Page:Dead Souls - A Poem by Nikolay Gogol - vol2.djvu/188

178 seemed lost in its endlessness. Listening to it one felt free and at ease, and Tchitchikov thought: 'Ah, I really shall have a country place of my own one day.'

'Oh, what is there fine in that dreary song?' thought Platonov, 'it only makes me more depressed than ever.'

It was dusk as they returned. In the dark the oars struck the water which no longer reflected the sky. Lights were faintly visible on both sides of the river. The moon rose just as they were touching the bank. On all sides fishermen were boiling soups of perch and still quivering fish on tripods. Everything was at home. The geese, the cows and the goats had been driven home long before, and the very dust raised by them was laid again by now, and the herdsmen who had driven them were standing by the gates waiting for a jug of milk and an invitation to partake of fish soup. Here and there came the sound of talk and the hum of voices, the loud barking of the dogs of their village and of other villages far away. The moon had risen and had begun to light up the darkness; and at last everything was bathed in light—the lake and the huts; the light of the fires was paler; the smoke from the chimneys could be seen silvery in the moonlight. Alexasha and Nikolasha flew by them, racing after each other on spirited horses; they raised as much dust as a flock of sheep.

'Oh, I really will have an estate of my own