Viy — Страница 16

"
The chief uttered these last words with such force that the philosopher
fully understood their meaning.
"Follow me!" said the chief.
They stepped out to the front hall. The chief opened the door to
another room opposite the first. The philosopher stopped in the hall for a
moment to blow his nose and then with some unaccountable fear crossed the
threshold. The whole floor was covered with red cotton cloth. In the corner,
under the icons, on a high table, lay the body of the dead girl, on a cover
of blue velvet adorned with gold fringe and tassels. Tall wax candles twined
with guelder rose stood at her head and feet, shedding their dim light, lost
in the brightness of day. The face of the dead girl was screened from him by
the disconsolate father, who sat before her, his back to the door. The
philosopher was struck by the words he heard:
"I'm not sorry, my darling daughter, that you, to my sorrow and grief,
have left the earth in the flower of your youth, without living out your
allotted term. I'm sorry, my little dove, that I do not know who it was,
what wicked enemy of mine, that caused your death. And if I knew of anyone
who might only think of insulting you or just of saying something unpleasant
about you, I swear to God he would never see his children again, if he
happened to be as old as I am, or his father and mother, if he was still a
young man; and his body would be thrown to the birds and beasts of the
steppe. But woe is me, my wild marigold, my little quail, my bright star,
that I must live out the rest of my life with no delight, wiping the tears
with my coattails as they flow from my aged eyes, while my enemy rejoices
and laughs secretly at the feeble old man . . ."
He stopped, and the reason for it was the rending grief that resolved
itself in a whole Hood of tears.
The philosopher was moved by such inconsolable sorrow. He coughed and
gave a muffled grunt, wishing thereby to clear his voice a little.
The chief turned and pointed to the place at the dead girl's head,
before a small lectern on which some books lay.
"I can do the three nights' work somehow," thought the philosopher,
"and the master will fill both my pockets with gold coins for it."
He approached and, clearing his throat once more, began to read, paying
no attention to anything around him and not daring to look into the dead
girl's face. A deep silence settled in. He noticed that the chief had left.
Slowly he turned his head to look at the dead girl, and . . .
A shudder ran through his veins: before him lay a beauty such as there
had never been on earth. It seemed that facial features had never before
been assembled into such sharp yet harmonious beauty. She lay as if alive.