That year spring came early. It was violent and, as always in
Polyessie, unexpected. Brown, shining, turbulent streams began to run
down the village streets, foaming angrily round the stones, whirling
splinters and feathers along with it. In the huge pools of water was
reflected the azure sky, with the round, spinning white clouds that
swam in it. Heavy drops pattered noisily from the eaves. Flights of
sparrows covered the roadside willows, and chattered with such noisy
excitement that nothing could be heard above the clamour. Everywhere
was felt the joyous, quick alarm of life.
The snow disappeared. Dirty yellow patches remained here and there in
the hollows and the shady thickets. From beneath it peeped the warm
wet soil, full of new sap after its winter sleep, full of thirst for a
new maternity. Over the black fields swung a light vapour, filling the
air with the scent of the thawed earth, with the fresh, penetrating,
mighty smell of the spring, which one can distinguish even in the town
from a hundred other smells. Together with this scent I felt that the
sweet and tender sadness of spring poured into my soul, exuberant with
restless expectations and vague presentiments, that romantic sadness
which makes all women beautiful in one’s eyes, and is always tinged
with indefinite regrets for the springs of the past. The nights grew
warmer. In their thick moist darkness pulsed the unseen and urgent
creation of Nature.
In those spring days the image of Olyessia never left me. Alone, I
loved to lie down and close my eyes that I might better concentrate
upon her. Continually in my imagination I summoned her up, now stern,
now cunning, now with a tender smile resplendent in her face, her young
body nurtured on the richness of the old forest to be as harmonious and
mighty as a young fir-tree, her fresh voice with its sudden low velvety
notes.... ‘In all her movements, and her words,’ I thought, ‘there is
a nobility, some native grace of modulation.’ I was drawn to Olyessia
also by the halo of mystery which surrounded her, her superstitious
reputation as a witch, her life in the forest thicket amid the marsh,
and above all her proud confidence in her own powers, that had shown
through the few words she said to me.
Surely there is nothing strange in it that, so soon as the forest paths
were dry, I set out for the hut with the chicken legs. In case it
should be necessary to placate the querulous old woman I bore with me a
half-pound of tea and a few handfuls of sugar.
I found them both at home. The old woman was moving about by the bright
burning stove, and Olyessia was sitting on a very tall bench spinning
flax. I banged the door as I entered, and she turned round. The thread
snapped and the spindle rolled on to the floor.
For some time the old woman stared at me with angry intentness,
frowning, and screening her face from the heat of the stove with her
hand.
‘How do you do, granny?’ I said in a loud, hearty voice. ‘It must be
you don’t recognise me. You remember I came in here last month to ask
my way? You told me my fortune too.’
‘I don’t remember anything, sir,’ the old woman began to mumble,
shaking her head with annoyance. ‘I remember nothing. I can’t make out
at all what you’ve forgotten here. We are no company for you. We’re
simple, plain folk.... There’s nothing for you here. The forest is
wide, there’s room enough to wander....’
Taken aback by the hostile reception, and utterly nonplussed, I found
myself in the foolish situation of not knowing what to do: whether to
turn the rudeness to a joke, or to take offence, or finally to turn and
go back without a word. Involuntarily I turned to Olyessia with a look
of helplessness. She gave me the faintest trace of a smile of derision,
that was not wholly malicious, rose from the spinning-wheel and went to
the old woman.
‘Don’t be afraid, granny,’ she said reassuringly. ‘He’s not a bad man.
He won’t do us any harm. Please sit down,’ she added, pointing me to a
bench in the corner of honour, and paying no more attention to the old
woman’s grumbling.
Encouraged by her attention, I suddenly decided to adopt the most
decisive measures.
‘But you do get angry, granny.... No sooner does a guest appear in your
doorway than you begin to abuse him. And I had brought you a present,’
I said, taking the parcels out of my bag.
The old woman threw a swift glance at the parcels; but instantly turned
her back upon me.
Immediately, I handed her the tea and sugar. This soothed the old woman
somewhat, for though she continued to grumble, it was no longer in the
old implacable tone. Olyessia sat down to her yarn again, and I placed
myself near to her, on a small, low, rickety stool. With her left hand
Olyessia was swiftly twisting a white thread of flax, silky soft, and
in her right the spindle whirled with an easy humming. Now she would
let it fall almost to the floor; then she would catch it neatly, and
with a quick movement of her fingers send it spinning round again.
In her hands this work (which at the first glance appears so simple,
but in truth demands the habit and dexterity of centuries), went like
lightning. I could not help turning my eyes to those hands. They were
coarsened and blackened by the work, but they were small and of shape
so beautiful that many a princess would have envied them.
‘You never told me that granny had told your fortune,’ said Olyessia,
and, seeing that I gave a cautious glance behind me, she added: ‘It’s
quite all right, she’s rather deaf. She won’t hear. It’s only my voice
she understands well.’
‘Yes, she did. Why?’
‘I just asked ... nothing more.... And do you believe in it?’ She gave
a quick, stealthy glance.
‘Believe what? The fortune your granny told me, or generally?’
‘I mean generally.’
‘I don’t quite know. It would be truer to say, I don’t believe in it,
but still who knows? They say there are cases.... They write about it
in clever books even. But I don’t believe what your granny told me at
all. Any village woman could tell me as much.’
Olyessia smiled.
‘Yes, nowadays she tells fortunes badly, it’s true. She’s old, and
besides she’s very much afraid. But what did the cards say?’
‘Nothing interesting. I can’t even remember it now. The usual kind
of thing: a distant journey, something with clubs.... I’ve quite
forgotten.’
‘Yes, she’s a bad fortune-teller now. She’s grown so old that she has
forgotten a great many words.... How could she? And she’s scared as
well. It’s only the sight of money makes her consent to tell.’
‘What’s she scared of?’
‘The authorities, of course.... The village policeman comes, and
threatens her every time. “I can have you put away at any minute,”
he says. “You know what people like you get for witchcraft? Penal
servitude for life on Hawk Island.” Tell me what you think. Is it true?’
‘It’s not altogether a lie. There is some punishment for doing it, but
not so bad as all that.... And you, Olyessia, can you tell fortunes?’
It was as though she were perplexed, but only for a second.
‘I can.... But not for money,’ she added hastily.
‘You might put out the cards for me?’
‘No,’ she answered with quiet resolution, shaking her head.
‘Why won’t you? Very well, some other time.... Somehow I believe you
will tell me the truth.’
‘No. I will not. I won’t do it for anything.’
‘Oh, that’s not right, Olyessia. For first acquaintance’ sake you can’t
refuse.... Why don’t you want to?’
‘Because I’ve put out the cards for you already. It’s wrong to do it
twice.’
‘Wrong? But why? I don’t understand it.’
‘No, no, it’s wrong, wrong,’ she began to whisper with superstitious
dread. ‘It’s forbidden to ask twice of Fate. It’s not right. Fate will
discover, overhear.... She does not like to be asked. That’s why all
fortune-tellers are unhappy.’
I wanted to make a jesting reply to Olyessia; but I could not. There
was too much sincere conviction in her words; and when she turned her
head to the door in a strange fear as she uttered the word Fate, in
spite of myself I turned with her.
‘Well, if you won’t want to tell me my fortune now, tell me what the
cards have told you already,’ I begged.
Olyessia suddenly gave a turn to the spinning-wheel, and with her hand
touched mine.
‘No!... better not,’ she said. A childlike, imploring look came into
her eyes. ‘Please, don’t ask me.... There was nothing good in it....
Better not ask.’
But I insisted. I could not understand whether her refusal and her dark
allusions to Fate were the deliberate trick of a fortune-teller, or
whether she herself really believed what she said. But I became rather
uneasy; what was almost a dread took hold of me.
‘Well, I’ll tell you, perhaps,’ Olyessia finally consented. ‘But
listen; a bargain’s better than money; don’t be angry if you don’t like
what I say. The cards said that though you are a good man, you are
only a weak one.... Your goodness is not sound, nor quite sincere. You
are not master of your word. You love to have the whip-hand of people,
and yet, though you yourself do not want to, you submit to them. You
are fond of wine and---- Well, if I’ve got to say, I’ll say everything
right to the last.... You are very fond of women, and because of that
you will have much evil in your life.... You do not value money and you
cannot save. You will never be rich.... Shall I go on?’
‘Go on, go on, say everything you know!’
‘The cards said too that your life will not be a happy one. You will
never love with your heart, because your heart is cold and dull, and
you will cause great sorrow to those who love you. You will never
marry; you will die a bachelor. There will be no great joys in your
life, but much weariness and depression.... There will come a time
when you will want to put an end to your life.... That will come to
you, but you will not dare, you will go on enduring. You will suffer
great poverty, but towards the end your fate will be changed through
the death of some one near you, quite unexpected. But all this will be
in years to come; but this year ... I don’t know exactly when ... the
cards say very soon ... maybe this very month----’
‘What will happen this year?’ I asked when she stopped again.
‘I’m afraid to tell you any more.... A great love will come to you
through the queen of clubs. Only I can’t see whether she is married or
a girl, but I know that she has dark hair....’
Involuntarily I gave a swift glance to Olyessia’s head.
‘Why are you looking at me?’ she blushed suddenly, feeling my glance,
with the sensitiveness peculiar to some women. ‘Well, yes, something
like mine,’ she continued, mechanically arranging her hair, and
blushing still more.
‘So you say, a great love from clubs?’ I laughed.
‘Don’t laugh. It’s no use laughing,’ Olyessia said seriously, almost
sternly. ‘I’m only telling you the truth.’
‘Well, I won’t laugh any more, I promise. What is there more?’
‘More.... Oh! Evil will come upon the queen of clubs, worse than death.
She will suffer a great disgrace through you, one that she will never
be able to forget; she will have an everlasting sorrow.... In her
planet no harm comes to you.’
‘Tell me, Olyessia. Couldn’t the cards deceive you? Why should I do so
many unpleasant things to the queen of clubs? I am a quiet unassuming
fellow, yet you’ve said so many awful things about me.’
‘I don’t know that.... The cards showed that it’s not you will do it--I
mean, not on purpose--but all this misfortune will come through you....
You’ll remember my words, when they come true.’
‘The cards told you all this, Olyessia?’
She did not answer at once, and then as though evasive and reluctant:
‘The cards as well.... But even without them I learn a great deal, just
by the face alone. If, for instance, some one is going to die soon by
an ugly death, I can read it immediately in his face. I need not speak
to him, even.’
‘What do you see in his face?’
‘I don’t know myself. I suddenly feel afraid, as though he were a
dead man standing before me. Just ask granny, she will tell you that
it’s the truth I’m saying. The year before last, Trophim the miller
hung himself in his mill. Only two days before I saw him and said to
granny: “Just look, granny, Trophim will die an ugly death soon.” And
so it was. Again, last Christmas Yashka the horse thief came to us and
asked granny to tell his fortune. Granny put out the cards for him and
began. He asked, joking: “Tell me what sort of death will I have?” and
he laughed. The moment I glanced at him, I could not move. I saw Yashka
sitting there, but his face was dead, green.... His eyes were shut, his
lips black.... A week afterwards we heard that the peasants had caught
Yashka just as he was trying to take some horses off.... They beat him
all night long.... They are bad people here, merciless.... They drove
nails into his heels, smashed his ribs with stakes, and he gave up the
ghost about dawn.’
‘Why didn’t you tell him that misfortune was waiting for him?’
‘Why should I tell?’ Olyessia replied. ‘Can a man escape what Fate has
doomed? It is useless for a man to be anxious the last days of his
life.... And I loathe myself for seeing these things. I am disgusted
with my own self.... But what can I do? It is mine by Fate. When granny
was younger she could see Death, too; so could my mother and granny’s
mother--we are not responsible. It is in our blood....’
She left off her spinning, bent her head and quietly placed her hands
upon her knees. In her arrested, immobile eyes and her wide pupils was
reflected some dark terror, an involuntary submission to mysterious
powers and supernatural knowledge which cast a shadow upon her soul.
V
Then the old woman spread a clean cloth with embroidered ends on the
table, and placed a steaming pot upon it.
‘Come to supper, Olyessia,’ she called to her granddaughter, and after
a moment’s hesitation added, turning to me: ‘Perhaps you will eat
with us too, sir? Our food is very plain; we have no soup, only plain
groats....’
I cannot say there was any particular insistence in her invitation, and
I was already minded to refuse had not Olyessia in her turn invited
me with such simplicity and a smile so kind, that in spite of myself
I agreed. She herself poured me out a plateful of groats, a porridge
of buckwheat and fat, onion, potato and chicken, an amazingly tasty
and nourishing dish. Neither grandmother nor granddaughter crossed
themselves as they sat down to table. During supper I continually
watched both women, because up till now I have retained a deep
conviction that a person is nowhere revealed so clearly as when he
eats. The old woman swallowed the porridge with hasty greed, chewing
aloud and pushing large pieces of bread into her mouth, so that big
lumps rose and moved beneath her flabby cheeks. In Olyessia’s manner of
eating even there was a native grace.
An hour later, after supper, I took my leave of my hostesses of the
chicken-legged hut.
‘I will walk with you a little way, if you like,’ Olyessia offered.
‘What’s this walking out you’re after?’ the old woman mumbled angrily.
‘You can’t stay in your place, you gad-fly....’
But Olyessia had already put a red cashmere shawl on. Suddenly she ran
up to her grandmother, embraced her and gave her a loud kiss.
‘Dear little precious granny.... It’s only a moment. I’ll be back in a
second.’
‘Very well, then, madcap.’ The old woman feebly wrenched herself away.
‘Don’t misunderstand her, sir; she’s very stupid.’
Passing a narrow path we came out into the forest road, black with
mud, all churned with hoof marks and rutted with wheel tracks, full
of water, in which the fire of the evening star was reflected. We
walked at the side of the road, covered everywhere with the brown
leaves of last year, not yet dry after the snow. Here and there through
the dead yellow big wakening blue-bells--the earliest flowers in
Polyessie--lifted their lilac heads.
‘Listen, Olyessia,’ I began; ‘I very much want to ask you something,
but I am afraid you will be cross.... Tell me, is it true what they say
about your grandmother?... How shall I express it?’
‘She’s a witch?’ Olyessia quietly helped me out.
‘No.... Not a witch,’ I caught her up. ‘Well, yes, a witch if you
like.... Certainly, people say such things. Why shouldn’t one know
certain herbs, remedies, and charms?... But if you find it unpleasant,
you need not answer.’
‘But why not?’ she answered simply. ‘Where’s the unpleasantness? Yes,
it’s true, she’s a witch. But now she’s grown old and can no longer do
what she did before.’
‘And what did she do before?’ I was curious.
‘All kinds of things. She could cure illness, heal toothache, put a
spell on a mine, pray over any one who was bitten by a mad dog or a
snake, she could find out treasure trove.... It is impossible to tell
one everything.’
‘You know, Olyessia, you must forgive me, but I don’t believe it all.
Be frank with me. I shan’t tell anybody; but surely this is all a
pretence in order to mystify people?’
She shrugged her shoulders indifferently.
‘Think what you like. Of course, it’s easy to mystify a woman from the
village, but I wouldn’t deceive you.’
‘You really believe in witchcraft, then?’
‘How could I disbelieve? Charms are in our destiny. I can do a great
deal myself.’
‘Olyessia, darling, ... if you only knew how interested I was.... Won’t
you really show me anything?’
‘I’ll show you, if you like.’ Olyessia readily consented. ‘Would you
like me to do it now?’
‘Yes, at once, if possible.’
‘You won’t be afraid?’
‘What next? I might be afraid at night perhaps, but it is still
daylight.’
‘Very well. Give me your hand.’
I obeyed. Olyessia quickly turned up the sleeve of my overcoat and
unfastened the button of my cuff. Then she took a small Finnish knife
about three inches long out of her pocket, and removed it from its
leather case.
‘What are you going to do?’ I asked, for a mean fear had awakened in me.
‘You will see immediately.... But you said you wouldn’t be afraid.’
Suddenly her hand made a slight movement, hardly perceptible. I felt
the prick of the sharp blade in the soft part of my arm a little higher
than the pulse. Instantly blood showed along the whole width of the
cut, flowed over my hand, and began to drop quickly on to the earth. I
could hardly restrain a cry, and I believe I grew pale.
‘Don’t be afraid. You won’t die,’ Olyessia smiled.
She seized my arm above the cut, bent her face down upon it, and
began to whisper something quickly, covering my skin with her steady
breathing. When she stood up again unclasping her fingers, on the
wounded place only a red graze remained.
‘Well, have you had enough?’ she asked with a sly smile, putting her
little knife away. ‘Would you like some more?’
‘Certainly, I would. Only if possible not quite so terrible and without
bloodshed, please.’
‘What shall I show you?’ she mused. ‘Well, this will do. Walk along the
road in front of me. But don’t look back.’
‘This won’t be terrible?’ I asked, trying to conceal my timid
apprehensions of an unpleasant surprise with a careless smile.
‘No, no.... Quite trifling.... Go on.’
I went ahead, very much intrigued by the experiment, feeling Olyessia’s
steady glance behind my back. But after about a dozen steps I suddenly
stumbled on a perfectly even piece of ground and fell flat.
‘Go on, go on!’ cried Olyessia. ‘Don’t look back! It’s nothing at all.
It will be all right before your wedding day.... Keep a better grip on
the ground next time, when you’re going to fall.’