"Hey, little Satan, get in my pocket and lead me to the Za-porozhtsy."
The devil instantly shrank and became so small that he easily got into Vakula's pocket. And before Vakula had time to look around, he found himself in front of a big house, went up the stairs, himself not knowing how, opened a door, and drew back slightly from the splendor on seeing the furnished room; then he took heart somewhat, recognizing the same Cossacks who had passed through Dikanka sitting cross-legged on silk divans in their tarred boots and smoking the strongest tobacco, the kind known as root-stock.
"Good day, gentlemen! God be with you! So this is where we meet again!" said the blacksmith, going closer and bowing to the ground.
"Who's that man there?" the one sitting right in front of the blacksmith asked another sitting further away.
"You don't recognize me?" said the blacksmith. "It's me, Vakula, the blacksmith! When you passed through Dikanka in the fall, you stayed-God grant you all health and long life-for 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 in the 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 uniforms. The Cossacks bowed on all sides and stood in a cluster.
A minute later a rather stout man of majestic height, wearing a hetman's 8 uniform and yellow boots, came in, accompanied by a whole retinue. His hair was disheveled, one eye was slightly askew, his face showed a certain haughty grandeur, all his movements betrayed a habit of command. The generals who had all been pacing up and down quite arrogantly in their golden uniforms began bustling about and bowing low and seemed to hang on his every word and even his slightest gesture, so as to rush at once and fulfill it. But the hetman did not pay any attention, barely nodded his head, and went up to the Cossacks.
The Cossacks all gave a low bow.
"Are you all here?" he asked with a drawl, pronouncing the words slightly through his nose.
"All here, father!" the Cossacks replied, bowing again.
"You won't forget to speak the way I taught you?"
"No, father, we won't forget."
"Is that the tsar?" the blacksmith asked one of the Cossacks.
"Tsar, nothing! it's Potemkin 9 himself," the man replied.
Voices came from the other room, and the blacksmith did not know where to look from the multitude of ladies entering in satin dresses with long trains and the courtiers in gold-embroidered caftans and with queues behind. He saw only splendor and nothing more. Suddenly the Cossacks all fell to the ground and cried out in one voice:
"Have mercy, mother, have mercy!"
The blacksmith, seeing nothing, also zealously prostrated himself on the floor.
"Get up!" a voice imperious and at the same time pleasant sounded above them. Some of the courtiers bustled about and nudged the Cossacks.
"We won't get up, mother! we won't! we'd rather die than get up!" the Cossacks cried.
Potemkin was biting his lips. Finally he went over himself and whispered commandingly to one of the Cossacks. They got up.
Here the blacksmith also ventured to raise his head and saw standing before him a woman of small stature, even somewhat portly, powdered, with blue eyes, and with that majestically smiling air which knew so well how to make all obey and could belong only to a woman who reigns.
"His Highness promised to acquaint me today with one of my peoples whom I have not yet seen," the lady with the blue eyes said as she studied the Cossacks with curiosity. "Are you being kept well here?" she continued, coming nearer.