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Page 26
What did not Pidorka do? She consulted the sorceress; and they poured
out fear, and brewed stomach ache,[Footnote: "To pour out fear," is done
with us in case of fear; when it is desired to know what caused it,
melted lead or wax is poured into water, and the object whose form it
assumes is the one which frightened the sick person; after this, the
fear departs. Sonyashnitza is brewed for giddiness, and pain in the
bowels. To this end, a bit of stump is burned, thrown into a jug, and
turned upside down into a bowl filled with water, which is placed on the
patient's stomach: after an incantation, he is given a spoonful of this
water to drink.]--but all to no avail. And so the summer passed. Many a
Cossack had mowed and reaped: many a Cossack, more enterprising than the
rest, had set off upon an expedition. Flocks of ducks were already
crowding our marshes, but there was not even a hint of improvement.
It was red upon the steppes. Ricks of grain, like Cossacks' caps, dotted
the fields here and there. On the highway were to be encountered wagons
loaded with brushwood and logs. The ground had become more solid, and in
places was touched with frost. Already had the snow begun to besprinkle
the sky, and the branches of the trees were covered with rime like
rabbit-skin. Already on frosty days the red-breasted finch hopped about
on the snow-heaps like a foppish Polish nobleman, and picked out grains
of corn; and children, with huge sticks, chased wooden tops 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, and thresh the grain
spread out in the barn. At last the snow began to melt, and the ice rind
slipped away: but Petro remained the same; and, the longer it went on,
the more morose he grew. He sat in the middle of the cottage as though
nailed to the spot, with the sacks of gold at his feet. He grew shy, his
hair grew long, he became terrible; and still he thought of but one
thing, still he tried to recall something, and got angry and ill-
tempered because he could not recall it. Often, rising wildly from his
seat, he gesticulates violently, fixes his eyes on something as though
desirous of catching it: his lips move as though desirous of uttering
some long-forgotten word--and remain speechless. Fury takes possession
of him: he gnaws and bites his hands like a man half crazy, and in his
vexation tears out his hair by the handful, until, calming down, he
falls into forgetfulness, as it were, and again begins to recall, and is
again seized with fury and fresh tortures. . . . What visitation of God is
this?
Pidorka was neither dead nor alive. At first it was horrible to her to
remain alone in the cottage; but, in course of time, the poor woman grew
accustomed to her sorrow. But it was impossible to recognize the Pidorka
of former days. No blush, no smile: she was thin and worn with grief,
and had wept her bright eyes away. Once, some one who evidently took
pity on her advised her to go to the witch who dwelt in the Bear's
ravine, and enjoyed the reputation of being able to cure every disease
in the world. She determined to try this last remedy: word by word she
persuaded the old woman to come to her. This was St. John's Eve, as it
chanced. Petro lay insensible on the bench, and did not observe the new-
comer. Little by little 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 such a laugh as pierced Pidorka's heart
with fear. "I have remembered, remembered!" he cried in terrible joy;
and, swinging a hatchet round his head, he flung it at the old woman
with all his might. The hatchet penetrated the oaken door two vershok
(three inches and a half). The old woman disappeared; and a child of
seven in a white blouse, with covered head, stood in the middle of the
cottage. . . . The sheet flew off. "Ivas!" cried Pidorka, and ran to him;
but the apparition became covered from head to foot with blood, and
illumined the whole room with red light. . . . She ran into the passage in
her terror, but, on recovering herself a little, wished to help him; in
vain! the door had slammed to behind her so securely that she could not
open it. People ran up, and began to knock: they broke in the door, as
though there was but one mind among them. The whole cottage was full of
smoke; and just in the middle, where Petrus had stood, was a heap of
ashes, from which smoke was still rising. They flung themselves upon the
sacks: only broken potsherds lay there instead of ducats. The Cossacks
stood with staring eyes and open mouths, not daring to move a hair, as
if rooted to the earth, such terror did this wonder inspire in them.
I do not remember what happened next. Pidorka took a vow to go upon a
pilgrimage, collected the property left her by her father, and in a few
days it was as if she had never been in the village. Whither she had
gone, no one could tell. Officious old women would have despatched her
to the same place whither Petro had gone; but a Cossack from Kief
reported that he had seen in a cloister, a nun withered to a mere
skeleton, who prayed unceasingly; and her fellow villagers recognized
her as Pidorka, by all the signs,--that no one had ever heard her utter
a word; that she had come on foot, and had brought a frame for the ikon
of God's mother, set with such brilliant stones that all were dazzled at
the sight.
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