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Page 25
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.
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