St. John's Eve

by Nikolai Vasilievich Gogol

A STORY TOLD BY THE SACRISTAN OF THE DIKANKA CHURCHThoma Grigroovitch had one very strange eccentricity: to the day ofhis death he never liked to tell the same thing twice. There weretimes when, if you asked him to relate a thing afresh, he wouldinterpolate new matter, or alter it so that it was impossible torecognise it. Once upon a time, one of those gentlemen who, like theusurers at our yearly fairs, clutch and beg and steal every sort offrippery, and issue mean little volumes, no thicker than an A B Cbook, every month, or even every week, wormed this same story out ofThoma Grigorovitch, and the latter completely forgot about it. Butthat same young gentleman, in the pea-green caftan, came from Poltava,bringing with him a little book, and, opening it in the middle, showedit to us. Thoma Grigorovitch was on the point of setting hisspectacles astride of his nose, but recollected that he had forgottento wind thread about them and stick them together with wax, so hepassed it over to me. As I understand nothing about reading andwriting, and do not wear spectacles, I undertook to read it. I had notturned two leaves when all at once he caught me by the hand andstopped me."Stop! tell me first what you are reading."I confess that I was a trifle stunned by such a question."What! what am I reading, Thoma Grigorovitch? Why, your own words.""Who told you that they were my words?""Why, what more would you have? Here it is printed: 'Related by suchand such a sacristan.'""Spit on the head of the man who printed that! he lies, the dog of aMoscow pedlar! Did I say that? ''Twas just the same as though onehadn't his wits about him!' Listen. I'll tell the tale to you on thespot."We moved up to the table, and he began.*My grandfather (the kingdom of heaven be his! may he eat only wheatenrolls and poppy-seed cakes with honey in the other world!) could tella story wonderfully well. When he used to begin a tale you could notstir from the spot all day, but kept on listening. He was not like thestory-teller of the present day, when he begins to lie, with a tongueas though he had had nothing to eat for three days, so that you snatchyour cap and flee from the house. I remember my old mother was alivethen, and in the long winter evenings when the frost was crackling outof doors, and had sealed up hermetically the narrow panes of ourcottage, she used to sit at her wheel, drawing out a long thread inher hand, rocking the cradle with her foot, and humming a song, whichI seem to hear even now.The lamp, quivering and flaring up as though in fear of something,lighted up our cottage; the spindle hummed; and all of us children,collected in a cluster, listened to grandfather, who had not crawledoff the stove for more than five years, owing to his great age. Butthe wondrous tales of the incursions of the Zaporozhian Cossacks andthe Poles, the bold deeds of Podkova, of Poltar-Kozhukh, andSagaidatchnii, did not interest us so much as the stories about somedeed of old which always sent a shiver through our frames and made ourhair rise upright on our heads. Sometimes such terror took possessionof us in consequence of them, that, from that evening forward, Heavenknows how wonderful everything seemed to us. If one chanced to go outof the cottage after nightfall for anything, one fancied that avisitor from the other world had lain down to sleep in one's bed; andI have often taken my own smock, at a distance, as it lay at the headof the bed, for the Evil One rolled up into a ball! But the chiefthing about grandfather's stories was, that he never lied in all hislife; and whatever he said was so, was so.I will now tell you one of his wonderful tales. I know that there area great many wise people who copy in the courts, and can even readcivil documents, but who, if you were to put into their hand a simpleprayer-book, could not make out the first letter in it, and would showall their teeth in derision. These people laugh at everything you tellthem. Along comes one of them--and doesn't believe in witches! Yes,glory to God that I have lived so long in the world! I have seenheretics to whom it would be easier to lie in confession than it wouldbe to our brothers and equals to take snuff, and these folk would denythe existence of witches! But let them just dream about something, andthey won't even tell what it was! There, it is no use talking aboutthem!No one could have recognised the village of ours a little over ahundred years ago; it was a hamlet, the poorest kind of a hamlet. Halfa score of miserable farmhouses, unplastered and badly thatched, werescattered here and there about the fields. There was not a yard or adecent shed to shelter animals or waggons. That was the way thewealthy lived: and if you had looked for our brothers, the poor--why,a hole in the ground--that was a cabin for you! Only by the smokecould you tell that a God-created man lived there. You ask why theylived so? It was not entirely through poverty: almost every one led araiding Cossack life, and gathered not a little plunder in foreignlands; it was rather because it was little use building up a goodwooden house. Many folk were engaged in raids all over thecountry--Crimeans, Poles, Lithuanians! It was quite possible thattheir own countrymen might make a descent and plunder everything.Anything was possible.In this hamlet a man, or rather a devil in human form, often made hisappearance. Why he came, and whence, no one knew. He prowled about,got drunk, and suddenly disappeared as if into the air, leaving notrace of his existence. Then, behold, he seemed to have dropped fromthe sky again, and went flying about the street of the village, ofwhich no trace now remains, and which was not more than a hundredpaces from Dikanka. He would collect together all the Cossacks he met;then there were songs, laughter, and cash in plenty, and vodka flowedlike water. . . . He would address the pretty girls, and give themribbons, earrings, strings of beads--more than they knew what to dowith. It is true that the pretty girls rather hesitated aboutaccepting his presents: God knows, perhaps, what unclean hands theyhad passed through. My grandfather's aunt, who kept at that time atavern, in which Basavriuk (as they called this devil-man) oftencaroused, said that no consideration on the earth would have inducedher to accept a gift from him. But then, again, how avoid accepting?Fear seized on every one when he knit his shaggy brows, and gave asidelong glance which might send your feet God knows whither: whilstif you did accept, then the next night some fiend from the swamp, withhorns on his head, came and began to squeeze your neck, if there was astring of beads upon it; or bite your finger, if there was a ring uponit; or drag you by the hair, if ribbons were braided in it. God havemercy, then, on those who held such gifts! But here was thedifficulty: it was impossible to get rid of them; if you threw theminto the water, the diabolical ring or necklace would skim along thesurface and into your hand.There was a church in the village--St. Pantelei, if I rememberrightly. There lived there a priest, Father Athanasii of blessedmemory. Observing that Basavriuk did not come to church, even atEaster, he determined to reprove him and impose penance upon him.Well, he hardly escaped with his life. "Hark ye, sir!" he thundered inreply, "learn to mind your own business instead of meddling in otherpeople's, if you don't want that throat of yours stuck with boilingkutya[1]." What was to be done with this unrepentant man? FatherAthanasii contented himself with announcing that any one who shouldmake the acquaintance of Basavriuk would be counted a Catholic, anenemy of Christ's orthodox church, not a member of the human race.[1] A dish of rice or wheat flour, with honey and raisins, which isbrought to the church on the celebration of memorial masses.In this village there was a Cossack named Korzh, who had a labourerwhom people called Peter the Orphan--perhaps because no one rememberedeither his father or mother. The church elder, it is true, said thatthey had died of the pest in his second year; but my grandfather'saunt would not hear of that, and tried with all her might to furnishhim with parents, although poor Peter needed them about as much as weneed last year's snow. She said that his father had been in Zaporozhe,and had been taken prisoner by the Turks, amongst whom he underwentGod only knows what tortures, until having, by some miracle, disguisedhimself as a eunuch, he made his escape. Little cared the black-browedyouths and maidens about Peter's parents. They merely remarked, thatif he only had a new coat, a red sash, a black lambskin cap with asmart blue crown on his head, a Turkish sabre by his side, a whip inone hand and a pipe with handsome mountings in the other, he wouldsurpass all the young men. But the pity was, that the only thing poorPeter had was a grey gaberdine with more holes in it than there aregold pieces in a Jew's pocket. But that was not the worst of it. Korzhhad a daughter, such a beauty as I think you can hardly have chancedto see. My grandfather's aunt used to say--and you know that it iseasier for a woman to kiss the Evil One than to call any one else abeauty--that this Cossack maiden's cheeks were as plump and fresh asthe pinkest poppy when, bathed in God's dew, it unfolds its petals,and coquets with the rising sun; that her brows were evenly archedover her bright eyes like black cords, such as our maidens buynowadays, for their crosses and ducats, off the Moscow pedlars whovisit the villages with their baskets; that her little mouth, at sightof which the youths smacked their lips, seemed made to warble thesongs of nightingales; that her hair, black as the raven's wing, andsoft as young flax, fell in curls over her shoulders, for our maidensdid not then plait their hair in pigtails interwoven with pretty,bright-hued ribbons. Eh! may I never intone another alleluia in thechoir, if I would not have kissed her, in spite of the grey which ismaking its way through the old wool which covers my pate, and of theold woman beside me, like a thorn in my side! Well, you know whathappens when young men and maidens live side by side. In the twilightthe heels of red boots were always visible in the place where Pidorkachatted with her Peter. But Korzh would never have suspected anythingout of the way, only one day--it is evident that none but the Evil Onecould have inspired him--Peter took into his head to kiss the maiden'srosy lips with all his heart, without first looking well about him;and that same Evil One--may the son of a dog dream of the holycross!--caused the old grey-beard, like a fool, to open the cottagedoor at that same moment. Korzh was petrified, dropped his jaw, andclutched at the door for support. Those unlucky kisses completelystunned him.Recovering himself, he took his grandfather's hunting whip from thewall, and was about to belabour Peter's back with it, when Pidorka'slittle 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 Peter!" What was to be done? A father'sheart is not made of stone. Hanging the whip again on the wall, he ledPeter quietly from the house. "If you ever show yourself in my cottageagain, or even under the windows, look out, Peter, for, by heaven,your black moustache will disappear; and your black locks, thoughwound twice about your ears, will take leave of your pate, or my nameis not Terentiy Korzh." So saying, he gave him such a taste of hisfist in the nape of his neck, that all grew dark before Peter, and heflew headlong out of the place.So there was an end of their kissing. Sorrow fell upon our turtledoves; and a rumour grew rife in the village that a certain Pole, allembroidered with gold, with moustaches, sabre, spurs, and pocketsjingling like the bells of the bag with which our sacristan Taras goesthrough the church every day, had begun to frequent Korzh's house.Now, it is well known why a father has visitors when there is ablack-browed daughter about. So, one day, Pidorka burst into tears,and caught the hand of her brother Ivas. "Ivas, my dear! Ivas, mylove! fly to Peter, my child of gold, like an arrow from a bow. Tellhim all: I would have loved his brown eyes, I would have kissed hisfair face, but my fate decrees otherwise. More than one handkerchiefhave I wet with burning tears. I am sad and heavy at heart. And my ownfather is my enemy. I will not marry the Pole, whom I do not love.Tell him they are making ready for a wedding, but there will be nomusic at our wedding: priests will sing instead of pipes and viols. Ishall not dance with my bridegroom: they will carry me out. Dark, darkwill be my dwelling of maple wood; and, instead of chimneys, a crosswill stand upon the roof."Peter stood petrified, without moving from the spot, when the innocentchild lisped out Pidorka's words to him. "And I, wretched man, hadthought to go to the Crimea and Turkey, to win gold and return tothee, my beauty! But it may not be. We have been overlooked by theevil eye. I too shall have a wedding, dear one; but no ecclesiasticswill be present at that wedding. The black crow instead of the popewill caw over me; the bare plain will be my dwelling; the dark bluecloud my roof-tree. The eagle will claw out my brown eyes: the rainwill wash my Cossack bones, and the whirlwinds dry them. But what amI? Of what should I complain? 'Tis clear God willed it so. If I am tobe lost, then so be it!" and he went straight to the tavern.My late grandfather's aunt was somewhat surprised at seeing Peter atthe tavern, at an hour when good men go to morning mass; and stared athim as though in a dream when he called for a jug of brandy, abouthalf a pailful. But the poor fellow tried in vain to drown his woe.The vodka stung his tongue like nettles, and tasted more bitter thanwormwood. He flung the jug from him upon the ground."You have sorrowed enough, Cossack," growled a bass voice behind him.He looked round--it was Basavriuk! Ugh, what a face! His hair was likea brush, his eyes like those of a bull. "I know what you lack: here itis." As he spoke he jingled a leather purse which hung from his girdleand smiled diabolically. Peter shuddered. "Ha, ha, ha! how it shines!"he roared, shaking out ducats into his hands: "ha, ha, ha! how itjingles! And I only ask one thing for a whole pile of such shiners.""It is the Evil One!" exclaimed Peter. "Give me them! I'm ready foranything!"They struck hands upon it, and Basavriuk said, "You are just in time,Peter: to-morrow is St. John the Baptist's day. Only on this one nightin the year does the fern blossom. I will await you at midnight in theBear's ravine."I do not believe that chickens await the hour when the housewifebrings their corn with as much anxiety as Peter awaited the evening.He kept looking to see whether the shadows of the trees were notlengthening, whether the sun was 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. But now the sun hasset. The sky is red only on one side, and it is already growing dark.It grows colder in the fields. It gets gloomier and gloomier, and atlast quite dark. At last! With heart almost bursting from his bosom,he set out and cautiously made his way down through the thick woodsinto the deep hollow called the Bear's ravine. Basavriuk was alreadywaiting there. It was so dark that you could not see a yard beforeyou. Hand in hand they entered the ravine, pushing through theluxuriant thorn-bushes and stumbling at almost every step. At lastthey reached an open spot. Peter looked about him: he had neverchanced to come there before. Here Basavriuk halted."Do you see before you three hillocks? There are a great many kinds offlowers upon them. May some power keep you from plucking even one ofthem. But as soon as the fern blossoms, seize it, and look not round,no matter what may seem to be going on behind thee."Peter wanted to ask some questions, but behold Basavriuk was no longerthere. He approached the three hillocks--where were the flowers? Hesaw none. The wild steppe-grass grew all around, and hid everything inits luxuriance. But the lightning flashed; and before him was a wholebed of flowers, all wonderful, all strange: whilst amongst them therewere also the simple fronds of fern. Peter doubted his senses, andstood thoughtfully before them, arms akimbo."What manner of prodigy is this? why, one can see these weeds tentimes a day. What is there marvellous about them? Devil's face must bemocking me!"But behold! the tiny flower-bud of the fern reddened and moved asthough alive. It was a marvel in truth. It grew larger and larger, andglowed like a burning coal. The tiny stars of light flashed up,something burst softly, and the flower opened before his eyes like aflame, lighting the others about it."Now is the time," thought Peter, and extended his hand. He sawhundreds of hairy hands reach also for the flower from behind him, andthere was a sound of scampering in his rear. He half closed his eyes,and plucked sharply at the stalk, and the flower remained in his hand.All became still.Upon a stump sat Basavriuk, quite blue like a corpse. He did not moveso much as a finger. Hi eyes were immovably fixed on something visibleto him alone; his mouth was half open and speechless. Nothing stirredaround. Ugh! it was horrible! But then a whistle was heard which madePeter's heart grow cold within him; and it seemed to him that thegrass whispered, and the flowers began to talk among themselves indelicate voices, like little silver bells, while the trees rustled inmurmuring contention;--Basavriuk's face suddenly became full of life,and his eyes sparkled. "The witch has just returned," he mutteredbetween his teeth. "Hearken, Peter: a charmer will stand before you ina moment; do whatever she commands; if not--you are lost forever."Then he parted the thorn-bushes with a knotty stick and before himstood a tiny farmhouse. Basavriuk smote it with his fist, and the walltrembled. A large black dog ran out to meet them, and with a whinetransformed itself into a cat and 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 all bent into a bow, with aface wrinkled like a baked apple, and a nose and chin like a pair ofnutcrackers."A fine charmer!" thought Peter; and cold chills ran down his back.The witch tore the flower from his hand, stooped and muttered over itfor a long time, sprinkling it with some kind of water. Sparks flewfrom her mouth, and foam appeared on her lips."Throw it away," she said, giving it back to Peter.Peter threw it, but what wonder was this? The flower did not fallstraight to the earth, but for a long while twinkled like a fiery ballthrough the darkness, and swam through the air like a boat. At last itbegan to sink lower and lower, and fell so far away that the littlestar, hardly larger than a poppy-seed, was barely visible. "There!"croaked the old woman, in a dull voice: and Basavriuk, giving him aspade, said, "Dig here, Peter: you will find more gold than you orKorzh ever dreamed of."Peter spat on his hands, seized the spade, pressed his foot on it, andturned up the earth, a second, a third, a fourth time. The spadeclinked against something hard, and would go no further. Then his eyesbegan to distinguish a small, iron-bound coffer. He tried to seize it;but the chest began to sink into the earth, deeper, farther, anddeeper still: whilst behind him he heard a laugh like a serpent'shiss."No, you shall not have the gold until you shed human blood," said thewitch, and she led up to him a child of six, covered with a whitesheet, and indicated by a sign that he was to cut off his head.Peter was stunned. A trifle, indeed, to cut off a man's, or even aninnocent child's, head for no reason whatever! In wrath he tore offthe sheet enveloping the victim's head, and behold! before him stoodIvas. The poor child crossed his little hands, and hung his head.Peter flew at the witch with the knife like a madman, and was on thepoint of laying hands on her."What did you promise for the girl?" thundered Basavriuk; and like ashot he was on his back. The witch stamped her foot: a blue flameflashed from the earth and illumined all within it. The earth becametransparent as if moulded of crystal; and all that was within itbecame visible, as if in the palm of the hand. Ducats, precious stonesin chests and pots, were piled in heaps beneath the very spot theystood on. Peter's eyes flashed, his mind grew troubled. . . . Hegrasped the knife like a madman, and the innocent blood spurted intohis eyes. Diabolical laughter resounded on all sides. Misshapenmonsters flew past him in flocks. The witch, fastening her hands inthe headless trunk, like a wolf, drank its blood. His head whirled.Collecting all his strength, he set out to run. Everything grew redbefore him. The trees seemed steeped in blood, and burned and groaned.The sky glowed and threatened. Burning points, like lightning,flickered before his eyes. Utterly exhausted, he rushed into hismiserable hovel and fell to the ground like a log. A death-like sleepoverpowered him.Two days and two nights did Peter sleep, without once awakening. Whenhe came to himself, on the third day, he looked long at all thecorners of his hut, but in vain did he endeavour to recollect what hadtaken place; his memory was like a miser's pocket, from which youcannot entice a quarter of a kopek. Stretching himself, he heardsomething clash at his feet. He looked, there were two bags of gold.Then only, as if in a dream, he recollected that he had been seekingfor treasure, and that something had frightened him in the woods.Korzh saw the sacks--and was mollified. "A fine fellow, Peter, quiteunequalled! yes, and did I not love him? Was he not to me as my ownson?" And the old fellow repeated this fiction until he wept over ithimself. Pidorka began to tell Peter how some passing gipsies hadstolen Ivas; but he could not even recall him--to such a degree hadthe Devil's influence darkened his mind! There was no reason fordelay. The Pole was dismissed, and the wedding-feast prepared; rollswere baked, towels and handkerchiefs embroidered; the young peoplewere seated at table; the wedding-loaf was cut; guitars, cymbals,pipes, viols sounded, and pleasure was rife.A wedding in the olden times was not like one of the present day. Mygrandfather's aunt used to tell how the maidens--in festivehead-dresses of yellow, blue, and pink ribbons, above which they boundgold braid; in thin chemisettes embroidered on all the seams with redsilk, and strewn with tiny silver flowers; in morocco shoes, with highiron heels--danced the gorlitza as swimmingly as peacocks, and aswildly as the whirlwind; how the youths--with their ship-shaped capsupon their heads, the crowns of gold brocade, and two hornsprojecting, one in front and another behind, of the very finest blacklambskin; in tunics of the finest blue silk with red borders--steppedforward one by one, their arms akimbo in stately form, and executedthe gopak; how the lads--in tall Cossack caps, and light clothgaberdines, girt with silver embroidered belts, their short pipes intheir teeth--skipped before them and talked nonsense. Even Korzh as hegazed at the young people could not help getting gay in his old age.Guitar in hand, alternately puffing at his pipe and singing, abrandy-glass upon his head, the greybeard began the national danceamid loud shouts from the merry-makers.What will not people devise in merry mood? They even began to disguisetheir faces till they did not look like human beings. On suchoccasions one would dress himself as a Jew, another as the Devil: theywould begin by kissing each other, and end by seizing each other bythe hair. God be with them! you laughed till you held your sides. Theydressed themselves in Turkish and Tatar garments. All upon them glowedlike a conflagration, and then they began to joke and playpranks. . . .An amusing thing happened to my grandfather's aunt, who was at thiswedding. She was wearing an ample Tatar robe, and, wine-glass in hand,was entertaining the company. The Evil One instigated one man to pourvodka over her from behind. Another, at the same moment, evidently notby accident, struck a light, and held it to her. The flame flashed up,and poor aunt, in terror, flung her dress off, before them all.Screams, laughter, jests, arose as if at a fair. In a word, the oldfolks could not recall so merry a wedding.Pidorka and Peter began to live like a gentleman and lady. There wasplenty of everything and everything was fine. . . . But honest folkshook their heads when they marked their way of living. "From theDevil no good can come," they unanimously agreed. "Whence, except fromthe tempter of orthodox people, came this wealth? Where else could hehave got such a lot of gold from? Why, on the very day that he gotrich, did Basavriuk vanish as if into thin air?"Say, if you can, that people only imagine things! A month had notpassed, and no one would have recognised Peter. He sat in one spot,saying no word to any one; but continually thinking and seeminglytrying to recall something. When Pidorka succeeded in getting him tospeak, he appeared to forget himself, and would carry on aconversation, and even grow cheerful; but if he inadvertently glancedat the sacks, "Stop, stop! I have forgotten," he would cry, and againplunge into reverie and strive to recall something. Sometimes when hesat still a long time in one place, it seemed to him as though it werecoming, just coming back to mind, but again all would fade away. Itseemed as if he was sitting in the tavern: they brought him vodka;vodka stung him; vodka was repulsive to him. Some one came along andstruck him on the shoulder; but beyond that everything was veiled indarkness before him. The perspiration would stream down his face, andhe would sit exhausted in the same place.What did not Pirdorka do? She consulted the sorceresses; and theypoured out fear, and brewed stomach ache[2]--but all to no avail. Andso the summer passed. Many a Cossack had mowed and reaped; many aCossack, more enterprising than the rest, had set off upon anexpedition. Flocks of ducks were already crowding the marshes, butthere was not even a hint of improvement.[2] "To pour out fear" refers to a practice resorted to in case offear. When it is desired to know what caused this, melted lead orwax is poured into water, and the object whose form it assumes isthe one which frightened the sick person; after this, the feardeparts. Sonyashnitza is brewed for giddiness and pain in thebowels. To this end, a bit of stump is burned, thrown into a jug,and turned upside down into a bowl filled with water, which isplaced on the patient's stomach: after an incantation, he is givena spoonful of this water to drink.It was red upon the steppes. Ricks of grain, like Cossack's caps,dotted the fields here and there. On the highway were to beencountered waggons loaded with brushwood and logs. The ground hadbecome more solid, and in places was touched with frost. Already hadthe snow begun to fall and the branches of the trees were covered withrime like rabbit-skin. Already on frosty days the robin redbreasthopped about on the snow-heaps like a foppish Polish nobleman, andpicked out grains of corn; and children, with huge sticks, playedhockey upon the ice; while their fathers lay quietly on the stove,issuing forth at intervals with lighted pipes in their lips, to growl,in regular fashion, at the orthodox frost, or to take the air, andthresh the grain spread out in the barn. At last the snow began tomelt, and the ice slipped away: but Peter remained the same; and, themore time went on, the more morose he grew. He sat in the cottage asthough nailed to the spot, with the sacks of gold at his feet. He grewaverse to companionship, his hair grew long, he became terrible tolook at; and still he thought of but one thing, still he tried torecall something, and got angry and ill-tempered because he could not.Often, rising wildly from his seat, he gesticulated violently andfixed his eyes on something as though desirous of catching it: hislips moving as though desirous of uttering some long-forgotten word,but remaining speechless. Fury would take possession of him: he wouldgnaw and bite his hands like a man half crazy, and in his vexationwould tear out his hair by the handful, until, calming down, he wouldrelapse into forgetfulness, as it were, and then would again strive torecall the past and be again seized with fury and fresh tortures. Whatvisitation of God was this?Pidorka was neither dead not alive. At first it was horrible for herto remain alone with him in the cottage; but, in course of time, thepoor woman grew accustomed to her sorrow. But it was impossible torecognise the Pidorka of former days. No blushes, no smiles: she wasthin and worn with grief, and had wept her bright eyes away. Once someone who took pity on her advised her to go to the witch who dwelt inthe Bear's ravine, and enjoyed the reputation of being able to cureevery disease in the world. She determined to try that last remedy:and finally persuaded the old woman to come to her. This was on St.John's Eve, as it chanced. Peter lay insensible on the bench, and didnot observe the newcomer. Slowly he rose, and looked about him.Suddenly he trembled in every limb, as though he were on the scaffold:his hair rose upon his head, and he laughed a laugh that filledPidorka's heart with fear."I have remembered, remembered!" he cried, in terrible joy; and,swinging a hatchet round his head, he struck at the old woman with allhis might. The hatchet penetrated the oaken door nearly four inches.The old woman disappeared; and a child of seven, covered in a whitesheet, stood in the middle of the cottage. . . . The sheet flew off."Ivas!" cried Pidorka, and ran to him; but the apparition becamecovered from head to foot with blood, and illumined the whole roomwith red light. . . .She ran into the passage in her terror, but, on recovering herself alittle, wished to help Peter. In vain! the door had slammed to behindher, so that she could not open it. People ran up, and began to knock:they broke in the door, as though there were but one mind among them.The whole cottage was full of smoke; and just in the middle, wherePeter had stood, was a heap of ashes whence smoke was still rising.They flung themselves upon the sacks: only broken potsherds lay thereinstead of ducats. The Cossacks stood with staring eyes and openmouths, as if rooted to the earth, not daring to move a hair, suchterror did this wonder inspire in them.I do not remember what happened next. Pidorka made a vow to go upon apilgrimage, collected the property left her by her father, and in afew days it was as if she had never been in the village. Whither shehad gone, no one could tell. Officious old women would have despatchedher to the same place whither Peter had gone; but a Cossack from Kiefreported that he had seen, in a cloister, a nun withered to a mereskeleton who prayed unceasingly. Her fellow-villagers recognised heras Pidorka by the tokens--that no one heard her utter a word; and thatshe had come on foot, and had brought a frame for the picture of God'smother, set with such brilliant stones that all were dazzled at thesight.But this was not the end, if you please. On the same day that the EvilOne made away with Peter, Basavriuk appeared again; but all fled fromhim. They knew what sort of a being he was--none else than Satan, whohad assumed human form in order to unearth treasures; and, sincetreasures do not yield to unclean hands, he seduced the young. Thatsame year, all deserted their earthen huts and collected in a village;but even there there was no peace on account of that accursedBasavriuk.My late grandfather's aunt said that he was particularly angry withher because she had abandoned her former tavern, and tried with allhis might to revenge himself upon her. Once the village elders wereassembled in the tavern, and, as the saying goes, were arranging theprecedence at the table, in the middle of which was placed a smallroasted lamb, shame to say. They chattered about this, that, and theother--among the rest about various marvels and strange things. Well,they saw something; it would have been nothing if only one had seenit, but all saw it, and it was this: the sheep raised his head, hisgoggling eyes became alive and sparkled; and the black, bristlingmoustache, which appeared for one instant, made a significant gestureat those present. All at once recognised Basavriuk's countenance inthe sheep's head; my grandfather's aunt thought it was on the point ofasking for vodka. The worthy elders seized their hats and hastenedhome.Another time, the church elder himself, who was fond of an occasionalprivate interview with my grandfather's brandy-glass, had notsucceeded in getting to the bottom twice, when he beheld the glassbowing very low to him. "Satan take you, let us make the sign of thecross over you!"--And the same marvel happened to his better half. Shehad just begun to mix the dough in a huge kneading-trough whensuddenly the trough sprang up. "Stop, stop! where are you going?"Putting its arms akimbo, with dignity, it went skipping all about thecottage--you may laugh, but it was no laughing matter to ourgrandfathers. And in vain did Father Athanasii go through all thevillage with holy water, and chase the Devil through all the streetswith his brush. My late grandfather's aunt long complained that, assoon as it was dark, some one came knocking at her door and scratchingat the wall.Well! All appears to be quiet now in the place where our villagestands; but it was not so very long ago--my father was stillalive--that I remember how a good man could not pass the ruined tavernwhich a dishonest race had long managed for their own interest. Fromthe smoke-blackened chimneys smoke poured out in a pillar, and risinghigh in the air, rolled off like a cap, scattering burning coals overthe steppe; and Satan (the son of a dog should not be mentioned)sobbed so pitifully in his lair that the startled ravens rose inflocks from the neighbouring oak-wood and flew through the air withwild cries.

Previous Authors：Old-Fashioned Farmers Next Authors：The Calash