A Terrible Vengeance

XIII

“Hush… don’t knock like that, nurse: my child is asleep. My baby cried a long time, now he is asleep. I am going to the forest, nurse! But why do you look at me like this? You are hideous: there are iron pincers coming out of your eyes… ugh, how long they are, and they blaze like fire! You must be a witch! Oh, if you are a witch, go away! You will steal my son. How absurd the Captain is; he thinks it is enjoyable for me to live in Kiev. No, my husband and my son are here. Who will look after the house? I went out so quietly that even the dog and the cat did not hear me. Do you want to grow young again, nurse? That’s not hard at all; you need only dance. Look, how I dance.”

And uttering these incoherent sentences Katerina began dancing, looking wildly about her and putting her arms akimbo. With a shriek she tapped with her feet; her silver heels clanked regardless of time or tune. Her black tresses floated loose about her white neck. Like a bird she flew around without resting, waving her hands and nodding her head, and it seemed as though she must either fall helpless to the ground or soar away from earth altogether.

The old nurse stood mournfully, her wrinkled face wet with tears; the trusty Cossacks had heavy hearts as they looked at their mistress. At last she was exhausted and languidly tapped with her feet on the same spot, imagining that she was dancing. “I have a necklace, lads,” she said, stopping at last, “and you have not…! Where is my husband?” she cried suddenly, drawing a Turkish dagger out of her girdle. “Oh, this is not the knife I need.” With that, tears of grief came into her eyes. “My father’s heart is far away; it will not reach it. His heart is wrought of iron; it was forged by a witch in the furnace of hell. Why does not my father come? Does not he know that it is time to stab him? He wants me to come myself, it seems…” and breaking off she laughed strangely. “A funny story came into my mind: I remembered how my husband was buried. He was buried alive, you know… It did make me laugh…! Listen, listen!” and instead of speaking she began to sing:

A bloodstained cart races on,
A Cossack lies upon it
Shot through the breast, stabbed to the heart.
In his right hand he holds a spear
And blood is trickling from it,
A stream of blood is flowing.
A plane tree stands over the river,
Above the tree a raven croaks.
A mother is weeping for the Cossack.
Weep not, mother, do not grieve!
For your son is married.
He chose a pretty lady for his bride,
A mound of earth in the bare fields
Without a door or window.
And this is how my story ends.
A fish was dancing with a crab,
And may a fever take his mother
If he will not love me!

This was how she muddled lines from different songs. She had been living two days in her own house and would not hear of Kiev. She would not say her prayers, refused to see anyone, and wandered from morning till night in the dark oak thickets. Sharp twigs scratched her white face and shoulders; the wind fluttered her loose hair; the autumn leaves rustled under her feet—she looked at nothing. At the hour when the glow of sunset dies away and before the stars come out or the moon shines, it is frightening to walk in the forest: unbaptized infants claw at the trees and clutch at the branches; sobbing and laughing, they hover over the road and the expanses of nettles; maidens who have lost their souls rise up one after the other from the depths of the Dnieper, their green tresses stream over their shoulders, the water drips splashing to the ground from their long hair; and a maiden shines through the water as through a veil of crystal; her lips smile mysteriously, her cheeks glow, her eyes bewitch the soul… as though she might burn with love, as though she might kiss one to death. Flee, Christian! Her lips are ice, her bed—the cold water; she will drag you under water. Katerina looked at no one; in her frenzy she had no fear of the water sprites; she wandered at night with her knife, seeking her father.

In the early morning a visitor arrived, a man of handsome appearance in a scarlet coat, and inquired for the lord Danilo; he heard all the story, wiped his tear-stained eyes with his sleeves, and shrugged his shoulders. He said that he had fought side by side with Burulbash; side by side they had done battle with the Turks and the Crimeans; never had he thought that the lord Danilo would meet with such an end. The visitor told them many other things and wanted to see the lady Katerina.

At first Katerina heard nothing of what the guest said; but afterward she began to listen to his words as though understanding. He told her how Danilo and he had lived together like brothers; how once they had hidden under a dam from the Crimeans… Katerina listened and kept her eyes fixed upon him.

“She will recover,” the Cossacks thought, looking at her, “this guest will heal her! She is listening like one who understands!”

The visitor began meanwhile describing how Danilo had once, in a confidential conversation, said to him: “Listen, brother Kopryan, when it is God’s will that I am gone, you take Katerina, take her for your wife…”

Katerina looked piercingly at him. “Aie!” she shrieked, “it is he, it is my father!” and she flew at him with her knife.

For a long time he struggled, trying to snatch the knife from her; at last he snatched it away, raised it to strike—and a terrible deed was done: the father killed his crazed daughter.

The astounded Cossacks rushed at him, but the sorcerer had already leaped upon his horse and was gone.