Taras Bulba, and Other TalesGogol, Nikolai Vasilevich
General
Taras Bulba, and Other Tales
Gogol, Nikolai Vasilevich
Russia -- Fiction; Short stories
“But haven’t I ordered a dinner?”
“A dinner! You got home at four o’clock in the morning and you did not
answer a single word to all my questions. I did not wake you, since you
had so little sleep.”
Tchertokoutski, his eyes staring out of his head, remained motionless
for some moments as though a thunderbolt had struck him. All at once he
jumped out of bed in his shirt.
“Idiot that I am,” he exclaimed, clasping his hand to his forehead; “I
had invited them to dinner. What is to be done? are they far off?”
“They will be here in a moment.”
“My dear, hide yourself. Ho there, somebody. Hi there, you girl. Come
here, you fool; what are you afraid of? The officers are coming here;
tell them I am not at home, that I went out early this morning, that
I am not coming back. Do you understand? Go and repeat it to all the
servants. Be off, quick.”
Having uttered these words, he hurriedly slipped on his dressing-gown,
and ran off to shut himself up in the coach-house, which he thought
the safest hiding-place. But he fancied that he might be noticed in the
corner in which he had taken refuge.
“This will be better,” said he to himself, letting down the steps of
the nearest vehicle, which happened to be the calash. He jumped inside,
closed the door, and, as a further precaution, covered himself with the
leather apron. There he remained, wrapped in his dressing-gown, in a
doubled-up position.
During this time the equipages had drawn up before the porch. The
general got out of his carriage and shook himself, followed by the
colonel, arranging the feathers in his hat. After him came the stout
major, his sabre under his arm, and the slim lieutenants, whilst the
mounted officers also alighted.
“The master is not at home,” said a servant appearing at the top of a
flight of steps.
“What! not at home; but he is coming home for dinner, is he not?”
“No, he is not; he has gone out for the day and will not be back till
this time to-morrow.”
“Bless me,” said the general; “but what the deuce--”
“What a joke,” said the colonel laughing.
“No, no, such things are inconceivable,” said the general angrily. “If
he could not receive us, why did he invite us?”
“I cannot understand, your excellency, how it is possible to act in such
a manner,” observed a young officer.
“What?” said the general, who always made an officer under the rank of
captain repeat his remarks twice over.
“I wondered, your excellency, how any one could do such a thing.”
“Quite so; if anything has happened he ought to have let us know.”
“There is nothing to be done, your excellency, we had better go back
home,” said the colonel.
“Certainly, there is nothing to be done. However, we can see the calash
without him; probably he has not taken it with him. Come here, my man.”
“What does your excellency want?”
“Show us your master’s new calash.”
“Have the kindness to step this way to the coach-house.”
The general entered the coach-house followed by his officers.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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