and he made the sign of the cross. The devil grew as docile as a lamb.
"Stop," continued the blacksmith, drawing him by the tail down to the
ground; "I will teach thee how to make good men and upright Christians
sin;" and the blacksmith sprang on his back, and once more raised his
hand to make the sign of the cross.
"Have mercy upon me, Vakoola!" groaned the devil in a lamentable voice;
"I am ready to do whatever thou wilt, only do not make the dread, sign
of the cross on me!"
"Ah! that is the strain thou singest now, cursed German that thou art!
I know now what to do! Take me a ride on thy back directly, and harkee!
a pretty ride must I have!"
"Whither?" gasped the mournful devil.
"To St. Petersburgh, straightway to the Czarina!" and the blacksmith
thought he should faint with terror as he felt himself rising up in
the air.
Oxana remained a long time pondering over the strange speech of the
blacksmith. Something within her told her that she had behaved with
too much cruelty towards him. "What if he should indeed resort to some
frightful decision? May not such a thing be expected! He may, perhaps,
fall in love with some other girl, and, out of spite, proclaim _her_
to be the belle of the village! No, that he would not do, he is too
much in love with me! I am so handsome! For none will he ever leave
me. He is only joking; he only feigns. Ten minutes will not pass, ere
he returns to look at me. I am indeed too harsh towards him. Why not
let him have a kiss? just as if it were against my will; that, to a
certainty would make him quite delighted!" and the flighty belle began
once more to sport with her friends. "Stop," said one of them, "the
blacksmith has left his sacks behind; just see what enormous sacks too!
His luck has been better than ours; methinks he has got whole quarters
of mutton, and sausages, and loaves without number. Plenty indeed; one
might feed upon the whole of next fortnight."
"Are these the blacksmith's sacks?" asked Oxana; "let us take them into
my cottage just to see what he has got in them." All laughingly agreed
to her proposal.
"But we shall never be able to lift them!" cried the girls trying to
move the sacks.
"Stay a bit," said Oxana; "come with me to fetch a sledge, and we'll
drag them home on it."
The whole party ran to fetch a sledge.
The prisoners were far from pleased at sitting in the sacks,
notwithstanding that the clerk had succeeded in poking a great hole
with his finger. Had there been nobody near, he would perhaps have
found the means of making his escape; but he could not endure the
thought of creeping out of the' sack before a whole crowd, and of
being laughed at by every one, so he resolved to await the event,
giving only now and then a suppressed groan under the impolite boots of
Choop. Choop had no less a desire to be set free, feeling that there
was something lying under him, which was excessively inconvenient to
sit upon. But on hearing his daughter's decision he remained quiet
and no longer felt inclined to creep out, considering that he would
have certainly some hundred, or perhaps even two hundred steps to walk
to get to his dwelling; that upon creeping out, he would have his
sheepskin coat to button, his belt to buckle--what a trouble! and last
of all, that he had left his cap behind him at Solokha's. So he thought
it better to wait till the maidens drew him home on a sledge.
The event, however, proved to be quite contrary to his expectations; at
the same time that the maidens ran to bring the sledge, Choop's kinsman
left the brandy shop, very cross and dejected. The mistress of the shop
would on no account give him credit; he had resolved to wait until some
kind-hearted Cossack should step in and offer him a glass of brandy;
but, as if purposely, all the Cossacks remained at home, and as became
good Christians, ate _kootia_ with their families. Thinking about the
corruption of manners, and about the Jewish mistress of the shop having
a wooden heart, the kinsman went straight to the sacks and stopped in
amazement. "What sacks are these? somebody has left them on the road,"
said he, looking round. "There must be pork for a certainty in them!
Who can it be? who has had the good luck to get so many donations? Were
there nothing more than buckwheat cakes and millet-biscuits--why, that
would be well enough! But supposing there were only loaves, well, they
are welcome too! The Jewess gives a glass of brandy for every loaf. I
had better bring them out of the way at once, lest anybody should see
them!" and he lifted on his shoulders the sack in which sate Choop and
the clerk, but feeling it to be too heavy, "No," said he, "I could not
carry it home alone. Now, here comes, as if purposely, the weaver,
Shapoovalenko! Good evening, Ostap!"
"Good evening," said the weaver, stopping.
"Where art thou going?"
"I am walking without any purpose, just where my legs carry me."
"Well, my good man, help me to carry off these sacks; some caroller
has left them here in the midst of the road. We will divide the booty
between us."
"And what is there in the sacks? rolls or loaves?"
"Plenty of everything, I should think." And both hastily snatched
sticks out of a palisade, laid one of the sacks upon them, and carried
it away on their shoulders.
"Where shall we carry it? to the brandy shop?" asked the weaver,
leading the way.
"I thought, too, of carrying it there; but the vile Jewess will not
give us credit; she will think we have stolen it somewhere, the more so
that I have just left her shop. We had better carry it to my cottage.
Nobody will interfere with us; my wife is not at home."
"Art thou sure that she is not at home?" asked the weaver warily.
"Thank Heaven, I am not yet out of my mind," answered the kinsman;
"what should I do there if she were at home? I expect she will ramble
about all night with the women."
"Who is there!" cried the kinsman's wife, hearing the noise which the
two friends made in coming into the passage with the sack.
The kinsman was quite aghast.
"What now?" muttered the weaver, letting his arms drop.
The kinsman's wife was one of those treasures which are often found in
this good world of ours. Like her husband, she scarcely ever remained
at home, but went all day long fawning among wealthy, gossiping old
women; paid them different compliments, ate their donations with great
appetite, and beat her husband only in the morning, because it was
the only time that she saw him. Their cottage was even older than
the trowsers of the village scribe. Many holes in the roof remained
uncovered and without thatch; of the palisade round the house, few
remnants existed, for no one who was going out, ever took with him
a stick to drive away the dogs, but went round by the kinsman's
kitchen garden, and got one out of his palisade. Sometimes no fire was
lighted in the cottage for three days together. Everything which the
affectionate wife succeeded in obtaining from kind people, was hidden
by her as far as possible out of the reach of her husband; and if he
had got anything which he had not had the time to sell at the brandy
shop, she invariably snatched it from him. However meek the kinsman's
temper might be, he did not like to yield to her at once; for which
reason, he generally left the house with black eyes, and his dear
better-half went moaning to tell stories to the old women about the ill
conduct of her husband, and the blows she had received at his hands.
Now, it is easy to understand the displeasure of the weaver and the
kinsman at her sudden appearance. Putting the sack on the ground, they
took up a position of defence in front of it, and covered it with the
wide skirts of their coats; but it was already too late. The kinsman's
wife, although her old eyes had grown dim, saw the sack at once.
"That's good," she said, with the countenance of a hawk at the sight
of its prey! "that's good of you to have collected so much; That's the
way good people always behave! But it cannot be! I think you must have
stolen it somewhere; show me directly what you have got there!--show me
the sack directly! Do you hear me?"
"May the bald devil show it to thee! we will not," answered the
kinsman, assuming an air of dogged resolution.
"Why should we?" said the weaver--"the sack is ours, not thine."
"Thou shalt show it to me, thou good-for-nothing drunkard," said she,
giving the tall kinsman a blow under his chin, and pushing her way
to the sack. The kinsman and the weaver, however, stood her attack
courageously, and drove her back; but had hardly time to recover
themselves, when the woman darted once more into the passage, this time
with a poker in her hand. In no time she gave a cut over her husband's
fingers, another on the weaver's hand, and stood beside the sack.
"Why did we let her go?" said the weaver, coming to his senses.
"Why did we indeed? and why didst thou?" said the kinsman.
"Your poker seems to be an iron one!" said the weaver, after keeping
silent for a while, and scratching his back. "My wife bought one at the
fair last year; well, hers is not to be compared--does not hurt at all."
The triumphant dame, in the meanwhile, set her candle on the floor,
opened the sack, and looked into it.
But her old eyes, which had so quickly caught sight of the sack, for
this time deceived her. "Why, here lies a whole boar!" cried she,
clapping her hands with delight.
"A boar, a whole boar! dost hear?" said the weaver, giving the kinsman
a push. "And thou alone art to blame?"
"What's to be done?" muttered the kinsman, shrugging his shoulders.
"How, what? why are we standing here quietly? we must have the sack
back again! Come!"
"Away, away with thee! it is our boar!" cried the weaver, advancing.
"Away, away with thee, she devil! it is not thy property," said the
kinsman.
The old hag once more took up the poker, but at the same moment Choop
stepped out of the sack, and stood in the middle of the passage
stretching his limbs like a man just awake from a long sleep.
The kinsman's wife shrieked in terror, while the others opened their
mouths in amazement.
"What did she say, then, the old fool--that it was a boar?"
"It's not a boar!" said the kinsman, straining his eyes.
"Just see, what a man some one has thrown into the sack," said the
weaver, stepping back in a fright. "They may say what they will--the
evil spirit must have lent his hand to the work; the man could never
have gone through a window."
"'Tis my kinsman," cried the kinsman, after having looked at Choop.
"And who else should it be, then?" said Choop, laughing. "Was it not a
capital trick of mine? And you thought of eating me like pork? Well,
I'll give you good news: there is something lying at the bottom of the
sack; if it be not a boar, it must be a sucking-pig, or something of
the sort. All the time there was something moving under me."
The weaver and the kinsman rushed to the sack, the wife caught hold of
it on the other side, and the fight would have been renewed, had not
the clerk, who saw no escape left, crept out of the sack.
The kinsman's wife, quite stupified, let go the clerk's leg, which she
had taken hold of, in order to drag him out of the sack.
"There's another one!" cried the weaver with terror; "the devil knows
what happens now in the world--it's enough to send one mad. No more
sausages or loaves--men are thrown into the sacks."
"'Tis the devil!" muttered Choop, more astonished than any one. "Well
now, Solokha!--and to put the clerk in a sack too! That is why I saw
her room all full of sacks. Now, I have it: she has got two men in each
of them; and I thought that I was the only one. Well now, Solokha!"
The maidens were somewhat astonished at finding only one sack left.
"There is nothing to be done; we must content ourselves with this one,"
said Oxana. They all went at once to the sack, and succeeded in lifting
it upon the sledge. The elder resolved to keep quiet, considering that
if he cried out, and asked them to undo the sack, and let him out,
the stupid girls would run away, fearing they had got the devil in
the sack, and he would be left in the street till the next morning.
Meanwhile, the maidens, with one accord, taking one another by the
hand, flew like the wind with the sledge over the crisp snow. Many
of them, for fun, sat down upon the sledge; some went right upon the
elder's head. But he was determined to bear everything. At last they
reached Oxana's house, opened the doors of the passage and of the room,
and with shouts of laughter brought in the sack. "Let us see what we
have got here," cried they, and hastily began to undo the sack. At
this juncture, the hiccups of the elder (which had not ceased for a
moment all the time he had been sitting in the sack), increased to such
a degree that he could not refrain from giving vent to them in the
loudest key. "Ah! there is somebody in the sack!" shrieked the maidens,
and they darted in a fright towards the door.
"What does this mean?" said Choop, stepping in. "Where are you rushing,
like mad things?"
"Ah! father," answered Oxana, "there is somebody sitting in the sack!"
"In what sack? Where did you get this sack from?"
"The blacksmith threw it down in the middle of the road," was the
answer.
"I thought as much!" muttered Choop. "Well, what are you afraid of,
then? Let us see. Well, my good man (excuse me for not calling thee by
thy Christian and surname), please to make thy way out of the sack."
The elder came out.
"Lord have mercy upon us!" cried the maidens.
"The elder was in, too!" thought Choop to himself, looking at him
from head to foot, as if not trusting his eyes. "There now! Eh!" and
he could say no more. The elder felt no less confused, and he knew
not what to say. "It seems to be rather cold out of doors?" asked he,
turning to Choop.
"Yes! the frost is rather severe," answered Choop. "Do tell me, what
dost thou use to black thy boots with: tallow or tar?"[20] He did not
at all wish to put this question; he intended to ask--How didst thou
come to be in this sack? but he knew not himself how it was that his
tongue asked quite another question.
"I prefer tar," answered the elder. "Well, good-bye, Choop," said he,
and putting his cap on, he stepped out of the room.
"What a fool I was to ask him what he uses to black his boots with,"
muttered Choop, looking at the door out of which the elder had just
gone.
"Well, Solokha! To put such a man into a sack! May the devil take her;
and I, fool that I was--but where is that infernal sack?"
"I threw it into the corner," said Oxana, "there is nothing more in it."
"I know these tricks well! Nothing in it, indeed! Give it me directly;
there must be one more! Shake it well. Is there nobody? Abominable
woman! And yet to look at her one would think she must be a saint, that
she never had a sin"--
But let us leave Choop giving vent to his anger, and return to the
blacksmith; the more so as time is running away, and by the clock it
must be near nine.
At first, Vakoola could not help feeling afraid at rising to such a
height, that he could distinguish nothing upon the earth, and at coming
so near the moon, that if he had not bent down, he would certainly
have touched it with his cap. Yet, after a time, he recovered his
presence of mind, and began to laugh at the devil. All was bright in
the sky. A light silvery mist covered the transparent air. Everything
was distinctly visible; and the blacksmith even noticed how a wizard
flew past him, sitting in a pot; how some stars, gathered in a group,
played at blind man's buff; how a whole swarm of spirits were whirling
about in the distance; how a devil who danced in the moonbeam, seeing
him riding, took off his cap and made him a bow; how there was a besom
flying, on which, apparently, a witch had just taken a ride. They met
many other things; and all, on seeing the blacksmith, stopped for a
moment to look at him, and then continued their flight far away. The
blacksmith went on flying, and suddenly he saw Petersburgh all in a
blaze. (There must have been an illumination that day.) Flying past
the town gate, the devil changed into a horse, and the blacksmith saw
himself riding a high stepping steed, in the middle of the street.
"Good Heavens! What a noise, what a clatter, what a blaze!" On either
side rose houses, several stories high; from every quarter the clatter
of horses' hoofs, and of wheels, arose like thunder; at every step
arose tall houses, as if starting from beneath the ground; bridges
quivered under flying carriages; the coachmen shouted; the snow crisped
under thousands of sledges rushing in every direction; pedestrians kept
the wall of the houses along the footpath, all studded with flaring
pots of fire, and their gigantic shadows danced upon the walls, losing
themselves amongst the chimneys and on the roofs. The blacksmith looked
with amazement on every side. It seamed to him as if all the houses
looked at him with their innumerable fire-eyes. He saw such a number
of gentlemen wearing fur cloaks covered with cloth, that he no longer
knew to which of them he ought to take off his cap. "Gracious Lord!
What a number of nobility one sees here!" thought the blacksmith; "I
suppose every one here, who goes in a fur cloak, can be no less than
a magistrate! and as for the persons who sit in those wonderful carts
with glasses, they must be, if not the chiefs of the town, certainly
commissaries, and, may be, of a still higher rank!"
Here, the devil put an end to his reflections, by asking if he was to
bring him right before the Czarina? "No, I should be too afraid to go
at once," answered the blacksmith; "but I know there must be some
Zaporoghians here, who passed through Dikanka last autumn on their
way to Petersburgh. They were going on business to the Czarina. Let
us have their advice. Now, devil, get into my pocket, and bring me to
those Zaporoghians." In less than a minute, the devil grew so thin and
so small, that he had no trouble in getting into the pocket, and in
the twinkling of an eye, Vakoola, (himself, he knew not how) ascended
a staircase, opened a door and fell a little back, struck by the rich
furniture of a spacious room. Yet, he felt a little more at ease, when
he recognised the same Zaporoghians, who had passed through Dikanka.
They were sitting upon silk covered sofas, with their tar besmeared
boots tucked under them, and were smoking the strongest tobacco fibres.
"Good evening, God help you, your worships!" said the blacksmith coming
nearer, and he made a low bow, almost touching the ground with his
forehead.
"Who is that?" asked a Zaporoghian, who sat near Vakoola, of another
who was sitting farther off.
"Do you not recognise me at once?" said Vakoola; "I am the blacksmith,
Vakoola! Last autumn, as you passed through Dikanka, you remained
nearly two days at my cottage. God grant you good health, and many
happy years! It was I who put a new iron tire round one of the fore
wheels of your vehicle."
"Ah!" said the same Zaporoghian, "it is the blacksmith who paints so
well. Good evening, countryman, what didst thou come for?"
"Only just to look about. They say"--
"Well, my good fellow," said the Zaporoghian, assuming a grand air, and
trying to speak with the high Russian accent, "what dost thou think of
the town! Is it large?"
The blacksmith was no less desirous to show that he also understood
good manners. We have already seen that he knew something of
fashionable language. "The site is quite considerable," answered he
very composedly. "The houses are enormously big, the paintings they are
adorned with, are thoroughly important. Some of the houses are to an
extremity ornamented with gold letters. No one can say a word to the
contrary: the proportion is marvellous!" The Zaporoghians, hearing the
blacksmith so familiar with fine language, drew a conclusion very much
to his advantage.
"We will have a chat with thee presently, my dear fellow. Now, we must
go at once to the Czarina."
"To the Czarina? Be kind, your worships, take me with you!"
"Take thee with us?" said the Zaporoghian, with an expression such as a
tutor would assume towards a boy four years old, who begs to ride on a
real, live, great horse.
"What hast thou to do there? No, it cannot be," and his features took
an important look. "My dear fellow, we have to speak to the Czarina on
business."
"Do take me," urged the blacksmith. "Beg!" whispered he to the devil,
striking his pocket with his fist. Scarcely had he done so, when
another Zaporoghian said, "Well, come, comrades, we will take him."
"Well, then, let him come!" said the others. "Put on such a dress as
ours, then."
The blacksmith hastily donned a green dress, when the door opened, and
a man, in a coat all ornamented with silver braid, came in and said it
was time to start.
Once more was the blacksmith overwhelmed with astonishment, as he
rolled along in an enormous carriage, hung on springs, lofty houses
seeming to run away on both sides of him, and the pavement to roll of
its own accord under the feet of the horses.
"Gracious Lord! what a glare," thought the blacksmith to himself. "We
have no such light at Dikanka, even during the day." The Zaporoghians
entered, stepped into a magnificent hall, and went up a brilliantly
lighted staircase. "What a staircase!" thought the blacksmith; "it is a
pity to walk upon it. What ornaments! And they say that fairy-tales are
so many lies; they are plain truth! My heavens! what a balustrade! what
workmanship! The iron alone must have cost not less than some fifty
roubles!"
Having ascended the staircase, the Zaporoghians passed through the
first hall. Warily did the blacksmith follow them, fearing at every
step to slip on the waxed floor. They passed three more saloons, and
the blacksmith had not yet recovered from his astonishment. Coming into
a fourth, he could not refrain from stopping before a picture which
hung on the wall. It represented the Holy Virgin, with the Infant Jesus
in her arms. "What a picture! what beautiful painting!" thought he.
"She seems to speak, she seems to be alive! And the Holy Infant! there,
he stretches out his little hands! there, it laughs, the poor babe! And
what colours! Good heavens! what colours! I should think there was
no ochre used in the painting, certainly nothing but ultramarine and
lake! And what a brilliant blue! Capital workmanship! The back-ground
must have been done with white lead! And yet," he continued, stepping
to the door and taking the handle in his hand, "however beautiful
these paintings may be, this brass handle is still more worthy of
admiration; what neat work! I should think all this must have been
made by German blacksmiths at the most exorbitant prices." ... The
blacksmith might have gone on for a long time with his reflections, had
not the attendant in the braid-covered dress given him a push, telling
him not to remain behind the others. The Zaporoghians passed two rooms
more, and stopped. Some generals, in gold-embroidered uniforms, were
waiting there. The Zaporoghians bowed in every direction, and stood
in a group. A minute afterwards there entered, attended by a numerous
suite, a man of majestic stature, rather stout, dressed in the hetman's
uniform and yellow boots. His hair was uncombed; one of his eyes had
a small cataract on it; his face wore an expression of stately pride;
his every movement gave proof that he was accustomed to command. All
the generals, who before his arrival were strutting about somewhat
haughtily in their gold-embroidered uniforms, came bustling towards
him with profound bows, seeming to watch every one of his words, nay,
of his movements, that they might run and see his desires fulfilled.
The hetman did not pay any attention to all this, scarcely nodding his
head, and went straight to the Zaporoghians.
They bowed to him with one accord till their brows touched the ground.
"Are all of you here?" asked he, in a somewhat drawling voice, with a
slight nasal twang.
"Yes, father, every one of us is here," answered the Zaporoghians,
bowing once more.
"Remember to speak just as I taught you."
"We will, father, we will!"
"Is it the Czar?" asked the blacksmith of one of the Zaporoghians.
"The Czar! a great deal more; it is Potemkin himself!" was the answer.