The Works of Nikolai Gogol, Vol. 1

ragged boy, just look—trash, who is digging about in
the backyard, will also pester you; and they will start
stomping their feet from all sides: "Where to, where
to, why? Get going, peasant, get going!..." I tell
you... But why speak of it! It is easier for me to
travel twice a year to Mirgorod—where, for five
years now, neither the clerk original: "подсудокъ" from the
district court nor the venerable priest original: "іерей" has seen me—than
to appear in this great world; and once you have appeared,
whether you weep or not, you must give an account.

Among us, my dear readers, if you will forgive me
for saying so (you may perhaps even take offense
that the beekeeper original: "пасичникъ" speaks to you directly,
as if to some matchmaker of his, or a godfather),
among us on the farms original: "хуторахъ", it has long been the
custom: as soon as the work in the fields is finished, the
peasant will crawl onto the stove to rest for the whole
winter, and our brother will hide his bees away in a
dark cellar. When you see neither cranes in the sky nor
pears on the tree any longer, then, just at evening,
you will surely see a light glimmering somewhere at
the end of the street, laughter and songs