Free The Collected Tales of Nikolai Gogol by Nikolái Gógol Page A

nearly two days.And I put a new tire on the front wheel of your kibitka then!”
    “Ah,” said the first Cossack, “this is that same blacksmith who paints so well.Greetings, landsman, what brings you here?”
    “Oh, I just came for a look around.They say …”
    “Well, landsman,” the Cossack said, assuming a dignified air and wishing to show that he, too, could speak Russian, “it’s a beeg city, eh?”
    The blacksmith did not want to disgrace himself and look like a greenhorn; what’s more, as we had occasion to see earlier, he, too, was acquainted with literate language.
    “A grand province!” he replied with equanimity.“No disputing it: the houses are plenty big, there’s good paintings hanging everywhere.A lot of houses have an extremity of letters in gold leaf written on them.Wonderful proportions, there’s no disputing it!”
    The Zaporozhtsy, hearing the blacksmith express himself so fluently, drew very favorable conclusions about him.
    “We’ll talk more with you later, landsman; right now we’re on our way to the tsaritsa.”
    “To the tsaritsa?Be so kind, masters, as to take me with you!”
    “You?” the Cossack said, with the air of a tutor talking to his four-year-old charge who is begging to be put on a real, big horse.“What will you do there?No, impossible.” With that, his face assumed an imposing mien.“We, brother, are going to discuss our own affairs with the tsaritsa.”
    “Take me!” the blacksmith persisted.“Beg them!” he whispered softly to the devil, hitting the pocket with his fist.
    Before he got the words out, another Cossack spoke up:
    “Let’s take him, brothers!”
    “All right, let’s take him!” said the others.
    “Get dressed the same as we are.”
    The blacksmith was just pulling on a green jacket when the door suddenly opened, and a man with gold braid came in and said it was time to go.
    Again it seemed a marvel to the blacksmith, as he raced along inthe huge carriage rocking on its springs, when four-storied houses raced backward past him on both sides, and the street, rumbling, seemed to roll under the horses’ hooves.
    “My God, what light!” the blacksmith thought to himself.“Back home it’s not so bright at noontime.”
    The carriages stopped in front of the palace.The Cossacks got out, went into the magnificent front hall, and started up the brilliantly lit stairway.
    “What a stairway!” the blacksmith whispered to himself.“It’s a pity to trample it underfoot.Such ornaments!See, and they say it’s all tall tales!the devil it’s tall tales!my God, what a banister!such workmanship!it’s fifty roubles’ worth of iron alone.”
    After climbing the stairs, the Cossacks passed through the first hall.The blacksmith followed them timidly, afraid of slipping on the parquet floor at every step.They passed through three halls, and the blacksmith still couldn’t stop being amazed.On entering the fourth, he inadvertently went up to a painting that hung on the wall.It was of the most pure Virgin with the Child in her arms.“What a painting!what wonderful art!” he thought.“It seems to be speaking!it seems alive!And the holy Child!He clasps his little hands and smiles, poor thing!And the colors!oh, my God, what colors!I bet there’s not a kopeck’s worth of ochre; it’s all verdigris and crimson, and the blue is so bright!Great workmanship!and the ground must have been done in white lead.But, astonishing as the painting is, this brass handle,” he went on, going up to the door and feeling the latch, “is worthy of still greater astonishment.What perfect finish!I bet German blacksmiths made it all, and for a very dear price …”
    The blacksmith would probably have gone on reasoning for a long time, if a lackey with galloons hadn’t nudged his arm, reminding him not to lag behind.The Cossacks passed through two more halls and stopped.Here they were told to wait.In the hall there was a group of generals in gold-embroidered