Мертвые души
Chapter 4
Headvancestothegreatencounter,andimpulsivelycries,“Forward,mysons!”—criesitwithoutreflectingthathemaybespoilingtheplanofthegeneralattack,thatmillionsofriflesmaybeprotrudingtheirmuzzlesthroughtheembrasuresoftheimpregnable,toweringwallsofthefortress,thathisownimpotentassaultmaybedestinedtobedissipatedlikedustbeforethewind,andthatalreadytheremayhavebeenlaunchedonitswhistlingcareerthebulletwhichistocloseforeverhisvociferousthroat.However,ifNozdrevresembledtheheadstrong,desperatelieutenantwhomwehavejustpicturedasadvancinguponafortress,atleastthefortressitselfinnowayresembledtheimpregnablestrongholdwhichIhavedescribed.Asamatteroffact,thefortressbecameseizedwithapanicwhichdroveitsspiritintoitsboots.Firstofall,thechairwithwhichChichikov(thefortressinquestion)soughttodefendhimselfwaswrestedfromhisgraspbytheserfs,andthen—blinkingandneitheralivenordead—heturnedtoparrytheCircassianpipe-stemofhishost.Infact,GodonlyknowswhatwouldhavehappenedhadnotthefatesbeenpleasedbyamiracletodeliverChichikov’selegantbackandshouldersfromtheonslaught.Suddenly,andasunexpectedlyasthoughthesoundhadcomefromtheclouds,theremadeitselfheardthetinklingnotesofacollar-bell,andthentherumbleofwheelsapproachingtheentrancesteps,and,lastly,thesnortingandhardbreathingofateamofhorsesasavehiclecametoastandstill
