The night before Christmas is complete. Nikolai Gogol - the night before Christmas

Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol

CHRISTMAS EVE

The last day before Christmas has passed. A clear winter night has arrived. The stars looked out. The month majestically rose into the sky to shine on good people and the whole world, so that everyone would have fun caroling and praising Christ. It was freezing more than in the morning; but it was so quiet that the crunch of frost under a boot could be heard half a mile away. Not a single crowd of boys had ever appeared under the windows of the huts; for a month he only glanced at them furtively, as if calling the girls who were dressing up to run out quickly into the crunchy snow. Then smoke fell in clouds through the chimney of one hut and spread like a cloud across the sky, and along with the smoke a witch rose riding on a broom.

If at that time the Sorochinsky assessor had passed by on a trio of philistine horses, in a hat with a lambswool band, made in the manner of the Uhlan, in a blue sheepskin coat lined with black smushkas, with a devilishly woven whip, with which he is in the habit of urging his coachman on, then he would have correctly noticed her, because not a single witch in the world can escape from the Sorochinsky assessor. He knows firsthand how many piglets each woman has and how much linen is in her chest, and what exactly from his clothes and household goods a good man will pawn in a tavern on Sunday. But the Sorochinsky assessor did not pass through, and what does he care about strangers, he has his own parish. And the witch, meanwhile, rose so high that she was only a black speck flashing above. But wherever the speck appeared, there the stars, one after another, disappeared from the sky. Soon the witch had a full sleeve of them. Three or four were still shining. Suddenly, on the other side, another speck appeared, grew larger, began to stretch, and was no longer a speck. A short-sighted person would even put wheels from a commissar's britzka on his nose instead of glasses, and then he would not recognize what it was. The front is completely German: a narrow muzzle, constantly spinning and sniffing everything it comes across, ending, like our pigs, in a round snout; the legs were so thin that if the Yareskovsky head had had such, he would have broken them in the first Cossack. But behind him he was a real provincial attorney in uniform, because he had a tail hanging, so sharp and long, like today’s uniform coattails; only by the goat beard under his muzzle, by the small horns sticking out on his head, and by the fact that he was no whiter than a chimney sweep, one could guess that he was not a German or a provincial attorney, but simply a devil who had his last night left to wander around the world and teach good people the sins. Tomorrow, with the first bells for matins, he will run without looking back, tail between his legs, to his den. Meanwhile, the devil was creeping slowly towards the month, and was already reaching out his hand to grab him; but suddenly he pulled it back, as if he had been burned, sucked his fingers, swung his leg and ran to the other side, and again jumped back and pulled his hand away. However, despite all the failures, the cunning devil did not abandon his mischief. Running up, he suddenly grabbed the month with both hands, grimacing and blowing, throwing it from one hand to the other, like a man getting fire for his cradle with his bare hands; Finally, he hastily put it in his pocket and, as if nothing had happened, ran on. In Dikanka, no one heard how the devil stole the month. True, the volost clerk, leaving the tavern on all fours, saw that the month, for no apparent reason, was dancing in the sky, and he assured the whole village of this to God; but the laymen shook their heads and even laughed at him. But what was the reason for the devil to decide on such a lawless deed? And here’s what: he knew that the rich Cossack Chub had been invited by the clerk to a kutya, where they would be: the head; a relative of the clerk who had come from the bishop's choir, wearing a blue frock coat and playing the deepest bass; Cossack Sverbyguz and some others; where, in addition to kuti, there will be varenukha, saffron-distilled vodka and a lot of other edibles. Meanwhile, his daughter, the beauty of the whole village, will remain at home, and a blacksmith, a strong man and a fellow anywhere, who was the devil more disgusting than the sermons of Father Kondrat, will probably come to his daughter. In his spare time from work, the blacksmith was engaged in painting and was known as the best painter in the entire area. The centurion L...ko himself, who was still in good health at that time, deliberately called him to Poltava to paint the board fence near his house. All the bowls from which the Dikan Cossacks drank borscht were painted by a blacksmith. The blacksmith was a God-fearing man and often painted images of saints, and now you can still find his Evangelist Luke in the T... church. But the triumph of his art was one painting painted on the church wall in the right vestibule, in which he depicted Saint Peter on the day of the Last Judgment, with keys in his hands, expelling an evil spirit from hell: the frightened devil rushed in all directions, anticipating his death, and the previously imprisoned sinners beat and drove him with whips, logs and anything else they could find. While the painter was working on this picture and painting it on a large wooden board, the devil tried with all his might to disturb him: he pushed him invisibly under his arm, lifted ash from the furnace in the forge and sprinkled it on the picture; but, despite everything, the work was finished, the board was brought into the church and embedded in the wall of the vestibule, and from that time on the devil swore to take revenge on the blacksmith. There was only one night left for him to wander around in this world; but even that night he was looking for something to take out his anger on the blacksmith. And for this purpose he decided to steal a month, in the hope that old Chub was lazy and not easy-going, and the clerk was not so close to the hut: the road went behind the village, past the mills, past the cemetery, and went around a ravine. Even on a monthly night, boiled milk and vodka infused with saffron could have lured Chub; but in such darkness it is unlikely that anyone would have been able to pull him off the stove and call him out of the hut. And the blacksmith, who had long been at odds with him, would never dare to go to his daughter in his presence, despite his strength. Thus, as soon as the devil hid his month in his pocket, suddenly it became so dark all over the world that not everyone could find the way to the tavern, not only to the clerk. The witch, suddenly seeing herself in the darkness, screamed. Then the devil, coming up like a little demon, grabbed her by the arm and began to whisper in her ear the same thing that is usually whispered to the entire female race. Wonderfully arranged in our world! Everything that lives in him tries to adopt and imitate one another. Previously, it used to be that in Mirgorod one judge and the mayor walked around in winter in cloth-covered sheepskin coats, and all the petty officials wore simply sheepskin coats; now both the assessor and the sub-committee have polished themselves new fur coats from Reshetilovsky smushkas with a cloth cover. The clerk and the volost clerk, in his third year, took a blue Chinese coin for six hryvnia arshins. The sexton made himself nankeen trousers for the summer and a vest from striped garus. In a word, everything gets into people! When will these people not be fussy! You can bet that many will find it surprising to see the devil who has set himself off in the same place. The most annoying thing is that he truly imagines himself to be handsome, while his figure is ashamed to look at. Erysipelas, as Foma Grigorievich says, is an abomination, an abomination, but he, too, makes love hens! But it became so dark in the sky and under the sky that it was no longer possible to see anything that happened between them.

* * *

“So, godfather, you haven’t been to the clerk in the new house yet?” - said the Cossack Chub, leaving the door of his hut, to a lean, tall man in a short sheepskin coat with a bushy beard, showing that a piece of a scythe, with which men usually shave their beards for lack of a razor, had not touched it for more than two weeks. “Now there will be a good drinking party! - Chub continued, grinning his face. “As long as we don’t be late.” At the same time, Chub straightened his belt, which tightly intercepted his sheepskin coat, pulled his hat tighter, clutched the whip in his hand - the fear and threat of the annoying dogs; but, looking up, he stopped... “What a devil! Look! look, Panas!..”

What? - said the godfather and raised his head up.

Like what? no month!

What an abyss! There really is no month.

“Well, no,” Chub said with some annoyance at his godfather’s constant indifference. - You probably don’t need it.

What should I do?

“It was necessary,” continued Chub, wiping his mustache with his sleeve, “for some devil, so that he wouldn’t have a chance to drink a glass of vodka in the morning, a dog, to intervene!.. Really, as if for a laugh... On purpose, sitting in the hut, he looked at window: night is a miracle! Light; the snow shines during the month. Everything was as visible as day. I didn’t have time to go out the door, and now, at least gouge out my eye!” Chub grumbled and scolded for a long time, and meanwhile, at the same time, he was thinking about what to decide on. He was dying to croak about all this nonsense at the clerk's, where, without any doubt, the head, the visiting bass, and the tar Mikita were already sitting, who went every two weeks to Poltava to auction and made such jokes that all the laymen grabbed their stomachs with laughter. Chub already mentally saw the boiled milk standing on the table. It was all tempting, really; but the darkness of the night reminded him of that laziness that is so dear to all Cossacks. How nice it would be now to lie with your legs tucked under you on a couch, quietly smoke a cradle and listen through your delightful drowsiness to carols and songs of cheerful boys and girls crowding in heaps under the windows. He would, without any doubt, decide on the latter if he were alone; but now both of them are not so bored and afraid to walk in the dark at night, and they didn’t want to appear lazy or cowardly in front of others. Having finished the scolding, he turned again to his godfather.

Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol

Christmas Eve

Stories of an old beekeeper

It's a clear, frosty night on the eve of Christmas. The stars and the moon are shining, the snow is sparkling, smoke is billowing above the chimneys of the huts. This is Dikanka, a tiny village near Poltava. Shall we look through the windows? Over there, the old Cossack Chub has put on a sheepskin coat and is going to visit. There is his daughter, the beautiful Oksana, preening in front of the mirror. There flies into the chimney the charming witch Solokha, a hospitable hostess, whom the Cossack Chub, the village head, and the clerk love to visit. And in that hut, on the edge of the village, an old man sits, puffing on a cradle. But this is the beekeeper Rudy Panko, a master of telling stories! One of his funniest stories is about how the devil stole the month from the sky, and the blacksmith Vakula flew to St. Petersburg to visit the queen.

All of them - Solokha, Oksana, the blacksmith, and even Rudy Panka himself - were invented by the wonderful writer Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol (1809-1852), and there is nothing unusual in the fact that he managed to portray his heroes so accurately and truthfully. Gogol was born in the small village of Velikie Sorochintsy, Poltava province, and from childhood he saw and knew well everything that he later wrote about. His father was a landowner and came from an old Cossack family. Nikolai studied first at the Poltava district school, then at the gymnasium in the city of Nezhin, also not far from Poltava; It was here that he first tried to write.

At the age of nineteen, Gogol left for St. Petersburg, served for some time in the offices, but very soon realized that this was not his calling. He began to publish little by little in literary magazines, and a little later he published his first book, “Evenings on a Farm near Dikanka” - a collection of amazing stories allegedly told by the beekeeper Rudy Panko: about the devil who stole the month, about the mysterious red scroll, about rich treasures that open on the night before Ivan Kupala. The collection was a huge success, and A.S. Pushkin really liked it. Gogol soon met him and became friends, and later Pushkin helped him more than once, for example, by suggesting (of course, in the most general terms) the plot of the comedy “The Inspector General” and the poem “Dead Souls.” While living in St. Petersburg, Gogol published the next collection “Mirgorod”, which included “Taras Bulba” and “Viy”, and “Petersburg” stories: “The Overcoat”, “The Stroller”, “The Nose” and others.

Nikolai Vasilyevich spent the next ten years abroad, only occasionally returning to his homeland: little by little he lived in Germany, then in Switzerland, then in France; later he settled in Rome for several years, which he fell in love with very much. The first volume of the poem “Dead Souls” was written here. Gogol returned to Russia only in 1848 and settled at the end of his life in Moscow, in a house on Nikitsky Boulevard.

Gogol is a very versatile writer, his works are so different, but they are united by wit, subtle irony and good humor. For this, Gogol and Pushkin valued him most: “This is real gaiety, sincere, relaxed, without affectation, without stiffness. And in places what poetry! What sensitivity! All this is so unusual in our current literature...”

P. Lemeni-Macedon

If at that time the Sorochinsky assessor was passing by on a trio of philistine horses, in a hat with a lambswool band, made in the manner of the Uhlans, in a blue sheepskin coat lined with black smushkas, with a devilishly woven whip, with which he is in the habit of urging his coachman on, then he would probably , noticed her, because not a single witch in the world could escape from the Sorochinsky assessor. He knows off the top of his head how many piglets each woman has, and how much linen is in her chest, and what exactly from his clothes and household goods a good man will pawn in a tavern on Sunday. But the Sorochinsky assessor did not pass through, and what does he care about strangers, he has his own parish. Meanwhile, the witch rose so high that she was only a black speck flashing above. But wherever the speck appeared, there the stars, one after another, disappeared from the sky. Soon the witch had a full sleeve of them. Three or four were still shining. Suddenly, on the opposite side, another speck appeared, grew larger, began to stretch, and was no longer a speck. A short-sighted person, even if he had put wheels from the Komissarov chaise on his nose instead of glasses, he would not have recognized what it was. From the front it was completely German: a narrow muzzle, constantly twirling and sniffing whatever came its way, ending, like our pigs, in a round snout, the legs were so thin that if Yareskovsky had such a head, he would have broken them in the first Cossack. But behind him he was a real provincial attorney in uniform, because he had a tail hanging, so sharp and long, like today’s uniform coattails; only by the goat beard under his muzzle, by the small horns sticking out on his head, and by the fact that he was no whiter than a chimney sweep, one could guess that he was not a German or a provincial attorney, but just a devil who had his last night left to wander around the world and teach good people the sins. Tomorrow, with the first bells for matins, he will run without looking back, tail between his legs, to his den.

Meanwhile, the devil was creeping slowly towards the month and was about to stretch out his hand to grab it, but suddenly he pulled it back, as if he had been burned, sucked his fingers, swung his leg and ran on the other side, and again jumped back and pulled his hand away. However, despite all the failures, the cunning devil did not abandon his mischief. Running up, he suddenly grabbed the month with both hands, grimacing and blowing, throwing it from one hand to the other, like a man getting fire for his cradle with his bare hands; Finally, he hastily put it in his pocket and, as if nothing had happened, ran on.

In Dikanka, no one heard how the devil stole the month. True, the volost clerk, leaving the tavern on all fours, saw that he had been dancing in the sky for no reason at all for a month, and assured the whole village of this to God; but the laymen shook their heads and even laughed at him. But what was the reason for the devil to decide on such a lawless deed? And here's what: he knew that the rich Cossack Chub was invited by the clerk to kutya, where they would be: the head; a relative of the clerk in a blue frock coat who came from the bishop's choir and played the deepest bass; Cossack Sverbyguz and some others; where, in addition to kutya, there will be varenukha, saffron-distilled vodka and a lot of other edibles. Meanwhile, his daughter, the beauty of the whole village, will remain at home, and a blacksmith, a strong man and a fellow anywhere, who was damned more disgusting than the sermons of Father Kondrat, will probably come to his daughter. In his spare time from business, the blacksmith was engaged in painting and was known as the best painter in the entire area. The centurion L...ko himself, who was still in good health at that time, deliberately called him to Poltava to paint the board fence near his house. All the bowls from which the Dikan Cossacks drank borscht were painted by a blacksmith. The blacksmith was a God-fearing man and often painted images of saints: and now you can still find his evangelist Luke in the T... church. But the triumph of his art was one painting painted on the church wall in the right vestibule, in which he depicted St. Peter on the day of the Last Judgment, with keys in his hands, expelling an evil spirit from hell; the frightened devil rushed in all directions, anticipating his death, and the previously imprisoned sinners beat and drove him with whips, logs and anything else they could find. While the painter was working on this picture and painting it on a large wooden board, the devil tried with all his might to disturb him: he pushed him invisibly under his arm, lifted ash from the furnace in the forge and sprinkled it on the picture; but, despite everything, the work was finished, the board was brought into the church and embedded in the wall of the vestibule, and from that time on the devil swore to take revenge on the blacksmith.

There was only one night left for him to wander around in this world; but even that night he was looking for something to take out his anger on the blacksmith. And for this purpose he decided to steal a month, in the hope that old Chub was lazy and not easy-going, but the clerk was not so close to the hut: the road went beyond the village, past the mills, past the cemetery, and went around a ravine. Even on a monthly night, boiled milk and vodka infused with saffron could have lured Chub. But in such darkness it is unlikely that anyone would have been able to pull him off the stove and call him out of the hut. And the blacksmith, who had long been at odds with him, would never dare to go to his daughter in his presence, despite his strength.

Thus, as soon as the devil hid his month in his pocket, suddenly it became so dark all over the world that not everyone could find the way to the tavern, not only to the clerk. The witch, suddenly seeing herself in the darkness, screamed. Then the devil, coming up like a little demon, grabbed her by the arm and began to whisper in her ear the same thing that is usually whispered to the entire female race. Wonderfully arranged in our world! Everything that lives in him tries to adopt and imitate one another. Previously, it used to be that in Mirgorod one judge and the mayor walked around in the winter in cloth-covered sheepskin coats, and all the petty officials wore simply sheepskin coats. Now both the assessor and the sub-committee have polished themselves new fur coats from Reshetilovsky smushkas with a cloth cover. The clerk and the volost clerk took a blue Chinese coin for the third year for six hryvnia arshins. The sexton made himself nankeen trousers and a vest of striped garus for the summer. In a word, everything gets into people! When will these people not be fussy! You can bet that many will find it surprising to see the devil running into the same place. The most annoying thing is that he probably imagines himself handsome, while his figure is ashamed to look at. Erysipelas, as Foma Grigorievich says, is an abomination, an abomination, but he, too, makes love hens! But it became so dark in the sky and under the sky that it was no longer possible to see anything that happened between them.

- So, godfather, you haven’t been to the clerk in the new house yet? - said the Cossack Chub, leaving the door of his hut, to a lean, tall man in a short sheepskin coat with an overgrown beard, showing that a piece of a scythe, with which men usually shave their beards for lack of a razor, had not touched it for more than two weeks. - Now there will be a good drinking party! – Chub continued, grinning his face. - As long as we don’t be late.

At this, Chub straightened his belt, which tightly intercepted his sheepskin coat, pulled his hat tighter, clutched the whip in his hand - the fear and threat of the annoying dogs, but, looking up, he stopped...

- What a devil! Look! look, Panas!..

- What? - said the godfather and raised his head up.

- Like what? no month!

-What an abyss! There really is no month.

“Well, no,” Chub said with some annoyance at his godfather’s constant indifference. - You probably don’t need it.

- What should I do!

“It was necessary,” Chub continued, wiping his mustache with his sleeve, “some devil, so that he wouldn’t have a chance to drink a glass of vodka in the morning, a dog!.. Really, as if for a laugh... On purpose, sitting in the hut, he looked at window: night is a miracle! It’s light, the snow shines in the month. Everything was as visible as day. I didn’t have time to go out the door - and now, at least gouge out my eyes!

Chub grumbled and scolded for a long time, and meanwhile at the same time he was thinking about what to decide on. He was dying to croak about all this nonsense at the clerk's, where, without any doubt, the head, the visiting bass, and the tar Mikita were already sitting, who went every two weeks to Poltava to auction and made such jokes that all the laymen grabbed their stomachs with laughter. Chub already mentally saw the boiled milk standing on the table. It was all tempting, really; but the darkness of the night reminded him of that laziness that is so dear to all Cossacks. How nice it would be now to lie with your legs tucked under you on a couch, quietly smoke a cradle and listen through your delightful drowsiness to carols and songs of cheerful boys and girls crowding in heaps under the windows. Without any doubt, he would have decided on the latter if he had been alone, but now both of them are not so bored and afraid to walk in the dark night, and they didn’t want to appear lazy or cowardly in front of others. Having finished the scolding, he turned again to his godfather:

- So no, godfather, a month?

- Wonderful, really! Let me smell some tobacco. You, godfather, have nice tobacco! Where do you get it?

- What the hell, nice one! - answered the godfather, closing the birch tavlinka, pockmarked with patterns. - The old hen won't sneeze!

“I remember,” Chub continued in the same way, “the late tavern owner Zozulya once brought me tobacco from Nizhyn.” Oh, there was tobacco! it was good tobacco! So, godfather, what should we do? It's dark outside.

“Then, perhaps, we’ll stay at home,” said the godfather, grabbing the door handle.

If his godfather had not said this, then Chub would probably have decided to stay, but now it was as if something was pulling him to go against it.

- No, godfather, let's go! You can't, you have to go!

Having said this, he was already annoyed with himself for what he said. It was very unpleasant for him to trudge on such a night; but he was consoled by the fact that he himself deliberately wanted this and did not do it as he was advised.

The godfather, without expressing the slightest movement of annoyance on his face, like a man who absolutely does not care whether he sits at home or drags himself out of the house, looked around, scratched his shoulders with his batog stick, and the two godfathers set off on the road.

Now let's see what the beautiful daughter does when left alone. Oksana was not yet seventeen years old, and in almost the entire world, both on the other side of Dikanka and on this side of Dikanka, there was nothing but talk about her. The boys proclaimed in droves that there had never been and never would be a better girl in the village. Oksana knew and heard everything that was said about her, and was capricious, like a beauty. If she had walked around not in a scaffold and a spare tire, but in some kind of hood, she would have scattered all her girls. The boys chased her in crowds, but, having lost patience, they left little by little and turned to others, who were not so spoiled. Only the blacksmith was stubborn and did not give up his red tape, despite the fact that he was treated no better than others.

After her father left, she spent a long time dressing up and pretending in front of a small mirror in tin frames and could not stop admiring herself.

- Why do people want to tell me that I’m good? - she said, as if absentmindedly, just to chat with herself about something. “People lie, I’m not good at all.” “But the fresh face that flashed in the mirror, alive in childhood, with sparkling black eyes and an inexpressibly pleasant smile that burned through the soul, suddenly proved the opposite. “Are my black eyebrows and eyes,” the beauty continued, without letting go of the mirror, “so good that they have no equal in the world?” What's so good about that upturned nose? and in the cheeks? and on the lips? As if my black braids are good? Wow! You can be scared of them in the evening: they, like long snakes, twisted and wrapped around my head. I see now that I am not good at all! “And, moving the mirror a little further away from herself, she cried out: “No, I’m good!” Oh, how good! Miracle! What joy will I bring to the one I will marry! How my husband will admire me! He won't remember himself. He will kiss me to death.

- Wonderful girl! - whispered the blacksmith who entered quietly. - And she doesn’t have much boasting! He stands for an hour, looking in the mirror, and can’t get enough of it, and still praises himself out loud!

- Yes, boys, am I a match for you? “Look at me,” continued the pretty coquette, “how smoothly I perform; My shirt is made of red silk. And what ribbons on the head! You will never see richer braid in your life! My father bought all this for me so that the best fellow in the world would marry me! - And, grinning, she turned in the other direction and saw the blacksmith...

She screamed and stopped sternly in front of him.

The blacksmith dropped his hands.

It is difficult to tell what the dark-skinned face of the wonderful girl expressed: the severity was visible in it, and through the severity there was some kind of mockery of the embarrassed blacksmith, and a barely noticeable color of annoyance spread subtly across her face; it was all so mixed up and it was so indescribably good that kissing her a million times was all the best that could be done then.

- Why did you come here? – this is how Oksana began to speak. - Do you really want to be kicked out the door with a shovel? You are all masters at approaching us. You'll know in no time when your fathers aren't home. Oh, I know you! So, is my chest ready?

- He will be ready, my dear, after the holiday he will be ready. If you only knew how much you fussed around him: he didn’t leave the forge for two nights; but not a single priest will have such a chest. He put the kind of iron on the forge that he didn’t put on the centurion’s tarataika when he went to work in Poltava. And how it will be scheduled! Even if you go out all the way around with your little white legs, you won’t find anything like this! Red and blue flowers will be scattered throughout the field. It will burn like heat. Don't be angry with me! Let me at least talk, at least look at you!

- Who forbids you, speak and see!

- Let me sit next to you! - said the blacksmith.

“Sit down,” Oksana said, keeping the same feeling in her lips and satisfied eyes.

– Wonderful, beloved Oksana, let me kiss you! - said the encouraged blacksmith and pressed her to him with the intention of grabbing a kiss; but Oksana turned her cheeks, which were already at an imperceptible distance from the blacksmith’s lips, and pushed him away.

-What else do you want? When he needs honey, he needs a spoon! Go away, your hands are harder than iron. And you yourself smell of smoke. I think I got soot all over me.

“She doesn’t love me,” the blacksmith thought to himself, hanging his head. - All toys for her; and I stand in front of her like a fool and don’t take my eyes off her. And he would still stand in front of her, and never take his eyes off her! Wonderful girl! What I wouldn’t give to know what’s in her heart, who she loves! But no, she doesn’t need anyone. She admires herself; torments me, poor thing; but I don’t see the light behind the sadness; and I love her as much as no other person in the world has ever loved or will ever love.”

– Is it true that your mother is a witch? - Oksana said and laughed; and the blacksmith felt that everything inside him was laughing. This laughter seemed to resonate at once in his heart and in his quietly trembling veins, and behind all this, annoyance sank into his soul that he was not in the power to kiss the face that laughed so pleasantly.

- What do I care about my mother? You are my mother, and my father, and everything that is dear in the world. If the king called me and said: “Blacksmith Vakula, ask me for everything that is best in my kingdom, I will give it all to you. I will order you to make a gold forge, and you will forge with silver hammers.” “I don’t want,” I would say to the king, “neither expensive stones, nor a gold forge, nor your entire kingdom. Better give me my Oksana!”

- See what you are like! Only my father himself is not a mistake. You’ll see when he doesn’t marry your mother,” Oksana said with a sly grin. - However, the girls don’t come... What does that mean? It's high time to start caroling. I'm getting bored.

- God be with them, my beauty!

- No matter how it is! The boys will probably come with them. This is where the balls begin. I can imagine the funny stories they will tell!

- So are you having fun with them?

- Yes, it’s more fun than with you. A! someone knocked; That's right, girls with boys.

“What more should I wait for? - the blacksmith spoke to himself. - She's making fun of me. I am as dear to her as a rusty horseshoe. But if that’s the case, at least someone else won’t get to laugh at me. Let me just notice who she likes more than me; I'll wean..."

There was a knock on the door and a voice that sounded sharply in the cold: “Open!” – interrupted his thoughts.

“Wait, I’ll open it myself,” said the blacksmith and went out into the hallway with the intention of breaking off the sides of the first person he came across out of frustration.

The frost increased, and it became so cold at the top that the devil jumped from one hoof to another and blew into his fist, wanting to somehow warm up his frozen hands. It is not surprising, however, for someone to freeze to death who has been hustling from morning to morning in hell, where, as you know, it is not as cold as here in winter, and where, putting on a cap and standing in front of the fire, as if he were really a cook, he was roasting he treats sinners with the same pleasure with which a woman usually fries sausage at Christmas.

The witch herself felt that it was cold, despite the fact that she was warmly dressed; and therefore, raising her hands up, she put her foot down and, having brought herself into a position like a man flying on skates, without moving a single joint, she descended through the air, as if along an icy sloping mountain, and straight into the chimney.

The devil followed her in the same order. But since this animal is more agile than any dandy in stockings, it is not surprising that at the very entrance to the chimney he ran over the neck of his mistress, and both found themselves in a spacious stove between the pots.

The traveler slowly pulled back the flap to see if her son Vakula had called her guests into the hut, but when she saw that there was no one there, except for the bags that lay in the middle of the hut, she crawled out of the stove, threw off the warm casing, recovered, and no one could find out that she was riding a broom a minute ago.

The mother of the blacksmith Vakula was no more than forty years old. She was neither good-looking nor bad-looking. It’s hard to be good in such years. However, she was so able to charm the most sedate Cossacks (who, by the way, it doesn’t hurt to note, had little need for beauty) that both the head and the clerk Osip Nikiforovich came to her (of course, if the clerk was not at home), and the Cossack Korniy Chub, and the Cossack Kasyan Sverbyguz. And, to her credit, she knew how to skillfully deal with them. It never occurred to any of them that he had a rival. Whether a pious man, or a nobleman, as the Cossacks call themselves, dressed in a kobenyak with a visloga, went to church on Sunday or, if the weather was bad, to a tavern, how could he not go to Solokha, eat fatty dumplings with sour cream and chat in a warm a hut with a talkative and obsequious mistress. And the nobleman deliberately made a big detour for this purpose before reaching the tavern, and called it “coming along the road.”

Notes

In our country, caroling means singing songs under the windows on the eve of Christmas, which are called carols. The housewife, or the owner, or whoever stays at home, will always throw sausage, or bread, or a copper penny into the bag of the one who sings carols. They say that there was once a fool Kolyada, who was mistaken for a god, and that it was as if that was the origin of the carols. Who knows? It’s not for us, ordinary people, to talk about this. Last year, Father Osip forbade caroling in farmsteads, saying that it was as if these people were pleasing Satan. However, if you tell the truth, then there is not a word about Kolyada in carols. They often sing about the Nativity of Christ; and at the end they wish health to the owner, hostess, children and the whole house.

Galun - braid stitched with gold or silver threads; sewn onto uniforms.

Lanita (poet.) – cheeks.

Kobenyak is a long men's cloak with a hood sewn to the back - a vidloga.

Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol

Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve
Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol

Extracurricular reading (Rosman)
N. V. Gogol’s story “The Night Before Christmas” from the collection “Evenings on a Farm near Dikanka” is distinguished by kindness, fabulousness and gentle humor. Both children and adults read with interest about how the devil stole the month, and about how the blacksmith Vakula flew to the queen in St. Petersburg to get slippers for his beloved Oksana.

Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol

Christmas Eve

Stories of an old beekeeper

P. Lemeni-Macedon

If at that time the Sorochinsky assessor was passing by on a trio of philistine horses, in a hat with a lambswool band, made in the manner of the Uhlans, in a blue sheepskin coat lined with black smushkas, with a devilishly woven whip, with which he is in the habit of urging his coachman on, then he would probably , noticed her, because not a single witch in the world could escape from the Sorochinsky assessor. He knows off the top of his head how many piglets each woman has, and how much linen is in her chest, and what exactly from his clothes and household goods a good man will pawn in the tavern on Sunday. But the Sorochinsky assessor did not pass through, and what does he care about strangers, he has his own parish. Meanwhile, the witch rose so high that she was only a black speck flashing above. But wherever the speck appeared, there the stars, one after another, disappeared from the sky. Soon the witch had a full sleeve of them. Three or four were still shining. Suddenly, on the opposite side, another speck appeared, grew larger, began to stretch, and was no longer a speck. A short-sighted person, even if he had put wheels from the Komissarov chaise on his nose instead of glasses, he would not have recognized what it was. From the front it was completely German: a narrow muzzle, constantly twirling and sniffing whatever came its way, ending, like our pigs, in a round snout, the legs were so thin that if Yareskovsky had such a head, he would have broken them in the first Cossack. But behind him he was a real provincial attorney in uniform, because he had a tail hanging, so sharp and long, like today’s uniform coattails; only by the goat beard under his muzzle, by the small horns sticking out on his head, and by the fact that he was no whiter than a chimney sweep, one could guess that he was not a German or a provincial attorney, but just a devil who had his last night left to wander around the world and teach good people the sins. Tomorrow, with the first bells for matins, he will run without looking back, tail between his legs, to his den.

In Dikanka, no one heard how the devil stole the month. True, the volost clerk, leaving the tavern on all fours, saw that he had been dancing in the sky for no reason at all for a month, and assured the whole village of this to God; but the laymen shook their heads and even laughed at him. But what was the reason for the devil to decide on such a lawless deed? And here’s what: he knew that the rich Cossack Chub was invited by the clerk to the kutya, where they would be: the head; a relative of the clerk in a blue frock coat who came from the bishop's choir and played the deepest bass; Cossack Sverbyguz and some others; where, in addition to kutya, there will be varenukha, saffron-distilled vodka and a lot of other edibles. Meanwhile, his daughter, the beauty of the whole village, will remain at home, and a blacksmith, a strong man and a fellow anywhere, who was damned more disgusting than the sermons of Father Kondrat, will probably come to his daughter. In his spare time from business, the blacksmith was engaged in painting and was known as the best painter in the entire area. The centurion L...ko himself, who was still in good health at that time, deliberately called him to Poltava to paint a plank fence near his house. All the bowls from which the Dikan Cossacks drank borscht were painted by a blacksmith. The blacksmith was a God-fearing man and often painted images of saints: and now you can still find his evangelist Luke in the T... church. But the triumph of his art was one painting painted on the church wall in the right vestibule, in which he depicted St. Peter on the day of the Last Judgment, with keys in his hands, expelling an evil spirit from hell; the frightened devil rushed in all directions, anticipating his death, and the previously imprisoned sinners beat and drove him with whips, logs and anything else they could find. While the painter was working on this picture and painting it on a large wooden board, the devil tried with all his might to disturb him: he pushed him invisibly under his arm, lifted ash from the furnace in the forge and sprinkled it on the picture; but, despite everything, the work was finished, the board was brought into the church and embedded in the wall of the vestibule, and from that time on the devil swore to take revenge on the blacksmith.

Thus, as soon as the devil hid his month in his pocket, suddenly it became so dark all over the world that not everyone could find the way to the tavern, not only to the clerk. The witch, suddenly seeing herself in the darkness, screamed. Then the devil, coming up like a little demon, grabbed her by the arm and began to whisper in her ear the same thing that is usually whispered to the entire female race. Wonderfully arranged in our world! Everything that lives in him tries to adopt and imitate one another. Previously, it used to be that in Mirgorod one judge and the mayor walked around in winter in cloth-covered sheepskin coats, and all the petty officials wore simply naked ones. Now both the assessor and the sub-committee have polished themselves new fur coats from Reshetilovsky smushkas with a cloth cover. The clerk and the volost clerk took a blue Chinese quilt for six hryvnia arshins for the third year. The sexton made himself nankeen trousers and a vest of striped garus for the summer. In a word, everything gets into people! When will these people not be fussy! You can bet that many will find it surprising to see the devil running into the same place. The most annoying thing is that he probably imagines himself handsome, while his figure is ashamed to look at. Erysipelas, as Foma Grigorievich says, is an abomination, an abomination, but he, too, makes love hens! But it became so dark in the sky and under the sky that it was no longer possible to see anything that happened between them.

- What a devil! Look! look, Panas!..

- What? - said the godfather and raised his head up.

- Like what? no month!

- What an abyss! There really is no month.

“Well, no,” Chub said with some annoyance at his godfather’s constant indifference. - You probably don’t need it.

- What should I do!

- So no, godfather, a month?

- Wonderful, really! Let me smell some tobacco. You, godfather, have nice tobacco! Where do you get it?

- What the hell, nice one! - answered the godfather, closing the birch tavlinka, pockmarked with patterns. - The old hen won't sneeze!

“Then, perhaps, we’ll stay at home,” said the godfather, grabbing the door handle.

If his godfather had not said this, then Chub would probably have decided to stay, but now it was as if something was pulling him to go against it.

- No, godfather, let's go! You can't, you have to go!

The godfather, without expressing the slightest movement of annoyance on his face, like a man who absolutely does not care whether he sits at home or drags himself out of the house, looked around, scratched his shoulders with a batog stick, and the two godfathers set off on the road.

After her father left, she spent a long time dressing up and pretending in front of a small mirror in tin frames and could not stop admiring herself.

She screamed and stopped sternly in front of him.

The blacksmith dropped his hands.

- Who forbids you, speak and see!

Then she sat down on the bench and again looked in the mirror and began to straighten her braids on her head. She looked at her neck, at the new shirt, embroidered with silk, and a subtle feeling of self-satisfaction was expressed on her lips, and the fresh cheeks shone in her eyes.

N.V. Gogol's story "The Night Before Christmas" from the collection "Evenings on a Farm near Dikanka" is distinguished by kindness, fabulousness and gentle humor. Both children and adults read with interest about how the devil stole the month, and about how the blacksmith Vakula flew to the queen in St. Petersburg to get slippers for his beloved Oksana.

Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol
Christmas Eve

Stories of an old beekeeper

At the age of nineteen, Gogol left for St. Petersburg, served for some time in the offices, but very soon realized that this was not his calling. He began to publish little by little in literary magazines, and a little later he published his first book, “Evenings on a Farm near Dikanka” - a collection of amazing stories allegedly told by the beekeeper Rudy Panko: about the devil who stole the month, about the mysterious red scroll, about rich treasures that open on the night before Ivan Kupala. The collection was a huge success, and A.S. Pushkin really liked it. Gogol soon met him and became friends, and later Pushkin helped him more than once, for example, by suggesting (of course, in the most general terms) the plot of the comedy “The Inspector General” and the poem “Dead Souls.” While living in St. Petersburg, Gogol published the following collection “Mirgorod”, which included “Taras Bulba” and “Viy”, and “Petersburg” stories: “The Overcoat”, “The Stroller”, “The Nose” and others.

Nikolai Vasilyevich spent the next ten years abroad, only occasionally returning to his homeland: little by little he lived in Germany, then in Switzerland, then in France; later he settled in Rome for several years, which he fell in love with very much. The first volume of the poem "Dead Souls" was written here. Gogol returned to Russia only in 1848 and settled at the end of his life in Moscow, in a house on Nikitsky Boulevard.

Gogol is a very versatile writer, his works are so different, but they are united by wit, subtle irony and good humor. For this, Gogol and Pushkin appreciated most of all: “This is real gaiety, sincere, relaxed, without affectation, without stiffness. And in places, what poetry! What sensitivity! All this is so unusual in our current literature...”

P. Lemeni-Macedon

This story is included in the series of stories “Evenings on a farm near Dikanka”, recorded and retold by the hospitable beekeeper Rudy Panko. Its very brief content is necessary for the student, because Ukrainian folklore is difficult to understand, and it would not hurt to further clarify the main events of the work. in order to understand and remember the plot.

(275 words) On Christmas night, when the month has just risen in the sky, and young people are going to carols, the devil steals the month from the sky. At the same time, the blacksmith Vakula comes to the daughter of the Cossack Chuba Oksana. She mocks the boy in love and says that she will marry him if only she gets little shoes like the queen herself.

The disgruntled boy goes home. And at home, Vakula’s mother, the witch Solokha, receives in turn the devil, the village head, the clerk, and then Oksana’s father Chub. Having scared his head, the devil climbs into one of the bags on the floor of the hut. The head is hidden in the same bag when the clerk arrives. The clerk also soon finds himself in the bag because of Chub. And with the arrival of Vakula, Chub also gets into the bag. Vakula takes the bags out of the hut, not noticing their heaviness, but when he meets Oksana with a crowd of carolers, he throws everything away except the lightest. He runs to Pot-bellied Patsyuk, who, according to rumors, is akin to the devil. Having achieved nothing from Patsyuk, the unfortunate blacksmith again finds himself on the street, and then the devil jumps out of the bag at him. Having crossed him, Vakula orders the evil spirits to take him to the Empress in St. Petersburg. Meanwhile, Chub, the clerk and the head are selected from the bags.

Vakula, finding himself in St. Petersburg, persuades the Zaporozhye Cossacks to take him with them to a reception at the Tsarina’s palace. There he asks Catherine for her royal shoes, and having received them, he quickly goes home.

There were already rumors on the farm that Vakula had committed suicide out of grief and insanity. Oksana finds out about this, cannot sleep all night, and not seeing the always devout blacksmith in church in the morning, she realizes that she loves him.

Vakula, out of fatigue, slept through the church service, and when he woke up, he went to woo Oksana with the little slippers. Chub gives his consent, as does his daughter, who no longer needs any shoes.

Review: Like all of Gogol’s works, “The Night Before Christmas” is not without mystical themes. Love, which is sometimes helped or hindered by evil spirits, remains the main theme of almost every story in this cycle. And all this against the backdrop of the life of a Ukrainian farm, with priceless flavor. And to more accurately convey the picture, use truly Gogolian vocabulary, using “speaking” surnames and folk colloquial speech.

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