St. John's Eve (Gogol)
Short summary
A Ukrainian village, over a hundred years ago. A mysterious devil-man named Basavriuk often appeared in the village, carousing and giving gifts to pretty girls. A Cossack named Korzh had a laborer called Peter the Orphan who fell in love with Korzh's beautiful daughter Pidorka.
Korzh caught them kissing and forbade Peter from seeing his daughter. A wealthy Pole began courting Pidorka, and her father arranged their wedding. Desperate, Peter went to a tavern where Basavriuk offered him gold in exchange for one thing: Peter must pick a fern flower on St. John's Eve at midnight in the Bear's ravine.
Peter picked the magical flower and followed it to a buried treasure chest. A witch appeared with a child covered in white—it was Pidorka's little brother Ivas.
Peter flew at the witch with the knife like a madman...The witch stamped her foot: a blue flame flashed...He grasped the knife like a madman, and the innocent blood spurted into his eyes.
Peter awoke with no memory of the murder but found sacks of gold. He married Pidorka, but gradually lost his mind, unable to remember something terrible. On St. John's Eve, a witch visited, and Peter suddenly remembered everything. He tried to kill the witch but struck the door instead. Ivas's ghost appeared covered in blood. Peter burned to ashes, the gold turned to potsherds, and Pidorka became a nun, praying silently until her death.
Detailed summary
Division into sections is editorial.
The sacristans retelling and the grandfathers tales
The story began with a frame narrative. A sacristan of the Dikanka church recounted how a young gentleman in a pea-green caftan once extracted a tale from an elderly storyteller and published it in a little book. When the sacristan attempted to read this printed version aloud, the original narrator stopped him indignantly, insisting the published account was false and declaring he would tell the true story himself.
The narrator then recalled his own grandfather, a masterful storyteller whose tales could hold listeners spellbound all day. In the long winter evenings, while the narrator's mother sat at her spinning wheel and the frost crackled outside, the grandfather would tell wonderful stories from atop the stove where he had remained for over five years due to his great age. His tales of Cossack raids and supernatural events were so vivid and terrifying that children often mistook ordinary objects for evil spirits afterward. The grandfather's defining characteristic was that he never lied—whatever he said was true.
The village, the devil-man Basavriuk, and Peter the orphan
Over a hundred years ago, the village was nothing but a poor hamlet of half a dozen miserable farmhouses scattered across the fields. The inhabitants lived in poverty not because they lacked wealth from their Cossack raids, but because constant attacks from Crimeans, Poles, and Lithuanians made building proper homes pointless. In this hamlet, a mysterious devil-man often appeared. He would arrive suddenly, carouse with the Cossacks, distribute gifts and vodka freely, then vanish without trace.
The narrator's grandfather's aunt, who kept a tavern where this devil-man caroused, refused to accept his gifts, knowing they came from unclean hands. Those who did accept them suffered terribly—fiends would appear at night to torment them. The village priest attempted to reprove this unrepentant man and impose penance, but barely escaped with his life after being threatened. The priest then declared that anyone who associated with this devil would be considered an enemy of the church.
In this village lived a Cossack who had a labourer called Peter the Orphan. The young man was poor, possessing only a tattered grey coat, but he was handsome with black brows. Had he owned proper Cossack attire, he would have surpassed all the young men in appearance. The Cossack also had a daughter of extraordinary beauty, with plump fresh cheeks like poppies, evenly arched black brows, and hair soft as young flax that fell in curls over her shoulders.
Peter and Pidorkas forbidden love; Korzhs rejection
Young men and maidens living side by side naturally led to romance. In the twilight, Peter's red boots were always visible where he chatted with Pidorka. Their secret remained safe until Peter rashly kissed the maiden's rosy lips without looking around first. At that very moment, her father opened the cottage door and stood petrified. The unlucky kiss completely stunned him. When Pidorka's little brother grasped his father's legs and begged him not to beat Peter, the father's heart softened.
Instead of beating Peter, the father led him quietly from the house and warned him never to show himself at the cottage again, punctuating his words with a powerful blow to Peter's neck that sent him flying. Thus ended their kissing. Sorrow fell upon the young lovers. Soon a rumor spread that a wealthy Pole, embroidered with gold and jingling with coins, had begun frequenting the father's house. One day, Pidorka sent her brother to Peter with a desperate message: she would have loved Peter's brown eyes and kissed his fair face, but her fate decreed otherwise. Her father was forcing her to marry the Pole. There would be no music at her wedding, only priests singing, and instead of dancing with a bridegroom, they would carry her out to a dark dwelling of maple wood with a cross upon the roof.
Peter stood petrified when the innocent child delivered Pidorka's words. He had thought to go to Crimea and Turkey to win gold and return to his beauty, but now understood it could not be. He too would have a wedding, but with the black crow instead of a priest cawing over him, the bare plain as his dwelling, and the dark blue cloud as his roof. Resigned to his fate, he went straight to the tavern and called for a large jug of brandy, trying in vain to drown his woe.
St. Johns Eve: The fern flower, the witch, and the terrible sacrifice
A bass voice growled behind Peter—it was Basavriuk. The devil-man jingled a leather purse full of ducats and smiled diabolically, offering Peter a whole pile of gold coins for just one thing. Peter exclaimed that it was the Evil One, but declared himself ready for anything. They struck hands upon the bargain.
You are just in time, Peter: to-morrow is St. John the Baptist's day. Only on this one night in the year does the fern blossom. I will await you at midnight in the Bear's ravine.
Peter awaited the evening with extreme anxiety. When darkness finally fell, he made his way through thick woods into the deep hollow called the Bear's ravine, where Basavriuk waited. Hand in hand they pushed through luxuriant thorn-bushes until they reached an open spot with three hillocks. Basavriuk instructed Peter to seize the fern flower when it blossomed and look not round, no matter what seemed to be happening behind him. Then Basavriuk vanished.
Peter approached the hillocks but saw no flowers at first, only wild grass. Then lightning flashed, revealing a whole bed of wonderful, strange flowers including simple fronds of fern. The tiny flower-bud of the fern reddened and moved as though alive, growing larger and glowing like a burning coal. Tiny stars of light flashed, something burst softly, and the flower opened like a flame. Peter extended his hand, saw hundreds of hairy hands reaching from behind him, heard scampering, but half-closed his eyes and plucked the stalk sharply. The flower remained in his hand, and all became still.
Basavriuk sat upon a stump, quite blue like a corpse, his eyes fixed on something visible only to him. Then he muttered that a charmer would stand before Peter, and he must do whatever she commanded or be lost forever. He parted the thorn-bushes with his stick, revealing a tiny farmhouse. A large black dog ran out, transformed into a cat, then became an old woman bent like a bow with a face wrinkled like a baked apple.
The witch tore the flower from Peter's hand and muttered over it, sprinkling it with water. When she told him to throw it away, the flower did not fall but twinkled like a fiery ball through the darkness, finally sinking far away like a barely visible star. Basavriuk gave Peter a spade and told him to dig where the flower fell—he would find more gold than he or the Cossack ever dreamed of. Peter spat on his hands and began digging. The spade clinked against a small iron-bound coffer, but the chest began sinking deeper into the earth. Behind him, he heard a laugh like a serpent's hiss.
No, you shall not have the gold until you shed human blood...and she led up to him a child of six, covered with a white sheet, and indicated by a sign that he was to cut off his head.
Peter was stunned. He tore off the sheet and beheld Ivas, who crossed his little hands and hung his head. Peter flew at the witch with the knife like a madman, but Basavriuk thundered, asking what Peter had promised for the girl, and knocked him to his back. The witch stamped her foot, a blue flame flashed, and the earth became transparent. Peter saw ducats and precious stones in heaps beneath the very spot where they stood. His eyes flashed, his mind grew troubled, and he grasped the knife like a madman. Innocent blood spurted into his eyes. Diabolical laughter resounded, misshapen monsters flew past in flocks, and the witch drank the blood like a wolf. Everything grew red before Peter, the trees seemed steeped in blood and burned and groaned, the sky glowed and threatened. Utterly exhausted, he rushed into his miserable hovel and fell to the ground in a death-like sleep.
The cursed gold: Peters madness, recovered memory, and death
Peter slept for two days and two nights. When he awoke on the third day, he tried in vain to recollect what had happened—his memory was like a miser's pocket from which you cannot entice a quarter of a kopek. Stretching himself, he heard something clash at his feet and saw two sacks of gold. Only then did he dimly recollect seeking treasure and being frightened in the woods. The father saw the sacks and was mollified, claiming he had always loved Peter like his own son. Pidorka told Peter that passing gypsies had stolen Ivas, but Peter could not even recall the boy—the Devil's influence had so darkened his mind. The Pole was dismissed, and wedding preparations began.
The wedding feast was magnificent in the old style, with maidens in festive ribbons and embroidered chemisettes dancing the gorlitza, youths executing the gopak, and the old father himself dancing with a brandy-glass upon his head. Guests disguised their faces and dressed in Turkish and Tatar garments, creating such merriment that the old folks could not recall so merry a wedding. Peter and Pidorka began to live like a gentleman and lady with plenty of everything. But honest folk shook their heads, agreeing that from the Devil no good could come.
From the Devil no good can come...Whence, except from the tempter of orthodox people, came this wealth? Where else could he have got such a lot of gold from?
Within a month, no one would have recognised Peter. He sat in one spot saying no word to anyone, continually thinking and trying to recall something. When Pidorka got him to speak, he would grow cheerful, but if he glanced at the sacks, he would cry out and plunge back into reverie, striving to recall the past. Sometimes it seemed as though memory was coming back, but then all would fade away. It seemed he was sitting in the tavern being brought vodka, someone struck him on the shoulder, but beyond that everything was veiled in darkness. Perspiration would stream down his face as he sat exhausted. Pidorka consulted sorceresses who poured out fear and brewed remedies, but all to no avail.
Summer passed, then autumn and winter. Peter remained the same, growing more morose as time went on. He sat as though nailed to the spot with the sacks of gold at his feet, his hair growing long, becoming terrible to look at. He grew averse to companionship and would rise wildly from his seat, gesticulating violently and fixing his eyes on something as though trying to catch it, his lips moving as though trying to utter a long-forgotten word but remaining speechless. Fury would possess him—he would gnaw and bite his hands and tear out his hair by the handful before calming down and relapsing into forgetfulness.
Pidorka was neither dead nor alive. At first it was horrible to remain alone with him, but in time she grew accustomed to her sorrow. She was thin and worn with grief, having wept her bright eyes away. Someone advised her to visit the witch who dwelt in the Bear's ravine. On St. John's Eve, the old woman came. Peter lay insensible on the bench and did not observe the newcomer. Slowly he rose and looked about. Suddenly he trembled in every limb, his hair rose upon his head, and he laughed a terrible laugh.
I have remembered, remembered!...and, swinging a hatchet round his head, he struck at the old woman...The sheet flew off. Ivas! cried Pidorka...the apparition became covered from head to foot with blood
Pidorka ran into the passage in terror, but the door had slammed shut behind her and she could not open it. People ran up and broke in the door. The whole cottage was full of smoke, and just in the middle where Peter had stood was a heap of ashes from which smoke still rose. They flung themselves upon the sacks—only broken potsherds lay there instead of ducats.
Aftermath: Pidorkas pilgrimage and Basavriuks revenge on the village
Pidorka made a vow to go upon a pilgrimage, collected her father's property, and in a few days vanished from the village. A Cossack from Kiev later reported seeing in a cloister a nun withered to a mere skeleton who prayed unceasingly. Her fellow-villagers recognised her by tokens—no one heard her utter a word, and she had brought a frame for the picture of God's mother set with such brilliant stones that all were dazzled.
On the same day that the Evil One made away with Peter, Basavriuk appeared again, but all fled from him. They knew he was Satan in human form who had assumed human shape to unearth treasures, and since treasures do not yield to unclean hands, he seduced the young. That year, all deserted their earthen huts and collected in a village, but even there was no peace because of the accursed Basavriuk. He was particularly angry with the narrator's grandfather's aunt for abandoning her tavern and tried with all his might to revenge himself. Once the village elders assembled in the tavern with a roasted lamb on the table. The sheep raised its head, its eyes became alive and sparkled, and a black bristling moustache appeared—all recognised Basavriuk's countenance in the sheep's head. Another time, the church elder's brandy-glass bowed very low to him, and his wife's kneading-trough sprang up and went skipping about the cottage with arms akimbo. Father Athanasii went through the village with holy water trying to chase the Devil, but the grandfather's aunt long complained that someone came knocking at her door and scratching at the wall as soon as it grew dark. Eventually all appeared quiet, though for many years afterward, smoke poured from the ruined tavern's chimneys and Satan sobbed so pitifully that startled ravens rose in flocks from the neighbouring oak-wood and flew through the air with wild cries.