Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at Free Literature
COSSACK TALES,
BY
NICHOLAS GOGOL.
TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL RUSSIAN
BY
GEORGE TOLSTOY.
LONDON
JAMES BLACKWOOD, PATERNOSTER ROW.
INTRODUCTION.
A historical sketch placed before a work of fiction must seem, to many,
a very inconsistent thing, and yet the title of the present volume,
"COSSACK TALES," obliges the translator to give a short account of this
sometime warlike race. Such an account is the more wanted, as not only
in England, but in all Europe, the notion exists that the Cossacks were
something like a _Deus ex machinâ_, emerging from space at the moment
requisite to put a stop to the triumphs if Napoleon I., to drive back
to their respective homes the motley array of the twenty nations he
brought into Russia, to pitch their tents in the _Champs Élysées_,
to put all things right in Paris, and then to vanish once more into
space, where, for more than four centuries, Europe had never so much as
perceived their existence.
The invasion of the Tartars in the middle of the thirteenth century
took place when Russia was torn asunder by two kindred and yet hostile
branches of the house of Rurick: the younger branch had settled in the
northern (at the present time the middle) part of the country; the
elder, after many struggles and reverses, had succeeded in regaining
its inheritance, the ancient metropolis Kieff, and the whole of the
southern principalities. Both branches bore a revengeful remembrance
of their mutual feuds, and while the elder viewed with jealousy the
gradual rise of the northern princes, the latter envied the firm
grasp with which the southern princes clutched their long disputed
sway. Hence it came that, when hordes of Tartars overran the northern
principalities, the princes of the South lent no ear to the entreaties
of their northern brethren for help. Hence, also, the reason of these
latter remaining inert and submissive to their recent conquerors, the
Tartars, when those conquerors laid waste the fertile territories which
extended along the south of Russia.
Soon afterwards, the trans-Carpathian parts of Russia, _Red Russia_,
i.e., Galicia, Lodomeria, &c., ceased to be any longer accounted as
forming part of Russia. The marshy tracts of land to the east of
Poland, _White Russia_, formed a new and distinct power, Lithuania,
soon destined to merge into Poland. The north of Russia, _Great
Russia_, had yet two centuries more to endure the yoke of the Tartars.
At this time Southern or _Little Russia_, called also _Ukraine_ (i.e.,
the borders), gave birth to a new race, the _Cossacks_.
The princes of Southern Russia had forsaken their subjects, and gone
into Lithuania to seek for a less disturbed dominion than that over a
country exposed to the incessant depredations of the Crimean Tartars,
and converted into the battle-field of these Tartars with the Russians
and the Poles. Their subjects were thus left behind without anybody to
look to for protection, or for guidance, in defence of their homes,
and revenge for their country being annually wasted by fire and sword
by their Crimean neighbours. Reduced to despair at seeing their homes
burnt to ashes, their wives and children carried away by those savage
invaders, to suffer all the consequences of their rude slavery, these
men, to speak in the words of Gogol, "Left orphans, and seeing their
country left like a widow after the loss of a mighty husband, held out
their hands to one another to be brothers," and this brotherhood gave
rise to the _Cossacks_, whose name for a Russian, even to this day,
embodies every idea of the utmost freedom,[1] and who ever since have
been ready to fight at the first notice of their country or of their
faith being in danger.
At first, they sought a refuge in the wooded islands of the Dnieper,
amidst the rapids of this river, and, no doubt, first dwelt under the
canopy of heaven amidst the trunks of the trees which they felled for
building their huts. This may, perhaps, account for the community
assuming the name of _Zaporoghian Ssiecha_,[2] a name which has
become inseparable from the idea of fight and slaughter, of deeds
of valour and of cruelty. Having no means of livelihood, they, of
course, resolved to procure them at the expense of those by whom they
were brought to this desperate situation. They had learnt from their
own experience that a good sabre was more to be depended upon than a
plough, and that labour and industry were of no avail at such times
when everything at any moment might be taken by him who dealt the
heavier blow. As all who have seen the worst of miseries, and have
nothing to lose in the world, whose life is one of incessant peril,
they knew no fear--for them death had lost its horrors. No women were
permitted to dwell amongst them; no tears were shed in memory of those
who fell in battle or were led away captive; but their exploits were
repeatedly sung in the Cossacks' circles, and excited revenge in the
hearts of the older, emulation in the hearts of the younger.
In a community thus formed, no laws could be enforced, no regular
partition into regiments, companies, &c., could take place. They chose
for their chief some one amongst themselves, whose hand had been seen
to deal the heaviest blows in battle, whose hair had blanched amidst
warlike exploits, and who had become remarkable for his daring and his
cunning in their unsophisticated mode of warfare. To this chief they
gave the title of _Ataman_.[3] Eventually with the increase in numbers
of their community, they divided themselves into _koorens_,[4] each
of which chose for itself a _koorennoï ataman_,[5] subordinate to
the Ataman of the Ssiecha, who was called _Koschevoï Ataman_;[6] to
the latter (very often an illiterate man) a _writer_ or secretary, a
judge, and some other officers for transacting the public business of
the Ssiecha, were appointed. But these dignitaries held their offices
only as long as it pleased their electors; at the first summons of
any drunken fellow who chose to beat the kettle-drum in the public
square of the Ssiecha, and bring a complaint against the Ataman before
the _Rada_ (i.e., the whole assembled Ssiecha), the Ataman and his
colleagues were sure to be deposed and new ones elected in their stead.
Not so during a campaign: then the Koschevoï Ataman assumed dictatorial
power, decreed death and granted life at his pleasure, and nobody,
under pain of death, might resist his commands or bring a complaint
against him till the return to the Ssiecha.
When the Ssiecha had attained this degree of development, the kings of
Poland, who, at the instigation of the Jesuits, had endeavoured to
enforce upon Little Russia the tenets of Popery under the disguise
of the so-called _Union_, had already, under show of protection,
garrisoned the most important cities of this country with Polish
troops, and sought (though always unavailingly) to make its elective
chief or prince, the _hetman_, a delegate of their power and a mere
tool of their pleasure. Consequently, the jealousy of the Cossacks
(for this name had been assumed by the inhabitants of all Ukraine) was
already aroused against the Poles, but when they saw the haughty Polish
lords treat their religion with contempt, shut up their churches, and
give the keys to Jews, who levied taxes on each baptism, marriage, or
burial: then was it that the whole of the Little Russians, summoning
their brethren of the Zaporoghian Ssiecha to their help, began those
wars with Poland which continued uninterrupted till the middle of the
seventeenth century. The history of those wars, on the part of the
Poles, is but a repetition of the horrors perpetrated by the Spaniards
in the New World, by the Inquisition in Spain, &c., in a word, by
savage fanaticism everywhere when led by the priests of Rome. On the
part of the Cossacks the reprisals were not less terrible, although
the latter, while exterminating every Pole, male or female, young or
old, put them to immediate death by the sword, fire, or water, and
never attained the Popish refinements of torturing their prisoners, of
flaying them alive, boiling them in oil, roasting them in brazen oxen,
&c.
The Zaporoghians, who had parted from their brethren, when these latter
had submitted to the Poles, united themselves again to those brethren,
now once more free, now once more Cossacks, and from this time the
existence of the Ssiecha as a separate community seems to have ceased;
it became incorporated in Little Russia and remained nothing more than
a standing encampment of Cossacks, ever ready at the command of the
hetman of Little Russia. With Little Russia, it submitted itself to its
co-religionary Russian Czar Alexis (1654), and, with Little Russia,
it remained true to the Emperor Peter I. when on the field of Poltava
(1709). Hetman Mazeppa proved traitor to him. But by degrees, as the
civilization of Western Europe spread in Russia, and a more regular
mode of administration was enforced in Little Russia, the Zaporoghian
Cossacks began to grow disaffected. At last, when Catherine II. annexed
to her empire the kingdom of Poland, and achieved the conquest of the
Crimea and all the north-western part of the sea-board of the Black
Sea, the Ssiecha had no longer any reason to prolong its existence, as
it lost its position of an outpost against the foes of the country, and
became surrounded by Russian possessions. Some of the Zaporoghians were
loth to submit to the legislature and administration which the Czarina
framed for her empire. Headed by their Ataman _Nekrassoff_, they fled
to Turkey, and the existence of the Ssiecha ceased with the sound of
their horsehoofs dying away in the distance.
This brief sketch sufficiently proves that the Zaporoghian Cossacks
had nothing in common with the Cossacks of the present day. The latter
form a standing militia, living on their own lands situated oh the
southern and eastern borders of Russia. They are bound to maintain at
their own cost a fixed number of regiments of horse and foot, and are
governed by their respective atamans. The principal of these Cossacks
are, those of the _Don_, whose ataman was the renowned Platoff; those
of the _Black Sea_ (_Czernomortzy_); of the _Caucasus_; of _Astrakhan_;
of _Orenburg_; and of the _Ural_, one of whom was Poogachoff, the
pseudo-Peter III.; of _Siberia_; and a recently formed corps of the
_Trans-Baikalian Cossacks_, having the guardianship of the Russian
frontier towards China.
"THE NIGHT OF CHRISTMAS EYE," is a series of comic scenes taken from
the life of the peasants in Little Russia in the last century.
"TARASS BOOLBA," is a graphic, lively, and, what is more, a
historically true picture of the state of the Zaporoghian Ssiecha at
the beginning of the religious wars with Poland.
The original tales were written in Russian, mixed up, especially in
the conversations, with the native idiom of the author, who was a
Little Russian. Now, although, as Sir Jerome Horsey[7] reports, Queen
Elizabeth boasted, when speaking of the Russian language, that "she
could quicklie lern it," yet it has always proved a stumbling block
to foreigners, and few, if any, Englishmen can appreciate at its full
value the peculiarities of "this famoust and most copius language
in the worlde," especially in conjunction with the Little Russian
idiom, which even some Russians do not understand. In a translation,
of course, many of the beauties of the original must disappear,
particularly those which depend upon elegance of style, and this was
one of the qualities of Gogol. But Gogol had one quality besides, that
gave him a prominent place amongst authors, makes him till now the most
popular writer in Russia, and caused his death to be lamented as an
irretrievable loss to Russian literature: it was his art of making his
reader join him in laughter whenever he laughs, in sorrow whenever he
weeps, and to influence the feelings of his reader with every feeling
he feels himself, and, above all, with that one which predominates in
his heart-enthousiastic love of his native country.
The translator will be happy if, in remaining faithful to the original,
he has been so fortunate as to give even a faint outline of its
beauties.
[Footnote 1: "_Free as a Cossack_" is a common phrase in Russia.]
[Footnote 2: _Zaporoghian_ means "beyond the rapids." _Ssiecha_ has two
meanings: first, a place in a forest where trees have be en cut down;
secondly, a slaughter, the thickest of a fight.]
[Footnote 3: _Ataman_ (a rank still preserved amongst the Russian
irregular troops and signifying _chief_) is a title quite different
from that of _hetman_, who was the elective prince of Little Russia.
The last who bore the title of _hetman_ was the favourite and supposed
husband of the Empress Elizabeth, Count Razumoffsky. Count Platoff, who
led the Cossacks in the war against Napoleon I. is miscalled _hetman_
by foreigners: he was in fact only _ataman_.]
[Footnote 4: _Kooren_ is derived from a word signifying "to smoke." It
designated the abode of a company whose fires smoked in common, and who
had one common store of provisions.]
[Footnote 5: A _koorennoï ataman_ was the chief of a kooren, and had to
superintend the distribution of the victuals, and the division of the
spoil taken by his kooren.]
[Footnote 6: Literally, "Chief of the encampment."]
[Footnote 7: _Sir Jerome Horsey_, originally a clerk of the "Company
of English Merchants Adventurers," trading with Muscovy, had been
occasionally employed as diplomatic messenger by Queen Elizabeth and
by Czar Ivan (the Terrible), and his son Czar Theodore. His travels,
published some years ago, contain much highly interesting information
about the commercial intercourse between England and Russia in the
latter part of the sixteenth century.]
COSSACK TALES.
THE NIGHT OF CHRISTMAS EVE:
A LEGEND OF LITTLE RUSSIA.
BY NICHOLAS GOGOL.
The last day before Christmas had just closed. A bright winter night
had come on, stars had appeared, and the moon rose majestically in the
heavens to shine upon good men and the whole of the world, so that they
might gaily sing carols and hymns in praise of the nativity of Christ.
The frost had grown more severe than during the day; but, to make up
for this, everything had become so still that the crisping of the snow
under foot might be heard nearly half a verst round. As yet there was
not a single group of young peasants to be seen under the windows
of the cottages; the moon alone peeped stealthily in at them, as if
inviting the maidens, who were decking themselves, to make haste and
have a run on the crisp snow. Suddenly, out of the chimney of one of
the cottages, volumes of smoke ascended in clouds towards the heavens,
and in the midst of those clouds rose, on a besom, a witch.
If at that time the magistrate of Sorochinsk[1] had happened to pass
in his carriage, drawn by three horses, his head covered by a lancer
cap with sheepskin trimming, and wrapped in his great cloak, covered
with blue cloth and lined with black sheepskin, and with his tightly
plaited lash, which he uses for making the driver drive faster--if
this worthy gentleman had happened to pass at that time, no doubt he
would have seen the witch, because there is no witch who could glide
away without his seeing her. He knows to a certainty how many sucking
pigs each swine brings forth in each cottage, how much linen lies in
each box, and what each one has pawned in the brandy-shop out of his
clothes or his household furniture. But the magistrate of Sorochinsk
happened _not_ to pass; and then, what has he to do with those out of
his jurisdiction? he has his own circuit. And the witch by this time
had risen so high that she only looked like a little dark spot up
above; but wherever that spot went, one star after another disappeared
from heaven. In a short time the witch had got a whole sleeveful of
them. Some three or four only remained shining. On a sudden, from the
opposite side, appeared another spot, which went on growing, spreading,
and soon became no longer a spot. A short-sighted man, had he put,
not only spectacles, but even the wheels of a britzka on his nose,
would never have been able to make out what it was. In front, it was
just like a German;[2] a narrow snout, incessantly turning on every
side, and smelling about, ended like those of our pigs, in a small,
round, flattened end; its legs were so thin, that had the village
elder got no better, he would have broken them to pieces in the first
squatting-dance. But, as if to make amends for these deficiencies, it
might have been taken, viewed from behind, for the provincial advocate,
so much was its long pointed tail like the skirt of our dress-coats.
And yet, a look at the goat's beard under its snout, at the small
horns sticking out of its head, and at the whole of its figure, which
was no whiter than that of a chimney sweeper, would have sufficed
to make any one guess that it was neither a German nor a provincial
advocate, but the Devil in person, to whom only one night more was
left for walking about the world and tempting good men to sin. On the
morrow, at the first stroke of the church bell, he was to run, with
his tail between his legs, back to his quarters. The devil then, as
the devil it was, stole warily to the moon, and stretched out his hand
to get hold of it; but at the very same moment he drew it hastily back
again, as if he had burnt it, shook his foot, sucked his fingers, ran
round on the other side, sprang at the moon once more, and once more
drew his hand away. Still, notwithstanding his being baffled, the
cunning devil did not desist from his mischievous designs. Dashing
desperately forwards, he grasped the moon with both hands, and, making
wry faces and blowing hard, he threw it from one hand to the other,
like a peasant who has taken a live coal in his hand to light his
pipe. At last, he hastily hid it in his pocket, and went on his way
as if nothing had happened. At Dikanka,[3] nobody suspected that the
devil had stolen the moon. It is true that the village scribe, coming
out of the brandy-shop on all fours, saw how the moon, without any
apparent reason, danced in the sky, and took his oath of it before the
whole village, but the distrustful villagers shook their heads, and
even laughed at him. And now, what was the reason that the devil had
decided on such an unlawful step? Simply this: he knew very well that
the rich Cossack[4] Choop[5] was invited to an evening party at the
parish clerk's, where he was to meet the elder, also a relation of the
clerk, who was in the archbishop's chapel, and who wore a blue coat
and had a most sonorous _basso profondo_, the Cossack Sverbygooze, and
some other acquaintances; where there would be for supper, not only the
kootia,[6] but also a varenookha,[7] as well as corn-brandy, flavoured
with saffron, and divers other dainties. He knew that in the mean time
Choop's daughter, the belle of the village, would remain at home; and
he knew, moreover, that to this daughter would come the blacksmith,
a lad of athletic strength, whom the devil held in greater aversion
than even the sermons of Father Kondrat. When the blacksmith had
no work on hand, he used to practise painting, and had acquired the
reputation of being the best painter in the whole district. Even the
Centurion[8] had expressly sent for him to Poltava, for the purpose of
painting the wooden palisade round his house. All the tureens out of
which the Cossacks of Dikanka ate their borsch,[9] were adorned with
the paintings of the blacksmith. He was a man of great piety, and often
painted images of the saints; even now, some of them may be seen in the
village church; but his masterpiece was a painting on the right side
of the church-door; in it he had represented the Apostle Peter, at the
Day of Judgment, with the keys in his hand, driving the evil spirit
out of hell; the terrified devil, apprehending his ruin, rushed hither
and thither, and the sinners, freed from their imprisonment, pursued
and thrashed him with scourges, logs of wood, and anything that came
to hand. All the time that the blacksmith was busy with this picture,
and was painting it on a great board, the devil used all his endeavours
to spoil it; he pushed his hand, raised the ashes out of the forge,
and spread them over the painting; but, notwithstanding all this, the
work was finished, the board was brought to the church, and fixed in
the wall of the porch. From that time the devil vowed vengeance on
the blacksmith. He had only one night left to roam about the world,
but even in that night he sought to play some evil trick upon the
blacksmith. For this reason he, had resolved to steal the moon, for
he knew that old Choop was lazy above all things, not quick to stir
his feet; that the road to the clerk's was long, and went across back
lanes, next to mills, along the churchyard, and over the top of a
precipice; and though the varenookha and the saffron brandy might have
got the better of Choop's laziness on a moonlight night, yet, in such
darkness, it would be difficult to suppose that anything could prevail
on him to get down from his oven[10] and quit his cottage. And the
blacksmith, who had long been at variance with Choop, would not on
any account, in spite even of his strength, visit his daughter in his
presence.
So stood events: hardly had the devil hidden the moon in his pocket,
when all at once it grew so dark that many could not have found their
way to the brandy-shop, still less to the clerk's. The witch, finding
herself suddenly in darkness, shrieked aloud. The devil coming near
her, took her hand, and began to whisper to her those same things which
are usually whispered to all womankind.
How oddly things go on in this world of ours! Every one who lives
in it endeavours to copy and ape his neighbour. Of yore there was
nobody at Mirgorod[11] but the judge and the mayor, who in winter wore
fur cloaks covered with cloth; all their subordinates went in plain
uncovered too-loops;[12] and now, only see, the deputy, as well as
the under-cashier, wear new cloaks of black sheep fur covered with
cloth. Two years ago, the village-scribe and the town-clerk bought
blue nankeen, for which they paid full sixty copecks the arsheen.[13]
The sexton, too, has found it necessary to have nankeen trousers for
the summer, and a striped woollen waistcoat. In short, there is no one
who does not try to cut a figure. When will the time come when men
will desist from vanity? One may wager that many will be astonished at
finding the devil making love. The most provoking part of it is, to
think that really he fancies himself a beau, when the fact is, that he
has such a phiz, that one is ashamed to look at it--such a phiz, that,
as one of my friends says, it is the abomination of abominations; and
yet, he, too, ventures to make love!
But it grew so dark in the sky, and under the sky, that there was no
possibility of further seeing what passed between the devil and the
witch.
"So thou sayest, kinsman, that thou hast not yet been in the clerk's
new abode?" said the Cossack Choop, stepping out of his cottage, to a
tall meagre peasant in a short tooloop, with a well grown beard, which
it was evident had remained at least a fortnight untouched by the piece
of scythe, which the peasants use instead of a razor,[14] "There will
be a good drinking party," continued Choop, endeavouring to smile at
these words, "only we must not be too late;" and with this Choop drew
still closer his belt, which was tightly girded round his tooloop,
pulled his cap over his eyes, and grasped more firmly his whip, the
terror of importunate dogs; but looking up, remained fixed to the spot.
"What the devil! look, kinsman!"
"What now?" uttered the kinsman, also lifting up his head.
"What now? Why, where is the moon gone?"
"Ah! sure enough, gone she is."
"Yes, that she is!" said Choop, somewhat cross at the equanimity of the
kinsman, "and it's all the same to thee."
"And how could I help it?"
"That must be the trick of some evil spirit," continued Choop, rubbing
his mustachios with his sleeve. "Wretched dog, may he find no glass
of brandy in the morning! Just as if it were to laugh at us; and I
was purposely looking out of window as I was sitting in the room;
such a splendid night; so light, the snow shining so brightly in the
moonlight; everything to be seen as if by day; and now we have hardly
crossed the threshold, and behold it is as dark as blindness!"
And Choop continued a long time in the same strain, moaning and
groaning, and thinking all the while what was to be done. He greatly
wished to have a gossip about all sorts of nonsense at the clerk's
lodgings, where, he felt quite sure, were already assembled the elder,
the newly arrived _basso profondo_, as well as the tar-maker Nikita,
who went every fortnight to Poltava on business, and who told such
funny stories that his hearers used to laugh till they were obliged to
hold their belts. Choop even saw, in his mind's eye, the varenookha
brought forth upon the table. All this was most enticing, it is true;
but then the darkness of the night put him in mind of the laziness
which is so very dear to every Cossack. Would it not be well now
to lie upon the oven, with his feet drawn up to his body, quietly
enjoying a pipe, and listening through a delightful drowsiness to the
songs and carols of the gay lads and maidens who would come in crowds
under the windows? Were Choop alone, there is no doubt he would have
preferred the latter; but to go in company would not be so tedious or
so frightful after all, be the night ever so dark; besides, he did not
choose to appear to another either lazy or timorous; so, putting an end
to his grumbling, he once more turned to the kinsman. "Well, kinsman;
so the moon is gone?"
"She is."
"Really, it is very strange! Give me a pinch of thy snuff. Beautiful
snuff it is; where dost thou buy it, kinsman?"
"I should like to know what is so beautiful in it;" answered the
kinsman, shutting his snuff-box, made of birch bark and adorned with
different designs pricked on it; "it would not make an old hen sneeze."
"I remember," continued Choop in the same strain, "the defunct
pot-house keeper, Zoozooha, once brought me some snuff from Niegin.[15]
That was what I call snuff--capital snuff! Well, kinsman, what are we
to do? The night is dark."
"Well, I am ready to remain at home," answered the kinsman taking hold
of the handle of the door.
Had not the kinsman spoken thus, Choop would have decidedly remained
at home; but now, there was something which prompted him to do quite
the contrary. "No, kinsman; we will go; go we must;" and whilst saying
this, he was already cross with himself for having thus spoken. He was
much displeased at having to walk so far on such a night, and yet he
felt gratified at having had his own way, and having gone contrary to
the advice he had received. The kinsman, without the least expression
of discontent on his face, like a man perfectly indifferent to sitting
at home or to taking a walk, looked round, scratched his shoulder with
the handle of his cudgel, and away went the two kinsmen.
Let us now take a glance at what Choop's beautiful daughter was about
when left alone. Oxana has not yet completed her seventeenth year, and
already all the people of Dikanka, nay, even the people beyond it,
talk of nothing but her beauty. The young men are unanimous in their
decision, and have proclaimed her the most beautiful girl that ever
was, or ever can be, in the village. Oxana knows this well, and hears
everything that is said about her, and she is, of course, as capricious
as a beauty knows how to be. Had she been born to wear a lady's elegant
dress, instead of a simple peasant's petticoat and apron, she would
doubtless have proved so fine a lady that no maid could have remained
in her service. The lads followed her in crowds; but she used to put
their patience to such trials, that they all ended by leaving her to
herself, and taking up with other girls, not so spoiled as she was. The
blacksmith was the only one who did not desist from his love suit, but
continued it, notwithstanding her ill-treatment, in which he had no
less share than the others.
When her father was gone, Oxana remained for a long time decking
herself, and coquetting before a small looking-glass, framed in tin.
She could not tire of admiring her own likeness in the glass. "Why do
men talk so much about my being so pretty?" said she, absently, merely
for the sake of gossiping aloud. "Nonsense; there is nothing pretty in
me." But the mirror, reflecting her fresh, animated, childish features,
with brilliant dark eyes, and a smile most inexpressibly bewitching,
proved quite the contrary. "Unless," continued the beauty, holding up
the mirror, "may be, my black eyebrows and my dark eyes are so pretty
that no prettier are to be found in the world; as for this little snub
nose of mine, and my cheeks and my lips, what is there pretty in them?
or, are my tresses so very beautiful? Oh! one might be frightened at
them in the dark; they seem like so many serpents twining round my
head. No, I see very well that I am not at all beautiful!" And then,
on a sudden, holding the looking-glass a little further off, "No," she
exclaimed, exultingly, "No, I really am pretty! and how pretty! how
beautiful! What joy shall I bring to him whose wife I am to be! How
delighted will my husband be to look at me! He will forget all other
thoughts in his love for me! He will smother me with kisses."
"A strange girl, indeed," muttered the blacksmith who had in the mean
time entered the room, "and no small share of vanity has she got! There
she stands for the last hour, looking at herself in the glass, and
cannot leave off, and moreover praises herself aloud."
"Yes, indeed lads! is any one of you a match for me?" went on the
pretty flirt; "look at me, how gracefully I walk; my bodice is
embroidered with red silk, and what ribbons I have got for my hair!
You have never seen any to be compared to them! All this my father has
bought on purpose for me, that I may marry the smartest fellow that
ever was born!" and so saying, she laughingly turned round and saw
the blacksmith. She uttered a cry and put on a severe look, standing
straight before him. The blacksmith stood quite abashed. It would
be difficult to specify the meaning of the strange girl's somewhat
sunburnt face; there was a degree of severity in it, and, in this same
severity, somewhat of raillery at the blacksmith's bashfulness, as well
as a little vexation, which spread an almost imperceptible blush over
her features. All this was so complicated, and became her so admirably
Well, that the best thing to have done would have been to give her
thousands and thousands of kisses.
"Why didst thou come hither?" she began. "Dost thou wish me to take up
the shovel and drive thee from the house? Oh! you, all of you, know
well how to insinuate yourselves into our company! You scent out in no
time when the father has turned his back on the house. Oh! I know you
well! Is my box finished?"
"It will be ready, dear heart of mine--it will be ready after the
festival. Couldst thou but know how much trouble it has cost me--two
nights did I never leave my smithy. Sure enough, thou wilt find no
such box anywhere, not even belonging to a priest's wife. The iron I
used for binding it! I did not use the like even for the centurion's
tarataika,[16] when I went to Poltava. And then, the painting of it.
Wert thou to go on thy white feet round all the district, thou wouldst
not find such another painting. The whole of the box will sparkle with
red and blue flowers. It will be a delight to look upon it. Be not
angry with me. Allow me--be it only to speak to thee--nay, even to look
at thee."
"Who means to forbid it? speak and look," and she sat down on the
bench, threw one more glance at the glass, and began to adjust the
plaits on her head, looked at her neck, at her new bodice, embroidered
with silk, and a scarcely visible expression of self-content played
over her lips and cheeks and brightened her eyes.
"Allow me to sit down beside thee," said the blacksmith.
"Be seated," answered Oxana, preserving the same expression about her
mouth and in her looks.
"Beautiful Oxana! nobody will ever have done looking at thee--let me
kiss thee!" exclaimed the blacksmith recovering his presence of mind,
and drawing her towards him, endeavoured to snatch a kiss; her cheek
was already at an imperceptible distance from the blacksmith's lips,
when Oxana sprang aside and pushed him back. "What wilt thou want next?
When one has got honey, he wants a spoon too. Away with thee! thy hands
are harder than iron, and thou smellest of smoke thyself; I really
think thou hast besmeared me with thy soot." She then took the mirror
and once more began to adorn herself.
"She does not care for me," thought the blacksmith, hanging down
his head. "Everything is but play to her, and I am here like a fool
standing before her and never taking my eyes off her. Charming girl.
What would I not do only to know what is passing in her heart. Whom
does she love? But no, she cares for no one, she is fond only of
herself, she delights in the sufferings she causes to my own poor self,
and my grief prevents me from thinking of anything else, and I love her
as nobody in the world ever loved or is likely to love."
"Is it true that thy mother is a witch?" asked Oxana laughing; and the
blacksmith felt as if everything within him laughed too, as if that
laugh had found an echo in his heart and in all his veins; and at the
same time he felt provoked at having no right to cover with kisses that
pretty laughing face.
"What do I care about my mother! Thou art my mother, my father--all
that I hold precious in the world! Should the Czar send for me to his
presence and say to me, 'Blacksmith Vakoola,' ask of me whatever I have
best in my realm--I'll give it all to thee; I'll order to have made
for thee a golden smithy, where thou shalt forge with silver hammers.'
'I'll none of it,' would I answer the Czar. 'I'll have no precious
stones, no golden smithy, no, not even the whole of thy realm--give me
only my Oxana!'"
"Now, only see what a man thou art! But my father has got another idea
in his head; thou'lt see if he does not marry thy mother!"[17] said
Oxana with an arch smile. "But what can it mean? the maidens are not
yet come--it is high time for carolling. I am getting dull."
"Never mind about them, my beauty!"
"But, of course, I do mind; they will doubtless bring some lads with
them, and then, how merry we shall be! I fancy all the droll stories
that will be told!"
"So thou feelest merry with them?"
"Of course merrier than with thee. Ah! there is somebody knocking at
the door; it must be the maidens and the lads!"
"Why need I stay any longer?" thought the blacksmith. "She laughs at
me; she cares no more about me than about a rust-eaten horseshoe. But,
be it so. I will at least give no one an opportunity to laugh at me.
Let me only mark who it is she prefers to me. I'll teach him how to"--
His meditation was cut short by a loud knocking at the door, and a
harsh "Open the door," rendered still harsher by the frost.
"Be quiet, I'll go and open it myself," said the blacksmith, stepping
into the passage with the firm intention of giving vent to his wrath by
breaking the bones of the first man who should come in his way.
The frost increased, and it became so cold that the devil went hopping
from one hoof to the other, and blowing his fingers to warm his
benumbed hands. And, of course, he could not feel otherwise than quite
frozen: all day long he did nothing but saunter about hell, where,
as everybody knows, it is by no means so cold as in our winter air;
and where, with his cap on his head, and standing before a furnace
as if really a cook, he felt as much pleasure in roasting sinners as
a peasant's wife feels at frying sausages for Christmas. The witch,
though warmly clad, felt cold too, so lifting up her arms, and putting
one foot before the other, just as if she were skating, without moving
a limb, she slid down as if from a sloping ice mountain right into
the chimney. The devil followed her example; but as this creature is
swifter than any boot-wearing beau, it is not at all astonishing that
at the very entrance of the chimney, he went down upon the shoulders
of the witch and both slipped down together into a wide oven, with
pots all round it. The lady traveller first of all noiselessly opened
the oven-door a little, to see if her son Vakoola had not brought home
some party of friends; but there being nobody in the room, and only
some sacks lying in the middle of it on the floor, she crept out of the
oven, took off her warm coat, put her dress in order, and was quite
tidy in no time, so that nobody could ever possibly have suspected her
of having ridden on a besom a minute before.
The mother of the blacksmith Vakoola was not more than forty; she was
neither handsome nor plain; indeed it is difficult to be handsome at
that age. Yet, she knew well how to make herself pleasant to the aged
Cossacks (who, by-the-bye, did not care much about a handsome face);
many went to call upon her, the elder, Assip Nikiphorovitch the clerk
(of course when his wife was from home), the Cossack Kornius Choop,
the Cossack Kassian Sverbygooze. At all events this must be said for
her, she perfectly well understood how to manage with them; none of
them ever suspected for a moment that he had a rival. Was a pious
peasant going home from church on some holiday; or was a Cossack, in
bad weather, on his way to the brandy-shop; what should prevent him
from paying Solokha a visit, to eat some greasy curd dumplings with
sour cream, and to have a gossip with the talkative and good-natured
mistress of the cottage? And the Cossack made a long circuit on his way
to the brandy-shop, and called it "just looking in as he passed." When
Solokha went to church on a holiday, she always wore a gay-coloured
petticoat, with another short blue one over it, adorned with two gold
braids, sewed on behind it in the shape of two curly mustachios. When
she took her place at the right side of the church, the clerk was sure
to cough and twinkle his eyes at her; the elder twirled his mustachios,
twisted his crown-lock of hair round his ear, and said to his
neighbour, "A splendid woman! a devilish fine woman!" Solokha nodded
to every one, and every one thought that Solokha nodded to him alone.
But those who liked to pry into other people's business, noticed that
Solokha exerted the utmost of her civility towards the Cossack Choop.
Choop was a widower; eight ricks of corn stood always before his
cottage: two strong bulls used to put their heads out of their wattled
shed, gaze up and down the street, and bellow every time they caught
a glimpse of their cousin a cow, or their uncle the stout ox; the
bearded goat climbed up to the very roof, and bleated from thence in a
key as shrill as that of the mayor, and teased the turkeys which were
proudly walking in the yard, and turned his back as soon as he saw his
inveterate enemies, the urchins, who used to laugh at his beard. In
Choop's boxes there was plenty of linen, plenty of warm coats, and many
old-fashioned dresses bound with gold braid; for his late wife had been
a dashing woman. Every year, there was a couple of beds planted with
tobacco in his kitchen-garden, which was, besides, well provided with
poppies, cabbages, and sunflowers. All this, Solokha thought, would
suit very well if united to her own household; she was already mentally
regulating the management of this property when it should pass into
her hands; and so she went on increasing in kindness towards old Choop.
At the same time, to prevent her son Vakoola from making an impression
on Choop's daughter, and getting the whole of the property (in which
case she was sure of not being allowed to interfere with anything),
she had recourse to the usual means of all women of her age--she took
every opportunity to make Choop quarrel with the blacksmith. These very
artifices were perhaps the cause that it came to be rumoured amongst
the old women (particularly when they happened to take a drop too much
at some gay party) that Solokha was positively a witch; that young
Kiziakaloopenko had seen on her back a tail no bigger than a common
spindle; that on the last Thursday but one she ran across the road in
the shape of a black kitten; that once there had come to the priest a
hog, which crowed like a cock, put on Father Kondrat's hat, and then
ran away. It so happened that as the old women were discussing this
point, there came by Tymish Korostiavoi, the herdsman. He could not
help telling how, last summer, just before St. Peter's fast, as he laid
himself down for sleep in his shed, and had put some straw under his
head, with his own eyes he beheld the witch, with her hair unplaited
and nothing on but her shift, come and milk her cows; how he was so
bewitched that he could not move any of his limbs; how she came to him
and greased his lips with some nasty stuff, so that he could not help
spitting all the next day. And yet all these stories seem of a somewhat
doubtful character, because there is nobody but the magistrate of
Sorochinsk who can distinguish a witch. This was the reason why all
the chief Cossacks waved their hands on hearing such stories. "Mere
nonsense, stupid hags!" was their usual answer.
Having come out of the oven and put herself to rights, Solokha, like a
good housewife, began to arrange and put everything in its place; but
she did not touch the sacks: "Vakoola had brought them in--he might
take them out again." In the mean time the devil, as he was coming
down the chimney, caught a glimpse of Choop, who, arm in arm with his
kinsman, was already a long way off from his cottage. Instantly, the
devil flew out of the chimney, ran across the way, and began to break
asunder the heaps of frozen snow which were lying all around. Then
began a snow-storm. The air was all whitened with snow-flakes. The
snow went rushing backwards and forwards, and threatened to cover, as
it were with a net, the eyes, mouth, and ears of the pedestrians. Then
the devil flew into the chimney once more, quite sure that both kinsmen
would retrace their steps to Choop's house, who would find there the
blacksmith, and give him so sound a thrashing that the latter would
never again have the strength to take a brush in his hand and paint
offensive caricatures.
As soon as the snow-storm began, and the wind blew sharply in his eyes,
Choop felt some remorse, and, pulling his cap over his very eyes,
he began to abuse himself, the devil, and his own kinsman. Yet his
vexation was but assumed; the snow-storm was rather welcome to Choop.
The distance they had still to go before reaching the dwelling of the
clerk was eight times as long as that which they had already gone; so
they turned back. They now had the wind behind them; but nothing could
be seen through the whirling snow.
"Stop, kinsman, it seems to me that we have lost our way," said Choop,
after having gone a little distance. "There is not a single cottage to
be seen! Ah! what a storm it is! Go a little on that side, kinsman, and
see if thou canst not find the road; and I will seek it on this side.
Who but the devil would ever have persuaded any one to leave the house
in such a storm! Don't forget, kinsman, to call me when thou findest
the road. Eh! what a lot of snow the devil has sent into my eyes!"
But the road was not to be found. The kinsman, in his long boots,
started off on one side, and, after having rambled backwards and
forwards, ended by finding his way right into the brandy-shop. He was
so glad of it that he forgot everything else, and, after shaking off
the snow, stepped into the passage without once thinking about his
kinsman who had remained in the snow. Choop in the mean time fancied
he had found out the road; he stopped and began to shout with all the
strength of his lungs, but seeing that his kinsman did not come, he
decided on proceeding alone.
In a short time he saw his cottage. Great heaps of snow lay around
it and covered its roof. Rubbing his hands, which were numbed by the
frost, he began to knock at the door, and in a loud tone ordered his
daughter to open it.
"What dost thou want?" roughly demanded the blacksmith, stepping out.
Choop, on recognising the blacksmith's voice, stepped a little
aside. "No, surely this is not my cottage," said he to himself; "the
blacksmith would not come to my cottage. And yet--now I look at it
again, it cannot be his. Whose then, can it be? Ah! how came I not to
know it at once! it is the cottage of lame Levchenko, who has lately
married a young wife; his is the only one like mine. That is the reason
why it seemed so strange to me that I got home so soon. But, let me
see, why is the blacksmith here? Levchenko, as far as I know, is now
sitting at the clerk's. Eh! he! he! he! the blacksmith comes to see his
young wife! That's what it is! Well, now I see it all!"
"Who art thou? and what hast thou to do lurking about this door?" asked
the blacksmith, in a still harsher voice, and coming nearer.
"No," thought Choop, "I'll not tell him who I am; he might beat me, the
cursed fellow!" and then, changing his voice, answered, "My good man, I
come here in order to amuse you, by singing carols beneath your window."
"Go to the devil with thy carols!" angrily cried Vakoola. "What dost
thou wait for? didst thou hear me? be gone, directly."
Choop himself had already the same prudent intention; but he felt cross
at being obliged to obey the blacksmith's command. Some evil spirit
seemed to prompt him to say something contrary to Vakoola.
"What makes thee shout in that way?" asked he in the same assumed
voice; "my intention is to sing a carol, and that is all."
"Ah! words are not sufficient for thee!" and immediately after, Choop
felt a heavy stroke fall upon his shoulders.
"Now, I see, thou art getting quarrelsome!" said he, retreating a few
paces.
"Begone, begone!" exclaimed the blacksmith, striking again.
"What now!" exclaimed Choop, in a voice which expressed at the same
time pain, anger, and fear. "I see thou quarrelest in good earnest, and
strikest hard."
"Begone, begone!" again exclaimed the blacksmith, and violently shut
the door.
"Look, what a bully!" said Choop, once more alone in the street. "But
thou hadst better not come near me! There's a man for you! giving
thyself such airs, too! Dost thou think there is no one to bring thee
to reason? I _will_ go, my dear fellow, and to the police-officer will
I go. I'll teach thee who I am! I care not for thy being blacksmith
and painter. However, I must see to my back and shoulders: I think
there are bruises on them. The devil's son strikes hard, it seems. It
is a pity it's so cold, I cannot take off my fur coat. Stay a while,
confounded blacksmith; may the devil break thy bones and thy smithy
too! Take thy time--I will make thee dance, cursed squabbler! But,
now I think of it, if he is not at home, Solokha must be alone. Hem!
her dwelling is not far from here; shall I go? At this time nobody
will trouble us. Perhaps I may. Ah! that cursed blacksmith, how he has
beaten me!"
And Choop, rubbing his back, went in another direction. The pleasure
which was in store for him in meeting Solokha, diverted his thoughts
from his pain, and made him quite insensible to the snow and ice,
which, notwithstanding the whistling of the wind, might be heard
cracking all around. Sometimes a half-benignant smile brightened his
face, whose beard and mustachios were whitened over by snow with the
same rapidity as that displayed by a barber who has tyrannically got,
hold of the nose of his victim. But for the snow which danced backwards
and forwards before the eyes, Choop might have been seen a long time,
stopping now and then to rub his back, muttering, "How painfully that
cursed blacksmith has beaten me!" and then proceeding on his way.