The Collected Tales of Nikolai Gogol (17 page)

XI

“Calm yourself, my beloved sister!” said old Captain Gorobets.
“Dreams seldom tell the truth.”

“Lie down, sister!” his young daughter-in-law said.
“I’ll send for an old woman, a fortuneteller, and she’ll pour out a flurry for you.”
¹¹

“Have no fear,” said his son, grasping his saber, “no one will harm you.”

Gloomily, with dull eyes, Katerina gazed at them all and could find no words.
“I myself arranged for my own ruin,” she thought.
“I let him go.” At last she said:

“He won’t leave me in peace!
For ten days now I’ve been with you in Kiev, and my grief has not lessened at all.
I thought I might at least quietly raise my son for revenge … Terrible, terrible he looked in my dream!
God forbid that you should see him, too!
My heart is still pounding.
‘I will stab your baby, Katerina,’ he shouted, ‘if you do not marry me!’ ” and, bursting into sobs, she rushed to the cradle, and the frightened baby reached out his arms and cried.

The captain’s son seethed and blazed with wrath, hearing this talk.
Captain Gorobets himself became furious.

“Let him try coming here, the cursed antichrist; he’ll taste whether there’s strength in an old Cossack’s arms.
God sees,” he said, lifting up his clairvoyant eyes, “did I not fly to give my brother Danilo a hand?
His holy will!
I found him already lying on a cold bed, where many a Cossack lay.
Still, was his wake not magnificent?
Did we let even one Polack go alive?
Calm yourself, my child!
No one will dare to harm you, unless I and my son are no more.”

Having spoken, the old captain went over to the cradle, and the baby, seeing the red pipe with its silver trim and the pouch with the gleaming tinderbox hanging from his belt, reached out to him and laughed.

“He’ll take after his father,” said the old captain, removing the pipe and handing it to him.
“He’s still in the cradle and already wants to smoke a pipe.”

Katerina quietly sighed and began to rock the cradle.
They all decided to spend the night together, and soon afterwards they fell asleep.
Katerina, too, fell asleep.

Out in the yard and inside the house everything was quiet; only the Cossacks standing guard were not asleep.
Suddenly Katerina gave a cry and woke up, and after her everyone woke up.
“He’s been slain, he’s been stabbed!” she cried as she rushed to the cradle.

They all stood around the cradle, frozen with fear, seeing the dead baby lying in it.
No one uttered a sound, not knowing what to think of the unheard-of evildoing.

XII

Far from the Ukrainian land, past Poland, beyond the populous city of Lemberg, stretch rows of high-peaked mountains.
Mountain after mountain, like a chain of stone, they push back the earth to right and left and clothe it in thick stone to keep the loud and stormy sea from seeping through.
Chains of stone stretch to Wallachia and the region of the Seven Cities, and stand in a massive horseshoe between the Galician and Hungarian peoples.
There are no such mountains in our parts.
The eye dares not survey them; no human foot has stepped on the tops of some.
Strange, too, is their look: Is it that the eager sea overflowed its shores in a storm, heaved up its shapeless waves in a whirl, and they, petrified, remained motionless in air?
Is it that heavy clouds dropped down from the sky and encumbered the earth with themselves?
for they are also gray in color, and a white peak glistens and sparkles in the sun.
Up to the Carpathian Mountains you still hear Russian speech, and just beyond them familiar words can be heard here and there; but then the faith is no longer the same and the speech is no longer the same.
There lives the not inconsiderable Hungarian people; they ride horses, wield sabers, and drink no worse than the Cossacks; and they do not stint in producing gold coins from their pockets to pay for harness and costly caftans.
Great vast lakes lie between the mountains.
They are still as glass and, mirror-like, reflect the bare tops of the mountains and the green at their feet.

But who is it, in the dark of night, whether the stars shine or not, that comes riding on a huge black horse?
What knight of inhuman stature gallops below the mountains, above the lakes, reflected with his gigantic horse in the still waters, his endless shadow flitting terribly over the mountains?
Plate-armor gleaming, lance on his shoulder, saber clanking against his saddle, helmet pulled down, black mustache, eyes closed, eyelashes lowered—he sleeps.
And, asleep, he holds the reins; and behind him on the same horse sits a child page, who also sleeps, and asleep holds on to the knight.
Who is he, where is he going, and why?
Who knows?
Not for one day, not for two days, has he been crossing the mountains.
Day breaks, the sun rises, he is not to be seen; only now and then the mountain people notice a long shadow flitting over the mountains, though the sky is clear and there is not a cloud in it.
But as soon as night brings darkness, he is visible again and is reflected in the lakes, and behind him, trembling, rides his shadow.
He has already crossed many mountains and gone up Krivan.
There is no higher mountain in the Carpathians; like a tsar it rises above the rest.
Here steed and rider have stopped, and sunk still deeper into sleep, and the clouds have descended and covered him.

XIII

“Sh … hush, woman!
don’t knock so, my baby’s fallen asleep.
For a long time my son cried, but now he’s asleep.
I’ll go to the forest, woman!
Why are you staring at me like that?
You’re terrible: iron tongs reach out from your eyes … such long ones, ohh!
they burn like fire!
You must be a witch!
Oh, if you’re a witch, vanish from here!
you’ll steal my son.
He’s so muddle-headed, this captain: he thinks I like living in Kiev.
No, my husband is here, and my son—who is going to look after the house?
I left so quietly, not a cat or a dog heard me.
You want to grow young, woman?
It’s not hard at all, you only have to dance.
Look how I dance …” And having uttered these incoherent words, Katerina started rushing about, looking crazily from side to side, her hands on her hips.
She stamped her feet with a shriek; her silver-shod heels rang without time or measure.
Unbraided black tresses scattered over her white neck.
Like a bird she flew without stopping, waving her arms and nodding, and it seemed she would either drop strengthless to the ground or fly out of this world.

The old nurse stood by sorrowfully, and tears filled her deep wrinkles; heavy stone lay on the hearts of the trusty lads as they watched their mistress.
She was already quite weak and lazily tapped her feet in one spot, thinking she was dancing the Turtledove.
“And I have a necklace, boys!” she said, stopping at last, “and you don’t … Where is my husband?” she suddenly cried out, snatching a Turkish dagger from her belt.
“Oh!
this isn’t the kind of knife I need.” Here tears and anguish showed on her face.
“My father’s heart is far away: this won’t reach it.
His heart is forged of iron.
A witch forged it for him in hellfire.
Why doesn’t my father come?
Doesn’t he know it’s time to put a knife in him?
He must want me to come myself …” And she broke off with a strange laugh.
“A funny story came into my head: I remembered how they were burying my husband.
They buried him alive … How I wanted to laugh!… Listen, listen!” And instead of speaking, she began to sing a song:

A blood-drenched cart is driving by
,
In that cart a Cossack lies
,
Pierced his heart, empty his glance
,
In his right hand he holds a lance
,
And from this lance the blood runs down
,
A river of blood pours on the ground.
Above the stream a maple bows
,
Above the maple caws a crow.
Over the Cossack his mother cries.
Don’t weep, mother, dry your eyes!
For your son has wed a wife
,
The fairest young girl of his life.
In the wide field a house of clay
,
No windows to let in the day.
And that’s the end of all our song.
The fish and crayfish did a dance
 …
And if you don’t love me, may your mother catch a chill!

So all songs had become confused in her.
For a day, for two days, she has been living in her house, will hear nothing about Kiev, and does not pray, flees from people, and wanders from morning till late at night in the dark oak groves.
Sharp twigs scratch her white face and shoulders; the wind tousles her unbraided tresses; old leaves rustle under her feet—she pays no heed to anything.
At the hour when the sunset is fading and the stars have not yet appeared, the moon does not shine, but it is already frightening to walk in the forest: unbaptized children clamber up the trees, clutching at the branches; they sob, guffaw, roll in a tangle on the road and in the spreading nettles; maidens who destroyed their souls run out of the Dnieper’s waves one after another; the hair streams from their green heads onto their shoulders, water runs loudly burbling down their long hair onto the ground; and a maiden shines through the water as through a shirt of glass; her lips smile strangely, her cheeks flush, her eyes lure one’s soul out … she would burn up with love, she would kiss you to death … Flee, Christian man!
her mouth is ice, her bed the cold water; she will tickle you all over and drag you into the river.
Katerina pays no heed to anyone; the madwoman
has no fear of water nymphs, she runs about late at night with her knife out, searching for her father.

Early in the morning a visitor arrived, of comely appearance, in a red jacket, and inquired about Master Danilo; he hears it all, wipes his tearful eyes with his sleeve, and heaves his shoulders.
Says he went to war together with the late Burulbash; together they fought the Crimeans and the Turks; would never have expected that such would be the end of Master Danilo.
The visitor tells of many other things and wishes to see Mistress Katerina.

At first Katerina did not listen to anything the visitor said; in the end she began to listen as if reasonably to his words.
He talked of having lived together with Master Danilo as brother with brother; of hiding from the Crimeans once under a dam … Katerina kept listening, not taking her eyes off him.

“She’ll come round!” the lads thought, looking at her.
“This visitor will cure her!
She’s already listening reasonably!”

The visitor meanwhile began telling how Master Danilo had told him, in a moment of frank conversation: “Look here, brother Koprian, if by the will of God I’m no longer in this world, take my wife and let her be your wife …”

Katerina pierced him terribly with her eyes.
“Ah!” she cried out, “it’s him!
it’s my father!” and she rushed at him with her knife.

He fought for a long time, trying to tear the knife away from her.
At last he tore it away, swung—and a terrible deed was done: a father killed his mad daughter.

The amazed Cossacks were about to fall upon him; but the sorcerer had already leaped on his horse and vanished from sight.

XIV

An unheard-of wonder appeared near Kiev.
All the nobles and hetmans gathered to marvel at this wonder: the ends of the earth suddenly became visible far away.
The Liman showed blue in the distance, and beyond the Liman spread the Black Sea.
Experienced men recognized the Crimea, rising mountain-like from the sea, and the swampy Sivash.
To the left could be seen the Galician land.
¹²

“And what is that?” the assembled folk inquired of the old people, pointing to the gray and white peaks showing far away in the sky and looking more like clouds.

“Those are the Carpathian Mountains!” said the old people.
“There are some among them on which the snow never melts and the clouds perch and stay overnight.”

Here a new marvel appeared: the clouds flew off of the highest mountain, and on its peak appeared a mounted man, in full knightly armor, with his eyes shut, and he could be seen as if he were standing up close to them.

Here, from among the folk marveling with fear, one leaped on his horse and, looking wildly around, as if trying to see whether anyone was pursuing him, hastily rode off as fast as his horse could go.
It was the sorcerer.
Why was he so frightened?
Staring in fear at the wondrous knight, he had recognized his face as the same one that had appeared to him unbidden as he performed his incantations.
He himself could not understand why everything in him became confused at this sight, and, fearfully looking back, he raced his horse on until evening overtook him and the stars peeped out.
Here he turned toward home, perhaps to inquire of the unclean powers what this marvel was.
He was just about to jump his horse over a narrow stream that branched out across his path, when the speeding horse suddenly stopped, turned its muzzle to him, and—oh, wonder!—laughed!
Two rows of white teeth flashed terribly in the darkness.
The hair on the sorcerer’s head stood on end.
He cried out wildly, wept frenziedly, and urged his horse straight on to Kiev.
He fancied that everything on all sides rushed to catch him: around him the dark forest trees, as if alive, wagging their black beards and reaching out long branches, tried to strangle him; the stars seemed to run ahead of him, pointing the sinner out to everyone; the road itself, he fancied, raced after him.
The desperate sorcerer flew to Kiev, to the holy places.

XV

A hermit sat alone in his cave before a lamp, not taking his eyes from the holy book.
It was already many years since he had shut
himself away in his cave.
He had already made himself a coffin out of boards in which he slept instead of a bed.
The holy elder closed his book and began to pray … Suddenly a man of strange, terrible appearance rushed in.
At first the holy hermit was astonished and recoiled on seeing this man.
He was trembling all over like an aspen leaf; his eyes rolled wildly; a terrible fire poured fearfully from his eyes; his ugly face filled the soul with trembling.