1886
[Footnote: This is one of the stories from the celebrated1 volume entitled "Tales at a Farmhouse2 near Dikanka."]
(RELATED BY THE SACRISTAN OF THE DIKANKA CHURCH)
Thoma Grigorovitch had a very strange sort of eccentricity3: to the day of his death he never liked to tell the same thing twice. There were times when, if you asked him to relate a thing afresh, behold4, he would interpolate new matter, or alter it so that it was impossible to recognize it. Once on a time, one of those gentlemen (it is hard for us simple people to put a name to them, to say whether they are scribblers or not scribblers: but it is just the same thing as the usurers at our yearly fairs; they clutch and beg and steal every sort of frippery, and issue mean little volumes, no thicker than an ABC book, every month, or even every week),—one of these gentlemen wormed this same story out of Thoma Grigorovitch, and he completely forgot about it. But that same young gentleman in the pea-green caftan, whom I have mentioned, and one of whose Tales you have already read, I think, came from Poltava, bringing with him a little book, and, opening it in the middle, shows it to us. Thoma Grigorovitch was on the point of setting his spectacles astride of his nose, but recollected6 that he had forgotten to wind thread about them, and stick them together with wax, so he passed it over to me. As I understand something about reading and writing, and do not wear spectacles, I undertook to read it. I had not turned two leaves, when all at once he caught me by the hand, and stopped me.
"Stop! tell me first what you are reading."
"What! what am I reading, Thoma Grigorovitch? These were your very words."
"Who told you that they were my words?"
"Why, what more would you have? Here it is printed: RELATED BY SUCH
AND SUCH A SACRISTAN."
"Spit on the head of the man who printed that! he lies, the dog of a
Moscow pedler! Did I say that? 'TWAS JUST THE SAME AS THOUGH ONE
HADN'T HIS WITS ABOUT HIM. Listen. I'll tell it to you on the spot."
We moved up to the table, and he began.
* * * *
My grandfather (the kingdom of heaven be his! may he eat only wheaten rolls and makovniki [FOOTNOTE: Poppy-seeds cooked in honey, and dried in square cakes.] with honey in the other world!) could tell a story wonderfully well. When he used to begin on a tale, you wouldn't stir from the spot all day, but keep on listening. He was no match for the story-teller of the present day, when he begins to lie, with a tongue as though he had had nothing to eat for three days, so that you snatch your cap and flee from the house. As I now recall it,—my old mother was alive then,—in the long winter evenings when the frost was crackling out of doors, and had so sealed up hermetically the narrow panes8 of our cottage, she used to sit before the hackling-comb, drawing out a long thread in her hand, rocking the cradle with her foot, and humming a song, which I seem to hear even now.
The fat-lamp, quivering and flaring9 up as though in fear of something, lighted us within our cottage; the spindle hummed; and all of us children, collected in a cluster, listened to grandfather, who had not crawled off the oven for more than five years, owing to his great age. But the wondrous10 tales of the incursions of the Zaporozhian Cossacks, the Poles, the bold deeds of Podkova, of Poltor-Kozhukh, and Sagaidatchnii, did not interest us so much as the stories about some deed of old which always sent a shiver through our frames, and made our hair rise upright on our heads. Sometimes such terror took possession of us in consequence of them, that, from that evening on, Heaven knows what a marvel11 everything seemed to us. If you chance to go out of the cottage after nightfall for anything, you imagine that a visitor from the other world has lain down to sleep in your bed; and I should not be able to tell this a second time were it not that I had often taken my own smock, at a distance, as it lay at the head of the bed, for the Evil One rolled up in a ball! But the chief thing about grandfather's stories was, that he never had lied in all his life; and whatever he said was so, was so.
I will now relate to you one of his marvellous tales. I know that there are a great many wise people who copy in the courts, and can even read civil documents, who, if you were to put into their hand a simple prayer-book, could not make out the first letter in it, and would show all their teeth in derision—which is wisdom. These people laugh at everything you tell them. Such incredulity has spread abroad in the world! What then? (Why, may God and the Holy Virgin12 cease to love me if it is not possible that even you will not believe me!) Once he said something about witches; . . . What then? Along comes one of these head-breakers,—and doesn't believe in witches! Yes, glory to God that I have lived so long in the world! I have seen heretics, to whom it would be easier to lie in confession13 than it would to our brothers and equals to take snuff, and those people would deny the existence of witches! But let them just dream about something, and they won't even tell what it was! There's no use in talking about them!
* * * *
ST. JOHN'S EVE.
No one could have recognized this village of ours a little over a hundred years ago: a hamlet it was, the poorest kind of a hamlet. Half a score of miserable14 izbas, unplastered, badly thatched, were scattered15 here and there about the fields. There was not an inclosure or decent shed to shelter animals or wagons16. That was the way the wealthy lived; and if you had looked for our brothers, the poor,—why, a hole in the ground,—that was a cabin for you! Only by the smoke could you tell that a God-created man lived there. You ask why they lived so? It was not entirely17 through poverty: almost every one led a wandering, Cossack life, and gathered not a little plunder18 in foreign lands; it was rather because there was no reason for setting up a well-ordered khata (wooden house). How many people were wandering all over the country,—Crimeans, Poles, Lithuanians! It was quite possible that their own countrymen might make a descent, and plunder everything. Anything was possible.
In this hamlet a man, or rather a devil in human form, often made his appearance. Why he came, and whence, no one knew. He prowled about, got drunk, and suddenly disappeared as if into the air, and there was not a hint of his existence. Then, again, behold, he seemed to have dropped from the sky, and went flying about the streets of the village, of which no trace now remains20, and which was not more than a hundred paces from Dikanka. He would collect together all the Cossacks he met; then there were songs, laughter, money in abundance, and vodka flowed like water. . . . He would address the pretty girls, and give them ribbons, earrings21, strings22 of beads23,—more than they knew what to do with. It is true that the pretty girls rather hesitated about accepting his presents: God knows, perhaps they had passed through unclean hands. My grandfather's aunt, who kept a tavern24 at that time, in which Basavriuk (as they called that devil-man) often had his carouses25, said that no consideration on the face of the earth would have induced her to accept a gift from him. And then, again, how avoid accepting? Fear seized on every one when he knit his bristly brows, and gave a sidelong glance which might send your feet, God knows whither; but if you accept, then the next night some fiend from the swamp, with horns on his head, comes to call, and begins to squeeze your neck, when there is a string of beads upon it; or bite your finger, if there is a ring upon it; or drag you by the hair, if ribbons are braided in it. God have mercy, then, on those who owned such gifts! But here was the difficulty: it was impossible to get rid of them; if you threw them into the water, the diabolical26 ring or necklace would skim along the surface, and into your hand.
There was a church in the village,—St. Pantelei, if I remember rightly. There lived there a priest, Father Athanasii of blessed memory. Observing that Basavriuk did not come to church, even on Easter, he determined27 to reprove him, and impose penance28 upon him. Well, he hardly escaped with his life. "Hark ye, pannotche!" [Footnote: Sir] he thundered in reply, "learn to mind your own business instead of meddling29 in other people's, if you don't want that goat's throat of yours stuck together with boiling kutya." [Footnote: A dish of rice or wheat flour, with honey and raisins30, which is brought to the church on the celebration of memorial masses] What was to be done with this unrepentant man? Father Athanasii contented31 himself with announcing that any one who should make the acquaintance of Basavriuk would be counted a Catholic, an enemy of Christ's church, not a member of the human race.
In this village there was a Cossack named Korzh, who had a laborer32 whom people called Peter the Orphan—perhaps because no one remembered either his father or mother. The church starost, it is true, said that they had died of the pest in his second year; but my grandfather's aunt would not hear to that, and tried with all her might to furnish him with parents, although poor Peter needed them about as much as we need last year's snow. She said that his father had been in Zaporozhe, taken prisoner by the Turks, underwent God only knows what tortures, and having, by some miracle, disguised himself as a eunuch, had made his escape. Little cared the black-browed youths and maidens33 about his parents. They merely remarked, that if he only had a new coat, a red sash, a black lambskin cap, with dandified blue crown, on his head, a Turkish sabre hanging by his side, a whip in one hand and a pipe with handsome mountings in the other, he would surpass all the young men. But the pity was, that the only thing poor Peter had was a gray svitka with more holes in it than there are gold-pieces in a Jew's pocket. And that was not the worst of it, but this: that Korzh had a daughter, such a beauty as I think you can hardly have chanced to see. My deceased grandfather's aunt used to say—and you know that it is easier for a woman to kiss the Evil One than to call anybody a beauty, without malice35 be it said—that this Cossack maiden's cheeks were as plump and fresh as the pinkest poppy when just bathed in God's dew, and, glowing, it unfolds its petals36, and coquets with the rising sun; that her brows were like black cords, such as our maidens buy nowadays, for their crosses and ducats, of the Moscow pedlers who visit the villages with their baskets, and evenly arched as though peeping into her clear eyes; that her little mouth, at sight of which the youths smacked37 their lips, seemed made to emit the songs of nightingales; that her hair, black as the raven's wing, and soft as young flax (our maidens did not then plait their hair in clubs interwoven with pretty, bright-hued ribbons) fell in curls over her kuntush. [Footnote: Upper garment in Little Russia.] Eh! may I never intone another alleluia in the choir38, if I would not have kissed her, in spite of the gray which is making its way all through the old wool which covers my pate39, and my old woman beside me, like a thorn in my side! Well, you know what happens when young men and maids live side by side. In the twilight40 the heels of red boots were always visible in the place where Pidorka chatted with her Petrus. But Korzh would never have suspected anything out of the way, only one day—it is evident that none but the Evil One could have inspired him—Petrus took it into his head to kiss the Cossack maiden's rosy41 lips with all his heart in the passage, without first looking well about him; and that same Evil One—may the son of a dog dream of the holy cross!—caused the old graybeard, like a fool, to open the cottage-door at that same moment. Korzh was petrified42, dropped his jaw43, and clutched at the door for support. Those unlucky kisses had completely stunned him. It surprised him more than the blow of a pestle44 on the wall, with which, in our days, the muzhik generally drives out his intoxication45 for lack of fuses and powder.
Recovering himself, he took his grandfather's hunting-whip from the wall, and was about to belabor46 Peter's back with it, when Pidorka's little six-year-old brother Ivas rushed up from somewhere or other, and, grasping his father's legs with his little hands, screamed out, "Daddy, daddy! don't beat Petrus!" What was to be done? A father's heart is not made of stone. Hanging the whip again upon the wall, he led him quietly from the house. "If you ever show yourself in my cottage again, or even under the windows, look out, Petro! by Heaven, your black moustache will disappear; and your black locks, though wound twice about your ears, will take leave of your pate, or my name is not Terentiy Korzh." So saying, he gave him a little taste of his fist in the nape of his neck, so that all grew dark before Petrus, and he flew headlong. So there was an end of their kissing. Sorrow seized upon our doves; and a rumor47 was rife48 in the village, that a certain Pole, all embroidered49 with gold, with moustaches, sabres, spurs, and pockets jingling50 like the bells of the bag with which our sacristan Taras goes through the church every day, had begun to frequent Korzh's house. Now, it is well known why the father is visited when there is a black-browed daughter about. So, one day, Pidorka burst into tears, and clutched the hand of her Ivas. "Ivas, my dear! Ivas, my love! fly to Petrus, my child of gold, like an arrow from a bow. Tell him all: I would have loved his brown eyes, I would have kissed his white face, but my fate decrees not so. More than one towel have I wet with burning tears. I am sad, I am heavy at heart. And my own father is my enemy. I will not marry that Pole, whom I do not love. Tell him they are preparing a wedding, but there will be no music at our wedding: ecclesiastics51 will sing instead of pipes and kobzas. [Footnote: Eight-stringed musical instrument.] I shall not dance with my bridegroom: they will carry me out. Dark, dark will be my dwelling52,—of maple53 wood; and, instead of chimneys, a cross will stand upon the roof."
Petro stood petrified, without moving from the spot, when the innocent child lisped out Pidorka's words to him. "And I, unhappy man, thought to go to the Crimea and Turkey, win gold and return to thee, my beauty! But it may not be. The evil eye has seen us. I will have a wedding, too, dear little fish, I too; but no ecclesiastics will be at that wedding. The black crow will caw, instead of the pope, over me; the smooth field will be my dwelling; the dark blue clouds my roof-tree. The eagle will claw out my brown eyes: the rain will wash the Cossack's bones, and the whirlwinds will dry them. But what am I? Of whom, to whom, am I complaining? 'T is plain, God willed it so. If I am to be lost, then so be it!" and he went straight to the tavern.
My late grandfather's aunt was somewhat surprised on seeing Petrus in the tavern, and at an hour when good men go to morning mass; and she stared at him as though in a dream, when he demanded a jug54 of brandy, about half a pailful. But the poor fellow tried in vain to drown his woe55. The vodka stung his tongue like nettles56, and tasted more bitter than wormwood. He flung the jug from him upon the ground. "You have sorrowed enough, Cossack," growled57 a bass59 voice behind him. He looked round—Basavriuk! Ugh, what a face! His hair was like a brush, his eyes like those of a bull. "I know what you lack: here it is." Then he jingled60 a leather purse which hung from his girdle, and smiled diabolically61. Petro shuddered62. "He, he, he! yes, how it shines!" he roared, shaking out ducats into his hand: "he, he, he! and how it jingles63! And I only ask one thing for a whole pile of such shiners."—"It is the Evil One!" exclaimed Petro: "Give them here! I'm ready for anything!" They struck hands upon it. "See here, Petro, you are ripe just in time: to-morrow is St. John the Baptist's day. Only on this one night in the year does the fern blossom. Delay not. I will await thee at midnight in the Bear's ravine."
I do not believe that chickens await the hour when the woman brings their corn with as much anxiety as Petrus awaited the evening. And, in fact, he looked to see whether the shadows of the trees were not lengthening64, if the sun were not turning red towards setting; and the longer he watched, the more impatient he grew. How long it was! Evidently, God's day had lost its end somewhere. And now the sun is gone. The sky is red only on one side, and it is already growing dark. It grows colder in the fields. It gets dusky and more dusky, and at last quite dark. At last! With heart almost bursting from his bosom65, he set out on his way, and cautiously descended66 through the dense67 woods into the deep hollow called the Bear's ravine. Basavriuk was already waiting there. It was so dark, that you could not see a yard before you. Hand in hand they penetrated68 the thin marsh69, clinging to the luxuriant thorn bushes, and stumbling at almost every step. At last they reached an open spot. Petro looked about him: he had never chanced to come there before. Here Basavriuk halted.
"Do you see, before you stand three hillocks? There are a great many sorts of flowers upon them. But may some power keep you from plucking even one of them. But as soon as the fern blossoms, seize it, and look not round, no matter what may seem to be going on behind thee."
Petro wanted to ask—and behold he was no longer there. He approached the three hillocks—where were the flowers? He saw nothing. The wild steppe-grass darkled around, and stifled70 everything in its luxuriance. But the lightning flashed; and before him stood a whole bed of flowers, all wonderful, all strange: and there were also the simple fronds71 of fern. Petro doubted his senses, and stood thoughtfully before them, with both hands upon his sides.
"What prodigy72 is this? one can see these weeds ten times in a day: what marvel is there about them? was not devil's-face laughing at me?"
Behold! the tiny flower-bud crimsons73, and moves as though alive. It is a marvel, in truth. It moves, and grows larger and larger, and flushes like a burning coal. The tiny star flashes up, something bursts softly, and the flower opens before his eyes like a flame, lighting74 the others about it. "Now is the time," thought Petro, and extended his hand. He sees hundreds of shaggy hands reach from behind him, also for the flower; and there is a running about from place to place, in the rear. He half shut his eyes, plucked sharply at the stalk, and the flower remained in his hand. All became still. Upon a stump75 sat Basavriuk, all blue like a corpse76. He moved not so much as a finger. His eyes were immovably fixed77 on something visible to him alone: his mouth was half open and speechless. All about, nothing stirred. Ugh! it was horrible!—But then a whistle was heard, which made Petro's heart grow cold within him; and it seemed to him that the grass whispered, and the flowers began to talk among themselves in delicate voices, like little silver bells; the trees rustled78 in waving contention;—Basavriuk's face suddenly became full of life, and his eyes sparkled. "The witch has just returned," he muttered between his teeth. "See here, Petro: a beauty will stand before you in a moment; do whatever she commands; if not—you are lost for ever." Then he parted the thorn-bush with a knotty79 stick, and before him stood a tiny izba, on chicken's legs, as they say. Basavriuk smote80 it with his fist, and the wall trembled. A large black dog ran out to meet them, and with a whine81, transforming itself into a cat, flew straight at his eyes. "Don't be angry, don't be angry, you old Satan!" said Basavriuk, employing such words as would have made a good man stop his ears. Behold, instead of a cat, an old woman with a face wrinkled like a baked apple, and all bent82 into a bow: her nose and chin were like a pair of nut-crackers. "A stunning83 beauty!" thought Petro; and cold chills ran down his back. The witch tore the flower from his hand, bent over, and muttered over it for a long time, sprinkling it with some kind of water. Sparks flew from her mouth, froth appeared on her lips.
"Throw it away," she said, giving it back to Petro.
Petro threw it, and what wonder was this? the flower did not fall straight to the earth, but for a long while twinkled like a fiery84 ball through the darkness, and swam through the air like a boat: at last it began to sink lower and lower, and fell so far away, that the little star, hardly larger than a poppy-seed, was barely visible. "Here!" croaked85 the old woman, in a dull voice: and Basavriuk, giving him a spade, said: "Dig here, Petro: here you will see more gold than you or Korzh ever dreamed of."
Petro spat86 on his hands, seized the spade, applied87 his foot, and turned up the earth, a second, a third, a fourth time. . . . There was something hard: the spade clinked, and would go no farther. Then his eyes began to distinguish a small, iron-bound coffer. He tried to seize it; but the chest began to sink into the earth, deeper, farther, and deeper still: and behind him he heard a laugh, more like a serpent's hiss88. "No, you shall not see the gold until you procure89 human blood," said the witch, and led up to him a child of six, covered with a white sheet, indicating by a sign that he was to cut off his head. Petro was stunned. A trifle, indeed, to cut off a man's, or even an innocent child's, head for no reason whatever! In wrath90 he tore off the sheet enveloping91 his head, and behold! before him stood Ivas. And the poor child crossed his little hands, and hung his head. . . . Petro flew upon the witch with the knife like a madman, and was on the point of laying hands on her. . . .
"What did you promise for the girl?" . . . thundered Basavriuk; and like a shot he was on his back. The witch stamped her foot: a blue flame flashed from the earth; it illumined it all inside, and it was as if moulded of crystal; and all that was within the earth became visible, as if in the palm of the hand. Ducats, precious stones in chests and kettles, were piled in heaps beneath the very spot they stood on. His eyes burned, . . . his mind grew troubled. . . . He grasped the knife like a madman, and the innocent blood spurted92 into his eyes. Diabolical laughter resounded93 on all sides. Misshaped monsters flew past him in herds94. The witch, fastening her hands in the headless trunk, like a wolf drank its blood. . . . All went round in his head. Collecting all his strength, he set out to run. Everything turned red before him. The trees seemed steeped in blood, and burned and groaned95. The sky glowed and glowered96. . . . Burning points, like lightning, flickered97 before his eyes. Utterly98 exhausted99, he rushed into his miserable hovel, and fell to the ground like a log. A death-like sleep overpowered him.
Two days and two nights did Petro sleep, without once awakening100. When he came to himself, on the third day, he looked long at all the corners of his hut; but in vain did he endeavor to recollect5; his memory was like a miser's pocket, from which you cannot entice101 a quarter of a kopek. Stretching himself, he heard something clash at his feet. He looked, . . . two bags of gold. Then only, as if in a dream, he recollected that he had been seeking some treasure, that something had frightened him in the woods. . . . But at what price he had obtained it, and how, he could by no means understand.
Korzh saw the sacks,—and was mollified. "Such a Petrus, quite unheard of! yes, and did I not love him? Was he not to me as my own son?" And the old fellow carried on his fiction until it reduced him to tears. Pidorka began to tell him how some passing gypsies had stolen Ivas; but Petro could not even recall him—to such a degree had the Devil's influence darkened his mind! There was no reason for delay. The Pole was dismissed, and the wedding-feast prepared; rolls were baked, towels and handkerchiefs embroidered; the young people were seated at table; the wedding-loaf was cut; banduras, cymbals102, pipes, kobzi, sounded, and pleasure was rife . . .
A wedding in the olden times was not like one of the present day. My grandfather's aunt used to tell—what doings!—how the maidens—in festive103 head-dresses of yellow, blue, and pink ribbons, above which they bound gold braid; in thin chemisettes embroidered on all the seams with red silk, and strewn with tiny silver flowers; in morocco shoes, with high iron heels—danced the gorlitza as swimmingly as peacocks, and as wildly as the whirlwind; how the youths—with their ship-shaped caps upon their heads, the crowns of gold brocade, with a little slit104 at the nape where the hair-net peeped through, and two horns projecting, one in front and another behind, of the very finest black lambskin; in kuntushas of the finest blue silk with red borders—stepped forward one by one, their arms akimbo in stately form, and executed the gopak; how the lads—in tall Cossack caps, and light cloth svitkas, girt with silver embroidered belts, their short pipes in their teeth—skipped before them, and talked nonsense. Even Korzh could not contain himself, as he gazed at the young people, from getting gay in his old age. Bandura in hand, alternately puffing105 at his pipe and singing, a brandy-glass upon his head, the gray-beard began the national dance amid loud shouts from the merry-makers. What will not people devise in merry mood! They even began to disguise their faces. They did not look like human beings. They are not to be compared with the disguises which we have at our weddings nowadays. What do they do now? Why, imitate gypsies and Moscow pedlers. No! then one used to dress himself as a Jew, another as the Devil: they would begin by kissing each other, and ended by seizing each other by the hair. . . . God be with them! you laughed till you held your sides. They dressed themselves in Turkish and Tartar garments. All upon them glowed like a conflagration106, . . . and then they began to joke and play pranks107. . . . Well, then away with the saints! An amusing thing happened to my grandfather's aunt, who was at this wedding. She was dressed in a voluminous Tartar robe, and, wine-glass in hand, was entertaining the company. The Evil One instigated108 one man to pour vodka over her from behind. Another, at the same moment, evidently not by accident, struck a light, and touched it to her; . . . the flame flashed up; poor aunt, in terror, flung her robe from her, before them all. . . . Screams, laughter, jest, arose, as if at a fair. In a word, the old folks could not recall so merry a wedding.
Pidorka and Petrus began to live like a gentleman and lady. There was plenty of everything, and everything was handsome. . . . But honest people shook their heads when they looked at their way of living. "From the Devil no good can come," they unanimously agreed. "Whence, except from the tempter of orthodox people, came this wealth? Where else could he get such a lot of gold? Why, on the very day that he got rich, did Basavriuk vanish as if into thin air?" Say, if you can, that people imagine things! In fact, a month had not passed, and no one would have recognized Petrus. Why, what had happened to him? God knows. He sits in one spot, and says no word to any one: he thinks continually, and seems to be trying to recall something. When Pidorka succeeds in getting him to speak, he seems to forget himself, carries on a conversation, and even grows cheerful; but if he inadvertently glances at the sacks, "Stop, stop! I have forgotten," he cries, and again plunges109 into reverie, and again strives to recall something. Sometimes when he has sat long in a place, it seems to him as though it were coming, just coming back to mind, . . . and again all fades away. It seems as if he is sitting in the tavern: they bring him vodka; vodka stings him; vodka is repulsive110 to him. Some one comes along, and strikes him on the shoulder; . . . but beyond that everything is veiled in darkness before him. The perspiration111 streams down his face, and he sits exhausted in the same place.
What did not Pidorka do? She consulted the sorceress; and they poured out fear, and brewed112 stomach ache,[Footnote: "To pour out fear," is done with us in case of fear; when it is desired to know what caused it, melted lead or wax is poured into water, and the object whose form it assumes is the one which frightened the sick person; after this, the fear departs. Sonyashnitza is brewed for giddiness, and pain in the bowels113. To this end, a bit of stump is burned, thrown into a jug, and turned upside down into a bowl filled with water, which is placed on the patient's stomach: after an incantation, he is given a spoonful of this water to drink.]—but all to no avail. And so the summer passed. Many a Cossack had mowed114 and reaped: many a Cossack, more enterprising than the rest, had set off upon an expedition. Flocks of ducks were already crowding our marshes115, but there was not even a hint of improvement.
It was red upon the steppes. Ricks of grain, like Cossacks' caps, dotted the fields here and there. On the highway were to be encountered wagons loaded with brushwood and logs. The ground had become more solid, and in places was touched with frost. Already had the snow begun to besprinkle the sky, and the branches of the trees were covered with rime19 like rabbit-skin. Already on frosty days the red-breasted finch116 hopped117 about on the snow-heaps like a foppish118 Polish nobleman, and picked out grains of corn; and children, with huge sticks, chased wooden tops upon the ice; while their fathers lay quietly on the stove, issuing forth119 at intervals120 with lighted pipes in their lips, to growl58, in regular fashion, at the orthodox frost, or to take the air, and thresh the grain spread out in the barn. At last the snow began to melt, and the ice rind slipped away: but Petro remained the same; and, the longer it went on, the more morose121 he grew. He sat in the middle of the cottage as though nailed to the spot, with the sacks of gold at his feet. He grew shy, his hair grew long, he became terrible; and still he thought of but one thing, still he tried to recall something, and got angry and ill-tempered because he could not recall it. Often, rising wildly from his seat, he gesticulates violently, fixes his eyes on something as though desirous of catching122 it: his lips move as though desirous of uttering some long-forgotten word—and remain speechless. Fury takes possession of him: he gnaws123 and bites his hands like a man half crazy, and in his vexation tears out his hair by the handful, until, calming down, he falls into forgetfulness, as it were, and again begins to recall, and is again seized with fury and fresh tortures. . . . What visitation of God is this?
Pidorka was neither dead nor alive. At first it was horrible to her to remain alone in the cottage; but, in course of time, the poor woman grew accustomed to her sorrow. But it was impossible to recognize the Pidorka of former days. No blush, no smile: she was thin and worn with grief, and had wept her bright eyes away. Once, some one who evidently took pity on her advised her to go to the witch who dwelt in the Bear's ravine, and enjoyed the reputation of being able to cure every disease in the world. She determined to try this last remedy: word by word she persuaded the old woman to come to her. This was St. John's Eve, as it chanced. Petro lay insensible on the bench, and did not observe the new-comer. Little by little he rose, and looked about him. Suddenly he trembled in every limb, as though he were on the scaffold: his hair rose upon his head, . . . and he laughed such a laugh as pierced Pidorka's heart with fear. "I have remembered, remembered!" he cried in terrible joy; and, swinging a hatchet124 round his head, he flung it at the old woman with all his might. The hatchet penetrated the oaken door two vershok (three inches and a half). The old woman disappeared; and a child of seven in a white blouse, with covered head, stood in the middle of the cottage. . . . The sheet flew off. "Ivas!" cried Pidorka, and ran to him; but the apparition125 became covered from head to foot with blood, and illumined the whole room with red light. . . . She ran into the passage in her terror, but, on recovering herself a little, wished to help him; in vain! the door had slammed to behind her so securely that she could not open it. People ran up, and began to knock: they broke in the door, as though there was but one mind among them. The whole cottage was full of smoke; and just in the middle, where Petrus had stood, was a heap of ashes, from which smoke was still rising. They flung themselves upon the sacks: only broken potsherds lay there instead of ducats. The Cossacks stood with staring eyes and open mouths, not daring to move a hair, as if rooted to the earth, such terror did this wonder inspire in them.
I do not remember what happened next. Pidorka took a vow126 to go upon a pilgrimage, collected the property left her by her father, and in a few days it was as if she had never been in the village. Whither she had gone, no one could tell. Officious old women would have despatched her to the same place whither Petro had gone; but a Cossack from Kief reported that he had seen in a cloister127, a nun128 withered129 to a mere34 skeleton, who prayed unceasingly; and her fellow villagers recognized her as Pidorka, by all the signs,—that no one had ever heard her utter a word; that she had come on foot, and had brought a frame for the ikon of God's mother, set with such brilliant stones that all were dazzled at the sight.
But this was not the end, if you please. On the same day that the Evil One made way with Petrus, Basavriuk appeared again; but all fled from him. They knew what sort of a bird he was,—none else than Satan, who had assumed human form in order to unearth130 treasures; and, since treasures do not yield to unclean hands, he seduced131 the young. That same year, all deserted132 their earth huts, and collected in a village; but, even there, there was no peace, on account of that accursed Basavriuk. My late grandfather's aunt said that he was particularly angry with her, because she had abandoned her former tavern, and tried with all his might to revenge himself upon her. Once the village elders were assembled in the tavern, and, as the saying goes, were arranging the precedence at the table, in the middle of which was placed a small roasted lamb, shame to say. They chattered133 about this, that, and the other,—among the rest about various marvels134 and strange things. Well, they saw something; it would have been nothing if only one had seen it, but all saw it; and it was this: the sheep raised his head; his goggling135 eyes became alive and sparkled; and the black, bristling136 moustache, which appeared for one instant, made a significant gesture at those present. All, at once, recognized Basavriuk's countenance137 in the sheep's head: my grandfather's aunt thought it was on the point of asking for vodka. . . . The worthy138 elders seized their hats, and hastened home.
Another time, the church starost [Footnote: Elder] himself, who was fond of an occasional private interview with my grandfather's brandy-glass, had not succeeded in getting to the bottom twice, when he beheld139 the glass bowing very low to him. "Satan take you, let us make the sign of the cross over you!" . . . And the same marvel happened to his better-half. She had just begun to mix the dough140 in a huge kneading-trough, when suddenly the trough sprang up. "Stop, stop! where are you going?" Putting its arms akimbo, with dignity, it went skipping all about the cottage. . . . You may laugh, but it was no laughing-matter to our grandfathers. And in vain did Father Athanasii go through all the village with holy water, and chase the Devil through all the streets with his brush; and my late grandfather's aunt long complained that, as soon as it was dark, some one came knocking at her door, and scratching at the wall.
Well! All appears to be quiet now, in the place where our village stands; but it was not so very long ago—my father was still alive—that I remember how a good man could not pass the ruined tavern, which a dishonest race had long managed for their own interest. From the smoke-blackened chimneys, smoke poured out in a pillar, and rising high in the air, as if to take an observation, rolled off like a cap, scattering141 burning coals over the steppe; and Satan (the son of a dog should not be mentioned) sobbed142 so pitifully in his lair143, that the startled ravens144 rose in flocks from the neighboring oak-wood, and flew through the air with wild cries.
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1
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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eccentricity
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| n.古怪，反常，怪癖 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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6
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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7
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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8
panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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10
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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11
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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12
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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13
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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14
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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15
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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16
wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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17
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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18
plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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19
rime
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| n.白霜；v.使蒙霜 | |
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20
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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21
earrings
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| n.耳环( earring的名词复数 )；耳坠子 | |
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22
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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23
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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24
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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carouses
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| v.痛饮，闹饮欢宴( carouse的第三人称单数 ) | |
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diabolical
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| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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27
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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28
penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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29
meddling
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| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的现在分词 ) | |
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30
raisins
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| n.葡萄干( raisin的名词复数 ) | |
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31
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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32
laborer
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| n.劳动者，劳工 | |
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33
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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34
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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35
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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36
petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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37
smacked
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| 拍，打，掴( smack的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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38
choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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39
pate
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| n.头顶；光顶 | |
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40
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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41
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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42
petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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43
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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44
pestle
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| n.杵 | |
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45
intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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46
belabor
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| vt.痛斥；作过长说明 | |
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47
rumor
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| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
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48
rife
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| adj.(指坏事情)充斥的，流行的，普遍的 | |
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49
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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50
jingling
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| 叮当声 | |
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51
ecclesiastics
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| n.神职者，教会，牧师( ecclesiastic的名词复数 ) | |
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52
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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53
maple
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| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
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54
jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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55
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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56
nettles
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| n.荨麻( nettle的名词复数 ) | |
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57
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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58
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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59
bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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60
jingled
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| 喝醉的 | |
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61
diabolically
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62
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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63
jingles
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| 叮当声( jingle的名词复数 )； 节拍十分规则的简单诗歌 | |
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64
lengthening
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的现在分词 )； 加长 | |
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65
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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66
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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67
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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68
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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69
marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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70
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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71
fronds
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| n.蕨类或棕榈类植物的叶子( frond的名词复数 ) | |
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72
prodigy
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| n.惊人的事物，奇迹，神童，天才，预兆 | |
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73
crimsons
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| 变为深红色（crimson的第三人称单数形式） | |
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74
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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75
stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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76
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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77
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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78
rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
knotty
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| adj.有结的，多节的，多瘤的，棘手的 | |
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80
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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81
whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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82
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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83
stunning
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| adj.极好的；使人晕倒的 | |
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84
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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85
croaked
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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86
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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87
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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88
hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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89
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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90
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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91
enveloping
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的现在分词 ) | |
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92
spurted
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| （液体，火焰等）喷出，（使）涌出( spurt的过去式和过去分词 )； （短暂地）加速前进，冲刺 | |
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93
resounded
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| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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94
herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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glowered
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| v.怒视( glower的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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entice
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| v.诱骗，引诱，怂恿 | |
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102
cymbals
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| pl.铙钹 | |
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103
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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104
slit
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| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
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puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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106
conflagration
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| n.建筑物或森林大火 | |
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107
pranks
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| n.玩笑，恶作剧( prank的名词复数 ) | |
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108
instigated
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| v.使（某事物）开始或发生，鼓动( instigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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plunges
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| n.跳进，投入vt.使投入，使插入，使陷入vi.投入，跳进，陷入v.颠簸( plunge的第三人称单数 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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brewed
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| 调制( brew的过去式和过去分词 )； 酝酿； 沏（茶）； 煮（咖啡） | |
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bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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114
mowed
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| v.刈，割( mow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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marshes
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| n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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finch
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| n.雀科鸣禽(如燕雀，金丝雀等) | |
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117
hopped
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| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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foppish
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| adj.矫饰的，浮华的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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morose
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| adj.脾气坏的，不高兴的 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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123
gnaws
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| 咬( gnaw的第三人称单数 )； （长时间） 折磨某人； （使）苦恼； （长时间）危害某事物 | |
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hatchet
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| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
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apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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cloister
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| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
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nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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129
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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unearth
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| v.发掘，掘出，从洞中赶出 | |
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seduced
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| 诱奸( seduce的过去式和过去分词 )； 勾引； 诱使堕落； 使入迷 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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marvels
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| n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 )；令人惊奇的事物（或事例）；不平凡的成果；成就v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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goggling
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| v.睁大眼睛瞪视， （惊讶的）转动眼珠( goggle的现在分词 ) | |
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bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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137
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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138
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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139
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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140
dough
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| n.生面团；钱，现款 | |
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141
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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142
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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143
lair
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| n.野兽的巢穴；躲藏处 | |
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ravens
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| n.低质煤；渡鸦( raven的名词复数 ) | |
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