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 remains, 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, earrings, strings of beads,--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 tavern at that time,
in which Basavriuk (as they called that devil-man) often had his
carouses, 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 diabolical 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 determined to reprove him, and impose penance 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 meddling 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 raisins, which is brought to the
church on the celebration of memorial masses] What was to be done with
this unrepentant man? Father Athanasii contented 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 laborer 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 maidens 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
malice 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 petals, 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 smacked 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 choir, 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 pate, 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 twilight 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 rosy
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 petrified, dropped his
jaw, and clutched at the door for support. Those unlucky kisses had
completely stunned him. It surprised him more than the blow of a
pestle on the wall, with which, in our days, the muzhik generally
drives out his intoxication for lack of fuses and powder.
Recovering himself, he took his grandfather's hunting-whip from the
wall, and was about to belabor 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 rumor was rife in the village, that a certain Pole,
all embroidered with gold, with moustaches, sabres, spurs, and pockets
jingling 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:
ecclesiastics 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
dwelling,--of maple 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 jug of brandy,
about half a pailful. But the poor fellow tried in vain to drown his
woe. The vodka stung his tongue like nettles, and tasted more bitter
than wormwood. He flung the jug from him upon the ground. "You have
sorrowed enough, Cossack," growled a bass 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 jingled a leather purse which hung from his girdle, and smiled
diabolically. Petro shuddered. "He, he, he! yes, how it shines!" he
roared, shaking out ducats into his hand: "he, he, he! and how it
jingles! 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
lengthening, 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 bosom,
he set out on his way, and cautiously descended through the dense 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 penetrated the thin marsh, 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 stifled 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 fronds of
fern. Petro doubted his senses, and stood thoughtfully before them,
with both hands upon his sides.
"What prodigy 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 crimsons, 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, lighting 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 stump sat
Basavriuk, all blue like a corpse. He moved not so much as a finger.
His eyes were immovably fixed 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 rustled 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 knotty stick, and before him stood a tiny
izba, on chicken's legs, as they say. Basavriuk smote it with his fist,
and the wall trembled. A large black dog ran out to meet them, and
with a whine, 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 bent into a bow: her nose and chin were like a
pair of nut-crackers. "A stunning 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 fiery 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!"
croaked 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 spat on his hands, seized the spade, applied 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 hiss. "No, you shall not see the gold until you procure
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 wrath he
tore off the sheet enveloping 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 spurted into
his eyes. Diabolical laughter resounded on all sides. Misshaped
monsters flew past him in herds. 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 groaned. The sky glowed and glowered. . . . Burning points, like
lightning, flickered before his eyes. Utterly exhausted, 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 awakening. 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 recollect; his memory was
like a miser's pocket, from which you cannot entice 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, cymbals, 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
festive 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 slit
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 puffing 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 conflagration, . . . and then they began to
joke and play pranks. . . . 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 instigated 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 plunges 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 repulsive to him. Some one comes along, and
strikes him on the shoulder; . . . but beyond that everything is veiled
in darkness before him. The perspiration 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 brewed 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
bowels. 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 mowed and reaped: many a Cossack, more enterprising
than the rest, had set off upon an expedition. Flocks of ducks were
already crowding our marshes, but there was not even a hint of
improvement.