Short Fiction - Nikolai Gogol (best selling autobiographies TXT) 📗

caught in the sacks of the young people. In one place, the lads formed a ring to surround a group of maidens; nothing was heard but shouts and screams; one was throwing a snowball, another was endeavouring to get hold of a sack crammed with Christmas donations. In another place, the girls caught hold of some youth, or put something in his way, and down he fell with his sack. It seemed as if the whole of the night would pass away in these festivities. And the night, as if on purpose, shone so brilliantly; the gleam of the snow made the beams of the moon still whiter.

The blacksmith with his sacks stopped suddenly. He fancied he heard the voice and the sonorous laughter of Oxana in the midst of a group of maidens. It thrilled through his whole frame; he threw the sacks on the ground with so much force that the clerk, sitting at the bottom of one of them, groaned with pain, and the elder hiccupped aloud; then, keeping only the little sack upon his shoulders, the blacksmith joined a company of lads who followed close after a group of maidens, amongst whom he thought he had heard Oxana’s voice.

“Yes, indeed; there she is! standing like a queen, her dark eyes sparkling with pleasure! There is a handsome youth speaking with her; his speech seems very amusing, for she is laughing; but does she not always laugh?” Without knowing why he did it and as if against his will, the blacksmith pushed his way through the crowd, and stood beside her.

“Ah! Vakoola, here art thou; a good evening to thee!” said the belle, with the very smile which drove Vakoola quite mad. “Well, hast thou received much? Eh! what a small sack! And didst thou get the boots that the Czarina wears? Get those boots and I’ll marry thee!” and away she ran laughing with the crowd.

The blacksmith remained riveted to the spot. “No, I cannot; I have not the strength to endure it any longer,” said he at last. “But, Heavens! why is she so beautiful? Her looks, her voice, all, all about her makes my blood boil! No, I cannot get the better of it; it is time to put an end to this. Let my soul perish! I’ll go and drown myself, and then all will be over.” He dashed forwards with hurried steps, overtook the group, approached Oxana, and said to her in a resolute voice: “Farewell, Oxana! Take whatever bridegroom thou pleasest; make a fool of whom thou wilt; as for me, thou shalt never more meet me in this world!” The beauty seemed astonished, and was about to speak, but the blacksmith waved his hand and ran away.

“Whither away, Vakoola?” cried the lads, seeing him run. “Farewell, brothers,” answered the blacksmith. “God grant that we may meet in another world; but in this we meet no more! Fare you well! keep a kind remembrance of me. Pray Father Kondrat to say a mass for my sinful soul. Ask him forgiveness that I did not, on account of worldly cares, paint the tapers for the church. Everything that is found in my big box I give to the Church; farewell!”⁠—and thus saying, the blacksmith went on running, with his sack on his back.

“He has gone mad!” said the lads. “Poor lost soul!” piously ejaculated an old woman who happened to pass by; “I’ll go and tell about the blacksmith having hanged himself.”

Vakoola, after having run for some time along the streets, stopped to take breath. “Well, where am I running?” thought he; “is really all lost?⁠—I’ll try one thing more; I’ll go to the fat Patzuck, the Zaporoghian. They say he knows every devil, and has the power of doing everything he wishes; I’ll go to him; ’tis the same thing for the perdition of my soul.” At this, the devil, who had long remained quiet and motionless, could not refrain from giving vent to his joy by leaping in the sack. But the blacksmith thinking he had caught the sack with his hand, and thus occasioned the movement himself, gave a hard blow on the sack with his fist, and after shaking it about on his shoulders, went off to the fat Patzuck.

This fat Patzuck had indeed once been a Zaporoghian. Nobody, however, knew whether he had been turned out of the warlike community, or whether he had fled from it of his own accord.

He had already been for some ten, nay, it might even be for some fifteen years, settled at Dikanka. At first, he had lived as best suited a Zaporoghian; working at nothing, sleeping three-quarters of the day, eating not less than would satisfy six harvestmen, and drinking almost a whole pailful at once. It must be allowed that there was plenty of room for food and drink in Patzuck; for, though he was not very tall, he tolerably made up for it in bulk. Moreover, the trousers he wore were so wide, that long as might be the strides he took in walking, his feet were never seen at all, and he might have been taken t for a wine cask moving along the streets. This, may have been the reason for giving him the nickname of “Fatty.” A few weeks had hardly passed since his arrival in the village, when it came to be known that he was a wizard. If anyone happened to fall ill, he called Patzuck directly; and Patzuck had only to mutter a few words to put an end to the illness at once. Had any hungry Cossack swallowed a fish-bone, Patzuck knew how to give him right skilfully a slap on the back, so that the fish-bone went where it ought to go without causing any pain to the Cossack’s throat. Latterly, Patzuck was scarcely ever seen out of doors. This was perhaps caused by laziness, and perhaps, also, because to get through the door was a task which with every