[11] Ran themselves off their legs.—Translator.
[12] The mazurka, which is still a great favourite in Russia, greatly resembles the cotillon in everything except the steps, which are vivacious. Both the cotillon and the mazurka are danced—one before, the other after supper—at Court balls and other dances.—Translator.
[13] Utterly insignificant.—Translator.
[14] The page is called a kazák, and dressed accordingly.—Translator.
[15] The burlakí on the Volga used to tow the barges from Ástrakhan to Nízhni Nóvgorod Fair, against the current. The stevedores also are called burlakí, and, as they lade the barges, their chantey runs (more literally than I have translated it above): "Yet another little time, yet again,..." and so forth.—Translator.
[THREE PORTRAITS]
(1840)
"The neighbours" constitute one of the most serious drawbacks to country life. I knew one landed proprietor of the Government of Vólogda, who, at every convenient opportunity, was wont to repeat the following words: "Thank God, I have no neighbours!"—and I must admit that I could not refrain from envying that lucky mortal.
My little village is situated in one of the most thickly-populated governments of Russia. I am surrounded by a vast multitude of petty neighbours, beginning with the well-intentioned and respected landed proprietors, clad in capacious dress-coats, and more capacious waistcoats,—and ending with arrant roysterers, who wear hussar-jackets with long sleeves and the so-called "fimsky" knot on the back. In the ranks of these nobles, however, I have accidentally discovered one very amiable young fellow. Once upon a time he was in the military service, then he retired, and settled down for good and all in the country. According to his account, he served two years in the B*** regiment; but I positively cannot understand how that man could have discharged any duties whatsoever, not only for the space of two years, but even for the space of two days. He was born "for a peaceful life, for rustic tranquillity," that is to say, for indolent, careless vegetation, which, I may remark in parenthesis, is not devoid of great and inexhaustible charms.