  On the strength of the spirits he had drunk, Cucumber quite ‘unbent,’ as it is called. He began trying to cheer up the brigadier, who was still hurrying forward with a tottering motion as though he were on stilts. ‘Why are you so downcast, sir, and hanging your head? Let me sing you a song. That’ll cheer you up in a minute.’ He turned to me: ‘Our gentleman is very fond of a joke, mercy on us, yes! Yesterday, what did I see?—a peasant-woman washing a pair of breeches on the platform, and a great fat woman she was, and he stood behind her, simply all of a shake with laughter—yes, indeed! ... In a minute, allow me: do you know the song of the hare? You mustn’t judge me by my looks; there’s a gypsy woman living here in the town, a perfect fright, but sings—‘pon my soul! one’s ready to lie down and die.’ He opened wide his moist red lips and began singing, his head on one side, his eyes shut, and his beard quivering: ‘The hare beneath the bush lies still, The hunters vainly scour the hill; The hare lies hid and holds his breath, His ears pricked up, he lies there still Waiting for death. O hunters! what harm have I done, To vex or injure you? Although Among the cabbages I run, One leaf I nibble—only one, And that’s not yours! Oh, no!’ Cucumber went on with ever-increasing energy: ‘Into the forest dark he fled, His tail he let the hunters see; “Excuse me, gentlemen,” says he, “That so I turn my back on you— I am not yours!”’ Cucumber was not singing now ... he was bellowing: ‘The hunters hunted day and night, And still the hare was out of sight. So, talking over his misdeeds, They ended by disputing quite— Alas, the hare is not for us! The squint-eye is too sharp for us!’ The first two lines of each stanza Cucumber sang with each syllable drawn out; the other three, on the contrary, very briskly, and accompanied them with little hops and shuffles of his feet; at the conclusion of each verse he cut a caper, in which he kicked himself with his own heels. As he shouted at the top of his voice: ‘The squint-eye is too sharp for us!’ he turned a somersault.... His expectations were fulfilled. The brigadier suddenly went off into a thin, tearful little chuckle, and laughed so heartily that he could not go on, and stayed still in a half-sitting posture, helplessly slapping his knees with his hands. I looked at his face, flushed crimson, and convulsively working, and felt very sorry for him at that instant especially. Encouraged by his success, Cucumber fell to capering about in a squatting position, singing the refrain of: ‘Shildi-budildi!’ and ‘Natchiki-tchikaldi!’ He stumbled at last with his nose in the dust.... The brigadier suddenly ceased laughing and hobbled on.
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