The Fair at Sorochintsi

II

Good heavens! what isn’t there at that fair! Wheels, window-panes, tar, tobacco, straps, onions, all sorts of haberdashery… so that even if you had thirty rubles in your purse you could not buy everything at the fair.

From a Little Russian comedy

You have no doubt heard a rushing waterfall when everything is quivering and filled with uproar, and a chaos of strange vague sounds floats like a whirlwind around you. Are you not instantly overcome by the same feelings in the turmoil of the village fair, when all the people become one huge monster that moves its massive body through the square and the narrow streets, with shouting, laughing, and clatter? Noise, swearing, bellowing, bleating, roaring—all blend into one jarring uproar. Oxen, sacks, hay, gypsies, pots, peasant women, cakes, caps—everything is bright, gaudy, discordant, flitting in groups, shifting to and fro before your eyes. The different voices drown one another, and not a single word can be caught, can be saved from the deluge; not one cry is distinct. Only the clapping of hands after each bargain is heard on all sides. A wagon breaks down, there is the clank of iron, the thud of boards thrown onto the ground, and one’s head is so dizzy one does not know which way to turn.

The peasant whose acquaintance we have already made had been for some time elbowing his way through the crowd with his black-browed daughter; he went up to one wagonload, fingered another, inquired the prices; and meanwhile his thoughts kept revolving around his ten sacks of wheat and the old mare he had brought to sell. From his daughter’s face it could be seen that she was not especially pleased to be wasting time by the wagons of flour and wheat. She longed to be where red ribbons, earrings, crosses made of copper and pewter, and coins were smartly displayed under linen awnings. But even where she was she found many objects worthy of notice: she was amused at the sight of a gypsy and a peasant, who clapped hands so that they both cried out with pain; of a drunken Jew kneeing a woman on the rump; of women hucksters quarreling with abusive words and gestures of contempt; of a Great Russian with one hand stroking his goat’s beard, with another… But at that moment she felt someone pull her by the embroidered sleeve of her blouse. She looked around—and the bright-eyed young man in the white jacket stood before her. She started and her heart throbbed, as it had never done before at any joy or grief; it seemed strange and delightful, and she could not make out what had happened to her.

“Don’t be frightened, dear heart, don’t be frightened!” he said to her in a low voice, taking her hand. “I’ll say nothing to hurt you!”

“Perhaps it is true that you will say nothing to hurt me,” the girl thought to herself; “only it is strange… it might be the Evil One! One knows that it is not right… but I haven’t the strength to take away my hand.”

The peasant looked around and was about to say something to his daughter, but on the other side he heard the word “wheat.” That magic word instantly made him join two dealers who were talking loudly, and riveted his attention upon them so that nothing could have distracted it. This is what the dealers were saying.