurchase, tradeswoman.

Reverse, fright.

Paysiki, Jewish curls.

Winding, barn.

Polutabenek, silk fabric.

Wandering, food, kind of porridge.

Towel, scraper.

Swirl, a kind of semi-caftan.

Sindyachki, narrow ribbons.

Sweetheart, donuts.

Svolok, crossbar under the ceiling.

Slivyanka, pouring from plums.

Smiles, mutton fur.

Sonnyashnitsa, abdominal pain.

Nozzle, a kind of flute.

Stusan, fist.

Hairstyles, ribbons.

Troichaka, triple lash.

Chlopets, guy.

Farm, a small village.

Khustka, handkerchief.

Tsibula, onion.

Chumaki, carriages traveling to the Crimea for salt and fish.

Chuprina, forelock, long tuft of hair on the head.

Cone, a small bread made at weddings.

Yushka, sauce, slurry.

Yatka, a kind of tent or marquee.

Sorochinskaya fair

I

It’s boring for me to live in a hati.

Oh, take me from home,

De bagatsko thunder, thunder,

De goptsyuyut all girls,

From an old legend

How delightful, how luxurious a summer day in Little Russia! How exhaustingly hot those hours are when noon shines in the silence and heat and the immeasurable blue ocean, bent over the earth with a voluptuous dome, seems to have fallen asleep, all drowned in bliss, embracing and squeezing the beautiful in its airy arms! There are no clouds on it. There is no speech in the field. Everything seemed to be dead; above only, in the depths of heaven, a lark trembles, and silver songs fly along the air steps to the earth in love, and sometimes the cry of a seagull or the sonorous voice of a quail is heard in the steppe. Lazily and thoughtlessly, as if walking without a goal, there are subcloud oaks, and dazzling blows sun rays whole picturesque masses of leaves are ignited, throwing on others a shadow dark as night, according to which only when strong wind pimples gold. Emeralds, topazes, yahonts of ethereal insects are strewn over variegated gardens, shaded by stately sunflowers. Gray haystacks and golden sheaves of bread are camped in the field and wander along its immeasurableness. Wide branches of cherries, plums, apple trees, pears bent over from the weight of the fruits; the sky, its pure mirror - a river in green, proudly raised frames ... how full of voluptuousness and bliss the Little Russian summer!

One of the hot days of August shone with such luxury, one thousand eight hundred ... eight hundred ... Yes, it will be thirty years ago, when the road, ten versts to the town of Sorochinets, was boiling with people hurrying from all neighboring and distant farmsteads to the fair. In the morning, an endless line of chumaks with salt and fish was still dragging on. The mountains of pots wrapped in hay moved slowly, seemingly bored with their imprisonment and darkness; in some places only some brightly painted bowl or makitra boastfully emerged from a wattle fence perched high on a cart and attracted the affectionate glances of fans of luxury. Many passers-by looked with envy at the tall potter, the owner of these jewels, who walked slowly for his goods, carefully wrapping his clay dandies and coquettes in hay hated by them.

Lonely to the side dragged on exhausted oxen a cart, piled up with sacks, hemp, linen and various household luggage, for which he wandered, in a clean linen shirt and soiled linen trousers, his owner. With a lazy hand he wiped sweat from his swarthy face and even dripping from his long mustache, powdered by that inexorable hairdresser who, without a call, appears to both the beauty and the ugly and forcibly powders the entire human race for several thousand years. Beside him walked a mare tied to a cart, whose humble appearance denounced her advanced years. Many people we met, and especially young boys, grabbed the hat, catching up with our peasant. However, it was not a gray mustache and an unimportant gait that forced him to do this; one had only to raise his eyes a little up to see the reason for such deference: a pretty daughter with a round face, with black eyebrows rising in even arcs above her light brown eyes, with carelessly smiling pink lips, with red and blue ribbons tied on her head, was sitting on the cart. , together with long braids and a bunch of wildflowers, rested in a rich crown on her charming head. Everything seemed to interest her; everything was wonderful to her, new ... and her pretty eyes darted incessantly from one object to another. How not to scatter! first time at the fair! A girl at the age of eighteen for the first time at the fair! .. But not one of the passers-by and passers-by knew what it cost to ask her father to take with her, who would have been glad to do it before, if not for the evil stepmother who had learned to hold him in his hands as deftly as he had the reins of his old mare, dragged for a long service, now for sale. Restless wife ... but we forgot that she too was sitting at the height of the cart, in an elegant woolen green jacket, on which, as if on ermine fur, tails were sewn, only red in color, in a rich block, dappled like a chessboard, and in a colored chintz calico, which gave some special importance to her red, full face, on which something so unpleasant, so wild, slipped, that everyone immediately hurried to transfer his anxious gaze to the cheerful little face of his daughter.

Psel has already begun to open to the eyes of our travelers; from afar there was already a coolness that seemed more palpable after the weary, destructive heat. Through the dark and light green leaves of sedges, birches and poplars, carelessly scattered across the meadow, fiery sparks, dressed with cold, sparkled, and the beautiful river brilliantly bared its silver chest, on which green curls of trees fell luxuriously. Self-willed, as she is in those delightful hours, when the faithful mirror so enviably contains her brow, full of pride and dazzling brilliance, lily shoulders and marble neck, shaded by a dark wave that has fallen from her fair-haired head, when she throws some jewelry with contempt to replace them others, and there is no end to her whims - she almost every year changed her surroundings, choosing for herself new way and surrounding ourselves with new, varied landscapes. Rows of mills lifted their wide waves onto heavy wheels and threw them powerfully, breaking them into splashes, dusting and making noise around the surroundings. A wagon with passengers familiar to us rode up at that time onto the bridge, and the river in all its beauty and grandeur, like solid glass, stretched out in front of them. The sky, green and blue forests, people, wagons with pots, mills - everything overturned, stood and walked upside down, not falling into the blue beautiful abyss. Our beauty fell into thought, looking at the splendor of the view, and forgot even to peel her sunflower, which she regularly dealt with throughout the journey, when suddenly the words: "Oh yes, little girl!" - struck her ears. Looking around, she saw a crowd of lads standing on the bridge, one of whom, dressed more dapper than the others, in a white scroll and in a gray hat of Reshilov's smushies, propped up on his sides, glanced valiantly at the passers-by. The beauty could not help but notice his tanned, but pleasant face and fiery eyes, which seemed to strive to see through her, and lowered her eyes at the thought that perhaps the spoken word belonged to him.

- Glorious maiden! - continued the boy in the white scroll, not taking his eyes off her. - I would give all my household to kiss her. And here is the devil in front!

Laughter rose from all sides; But such a greeting did not seem to the discharged concubine of the slowly speaking spouse: her red cheeks turned into fiery ones, and the crackle of choice words rained down on the head of the riotous boy:

- So that you choke, you worthless barge! So that your father is knocked in the head with a pot! So that he slipped on the ice, cursed Antichrist! So that the devil burned his beard in the next world!

- See how she swears! - said the young man, staring at her, as if puzzled by such a strong volley of unexpected greetings, - and her tongue, the hundred-year-old witch, will not hurt to pronounce these words.

- A hundred years old! - picked up the elderly beauty. - Wicked! go wash yourself in advance! The tomboy is worthless! I haven't seen your mother, but I know it's rubbish! and the father is rubbish! and your aunt is rubbish! A hundred years old! that he still has milk on his lips ...

Then the cart began to descend from the bridge, and last words it was already impossible to hear; but the boy did not seem to want to end with this: without thinking for a long time, he grabbed a lump of dirt and threw it after her. The blow was more successful than one might have expected: the whole new calico ochip was splattered with mud, and the laughter of the riotous rake doubled with new strength... The burly dandy boiled over with anger; but the cart drove off quite far at that time, and her revenge turned on her innocent stepdaughter and slow roommate, who, having long been accustomed to similar phenomena, remained stubbornly silent and calmly accepted the rebellious speeches of his angry wife. However, in spite of this, her indefatigable tongue cracked and dangled in her mouth until they arrived in the suburbs to an old acquaintance and godfather, the Cossack Tsybul. Meeting with godfathers, who had not seen for a long time, drove this unpleasant incident out of their heads for a while, forcing our travelers to talk about the fair and rest a little after a long journey.

II

Scho, oh my god, my lord! what

dumb at the ti fair!

Wheels, sklo, diogot, tyutyun,

remin, tsibulya, kramari every ...

so, hoch bi in kisheni bulo rubles

i s thirty, then i would not purchase

From the Little Russian comedy

You must have heard a distant waterfall lying somewhere, when the alarmed surroundings are full of hum and the chaos of wonderful obscure sounds whirlwind before you. Isn't it, aren't those very feelings instantly engulfing you in the whirlwind of a rural fair, when all the people grow together into one huge monster and move their whole body in the square and along the narrow streets, screaming, cackling, thundering? Noise, swearing, bellowing, bleating, roaring - everything merges into one discordant dialect. Oxen, sacks, hay, gypsies, pots, women, gingerbread, hats - everything is bright, colorful, out of tune; tosses about in heaps and dashes before my eyes. Discordant speeches drown one another, and not a single word will be snatched out, will not be saved from this flood; not a single cry will be pronounced clearly. Only the clapping of the tradesmen's hands is heard from all sides of the fair. The cart breaks, the iron rings, the boards thrown to the ground clatter, and the dizzy head wonders where to turn. Our visiting peasant with his black-browed daughter had been pushing among the people for a long time. I went to one cart, felt another, applied to prices; and meanwhile his thoughts were tossing and turning incessantly about ten sacks of wheat and an old mare that he had brought for sale. It was evident from the face of his daughter that she was not too pleased to rub herself near the wagons of flour and wheat. She would like to go there, where red ribbons, earrings, pewter and copper crosses and ducats are elegantly hung under the linen yats. But even here, however, she found herself many objects to observe: she was amused to the extreme, how the gypsy and the peasant beat each other on the hands, crying out in pain; how a drunken Jew gave jelly to a woman; how quarreled outbiddings were exchanged with abuse and crayfish; like a Muscovite, stroking his goat's beard with one hand, with the other ... But then she felt, someone pulled her by the embroidered sleeve of her shirt. She looked around - and a young man in a white scroll with bright eyes stood in front of her. Her veins trembled, and her heart beat as it had never before, with no joy, no sorrow: it seemed wonderful and lovely to her, and she herself could not explain what was happening to her.

- Do not be afraid, dear, do not be afraid! - he said to her in an undertone, taking her hand, - I won't tell you anything bad!

“Maybe it’s true that you won’t say anything bad,” the beauty thought to herself. You yourself, it seems, you know that it doesn’t work like that ... but you lack the strength to take a hand from him. ”

The man looked around and wanted to say something to his daughter, but the word "wheat" was heard from the side. it magic word forced him at the same moment to join the two loudly talking merchants, and the attention riveted to them was no longer able to entertain. This is what the merchants said about wheat.

I am sad to live in a hut, take me from home to where there is a lot of noise, where all the girls are dancing, where the guys are having fun! (Ukrainian).

Lord, my God, what is not at that fair! Wheels, glass, tar, tobacco, belt, onions, all kinds of merchants ... so that if there were at least thirty rubles in my pocket, then I would not have bought the whole fair (in Ukrainian).

Nikolai Gogol(1809-1852) - Russian prose writer, playwright, poet, critic, publicist, recognized as one of the classics of Russian literature.
Gogol's tales are diverse both in their motives and in the events described in them. Take at least the most famous ones: "", "", "", "", "", "", "", "" - each has its own heroes, its own miracles and events.

Fairy Tales Gogol Nikolay Vasilievich
"Evenings on a Farm Near Dikanka"

Evenings on a Farm Near Dikanka

One of the most mystical and unusual writers of Russia in its entire history was, undoubtedly, Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol- how elegant, simple and, at the same time, fantastic and amazingly beautiful Tales Gogol Nikolai Vasilievich "Evenings on a Farm near Dikanka" by Gogol, his stories, stories, plays and comedies ...

Indeed, one can hardly find another author who would be able to write with unsurpassed accuracy and skill not only about everyday things (like the life of a Ukrainian village), but also describe mystical phenomena and phenomena (like evil spirits, flights to Petersburg on the line, the kidnapping of the moon, etc.).

Gogol's Tales- some of his best works, which showed all the author's love for Little Russia, for the Ukrainian people and traditions, for the life of ordinary peasants, their beliefs, holidays, customs. Almost all the works of Nikolai Vasilyevich's pen, dedicated to this topic, were included in the collection Evenings on a Farm near Dikanka. They were written by the author for three years, and were published in 1831 (the first volume of Gogol's fairy tales) and in 1832 (the second volume).

A kind of " geographic center»Gogol's fairy tales, collected in "Evenings on a farm near Dikanka", as the name itself shows, became the same Dikanka from Nikolai Vasilyevich's childhood - the place of his birth and life. Another remarkable fact is that all the works from the collection are connected by the so-called "framing plot", since according to the author's idea, these tales and legends were supposedly collected and recorded by the Ukrainian beekeeper Rudy Pank from the words of his Zaporozhian grandfather Foma Grigorievich.

Gogol's tales are diverse both in their motives and in the events described in them. Take at least the most famous ones: "", "", "", "", "", "", "", "" - each has its own heroes, its own miracles and events. But all these tales are united by one thing - they depict in all their glory the glorious, kind, hardworking and honest Ukrainian people with their beliefs, traditions and even legends. After all, beautiful girls and brave, pure hearts, boys in the work are opposed by mystical, semi-pagan otherworldly forces. However, good in these tales still wins, justice triumphs, and evil leaves with nothing. So the author opposes spirituality, light and grace of the human soul to the darkness of the other world.

Gogol's tales are loved to this day in all corners of Russia and Ukraine. They are studied at school, children and adults are read by them. And the reason for this is not only the sensational mysticism of these works, but also sparkling humor, charismatic characters, a talented depiction of the life of the Ukrainian village.