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Page 24
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.
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