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P.Bazhov
The Flower of Stone
Translated by Eve Manning
freebooksforkids.net
Illustrated by V.Nazaruk
The guests went their ways, but that talk about the Flower of Stone stayed with Danilushko. Again he began wandering in the woods and stood staring at his thornapple, but not a word about the wedding. Prokopich began to urge him.
"Why d'ye put the maid to shame? How many more years is she to wait unwed? Soon she'll be the laughing-stock o' the village. Don't ye know the gossips' tongues?"
But it was the same old story with Danilushko. "Bide a bit, let me finish thinking and find the right kind of stone."
He started hanging about the copper mine, the Gumeshky one. Times he'd go down, and times he'd hunt among the stone when it was carried up.
One day he'd picked up a bit of stone and was turning it over and over in his hands, thinking—no, that's not it, when suddenly he heard someone say: "Seek in another place, on Serpent Hill."
Danilushko looked about him, but saw nobody. Who could have spoken?
Was someone playing a trick?... But there was nowhere to hide. He looked, round again, then turned to go home. And from behind him the voice came again.
"You heard me, Danilushko the Craftsman? On Serpent Hill, I tell ye."
He looked round again, and there stood a woman, faint and shadowy as though made of blue mist. And then she was gone.
What could that be? he thought. Could it be her? Suppose I do go to Serpent Hill?
That was a place Danilushko knew well, for it wasn't far from Gumeshky. It's been gone a long time now, all dug away. But in the old times they used to get the stone from right on top of it.
The next day Danilushko went there. It was a low hill, but steep. And on one side it fell sheer as though it had been sliced off. You couldn't ask for a better scanning cut. The layers were opened up, look all you want.
Danilushko went up to that cut, and there lay a hunk of malachite that had tumbled down. A big piece, too heavy to carry, and shaped and patterned like a bush. Danilushko looked it over and over. It was just what he wanted—darker at the bottom, with veins running the right way—everything he could hope for. Well, of course, Danilushko was real happy, he ran off to get a horse and brought the stone home.
"Look at this," he said to Prokopich. "Just as if it was made for me. Now I'll soon get it done. And then I'll wed. It's right, Katya's been waiting a long time. Aye, and I haven't found it easy either. It's only this job that's keeping me. The sooner it's done, the better!"
Danilushko set to work on the stone and day and night were one to him. Prokopich said naught. Maybe, he thought, the lad'll quiet down when he's got it done.... The work went fast. Danilushko trimmed away the stone at the bottom and you could see at once it was a real thornapple bush. The broad leaves in bunches, the jagged edges, the veins—all real as life. Even Prokopich said it was so like you wanted to touch it. But when he got to the top part, the trouble began. He'd carved the stem and the thin leaves at the side—how it all held together was a marvel. And the cup was just like the thornapple, but somehow it wasn't right. It had gone dead and the beauty was lost. Danilushko couldn't sleep, he sat there over his goblet thinking how he could make it right, make it better. Prokopich and the other craftsmen who came to look at it were amazed—what more did the lad want? He'd made a goblet like nobody'd ever made before, and still he wasn't pleased. He must be sick, he should see a leech. Katya heard all this talk and began to weep. That brought Danilushko to his senses.
"Very well," he said, "that's enough. It seems I can go no higher, I can't grasp the power of beauty in the stone." And he himself started to hurry on the wedding all he could. That's easy when the maid's had everything ready and waiting long ago. So they fixed the day. Danilushko got his good spirits back again. He told the bailiff about that goblet. The bailiff came and took a look—eh, what a piece of work! He wanted to send it away to the Master at once, but Danilushko wouldn't agree.
"Bide a while, there's a bit more to do."
It was autumn, for the wedding day was close to the Serpent Feast. Somebody spoke of it—soon all the serpents'll be gathering. Danilushko heard that, and it was like an omen. He remembered the talk about the Flower of Stone. And something seemed to be pulling at him. Maybe I'll go up Serpent Hill one last time, he thought, maybe I'll learn something there. And he remembered that piece of stone. Just as if it had been put there for him, And the voice by the mine—it had told him to go to Serpent Hill.
So Danilushko went. There was already a bit of frost and a sprinkling of snow on the ground. Danilushko went to that cut where he'd found the stone, and there he saw a big hollow, as though someone had been quarrying. He didn't stop to think who it could be, he went in. I'll bide here a bit, he thought, and shelter from the wind. It's warmer... He looked round, and there by one wall was a grey boulder like a chair. Danilushko sat down on it and stared at the ground, and all the time he couldn't get that Flower of Stone out of his head. If only I could just glimpse it, he thought. All of a sudden he felt quite warm, as though it were summer again. He lifted up his head and there just opposite, sitting by the other wall, he saw the Mistress of the Copper Mountain. Danilushko knew who it was at once, because of her beauty and her robe of malachite. But he thought: Maybe I'm just fancying it, there's naught there really. So he sat quiet, staring at the place where the Mistress sat just as if he saw nothing at all. And she sat there quiet too, sort of thoughtful. At last she spoke.
"Well, Danilo the Craftsman, so naught came of your thornapple?"
"No, naught came of it," he said.
"Don't lose heart," she said, "try again. You shall have the stone ye want."
"Nay," he said, "I can do no more. I'm all worn out wi' it. Show me the Flower of Stone."
"That's easy enough," she said, "but afterwards you'll be sorry."
"Ye won't let me leave the mountain?"
"Why not? The way's open. But they always come back to me."
"Show me! Of your charity!"
But still she tried to dissuade him.
"Maybe ye'll try once more with your own powers," She reminded him about Prokopich too. "He's cared for you, now you must care for him." Then she spoke of his sweetheart. "The maid's given ye all her heart, but you've got yours set on other things."
"I know all that!" cried Danilushko. "But unless I see the Flower life's worth naught to me. Show me!"
"If that's the way, Danilo the Craftsman," she said, "then come to my garden."
As she said it she rose. There was a sort of rustle like a landslide, and when Danilushko looked round, he saw no walls at all. All round him were tall, tall trees, but not like the ones in our woods, they were made of stone. Some were marble, some were serpentine—every kind. But they were living trees, with little twigs and leaves. When the wind swayed them there was a sound like when you throw down a handful of pebbles. And underfoot the grass was of stone too, of lapiz lazuli and red stone—all sorts. There was no sun, but the light was like it is just before sunset. In between the trees were golden serpents swaying and twisting as though in some dance. It was from them the light came.
Then the Maid led Danilushko to a big glade. The earth there was like ordinary clay, with bushes velvety black. Great green bells of malachite swung from the bushes, and in each was a star of golden antimony. Glowing fiery bees hung over the flowers and the stars tinkled softly as though they were singing.
"Well, Danilo the Craftsman, have you looked your fill?" asked the Mistress.
"Stone to make these," said Danilushko, "is not to be found."
"Had you thought o' them yourself, I'd have given ye the stone, but now I cannot," she said and waved her hand. There was the same rustle again, and Danilushko found himself sitting on the boulder in the hollow. The wind was howling round him the way it does in autumn.
Danilushko went back home. Now that day the folks had come to his sweetheart's home to make merry. At first Danilushko pretended to be mighty gay, he sang songs and danced, but then he seemed to sink down under a cloud. Katya got quite frightened.
"What's the matter, Danilushko? You look like it was a funeral."
"My head's aching," he said, "and it's all red and green and black before my eyes. I can't even see the light."
Well, with that the party broke up. Now, it was the custom that the bride and her friends should see the bridegroom home. But how far would that be when he lived only two or three houses away? So Katya thought of something better.
"Let's go a long way round. We'll go to the end of our street, and then back by Elanskaya." And she thought to herself—maybe the fresh air and wind'll do Danilushko good.
The girls were glad enough to spin out the merrymaking a bit longer. "Of course," they cried, "we must see him home properly. And he lives so close we wouldn't have time for a farewell song, even."
It was a quiet night with a little snow falling. Just the time for walking. So off they went. The two sweethearts walked in front, and Katya's friends and the young fellows who'd been at the party a bit behind. The maids started singing a farewell song. It was sort of melancholy, more fit for a funeral. Katya saw this wasn't the thing at all. There's Danilushko feeling low as it is, she thought, and they start that wailing.
She tried to turn his mind to something cheerful. He'd talk a bit, and then get gloomy again. Katya's friends finished their farewell songs and started having fun again, running after each other and laughing, but Danilushko went along all glum, his head hanging. However hard she tried, Katya couldn't cheer him up. And so it went on till they got to his home. The maids and the young fellows parted, some here, some there, and Danilushko took his sweetheart to her door without any more rites or ceremonies, and then went back home himself.
Prokopich had been asleep a long time. Danilushko very quietly lighted the lamp, dragged his goblets out into the middle of the room and stood looking at them. Just then Prokopieh's cough started to rack him. He coughed till he was nigh choked. He was getting an old man, you see, and he was frail and ill. That cough of his was like a knife right in Danilushko's heart. He minded all their years together. He felt real sorry for the old man. Well, and Prokopich, when he'd got over his coughing spell, he; asked Danilushko: "What are ye doing wi' the goblets?"
"Just taking a look. Isn't it time to give them to the bailiff?"
"Ye could ha' done that long ago. They're just standing there for no good. Ye won't make them any better, however ye try."
They talked a bit, then Prokopich fell asleep again. Danilushko went to bed too, but sleep wouldn't come. He tossed and he turned, then he got up, lighted the lamp, looked at the goblets again and went over to Prokopich. He stood there by the old man and he sighed...
Then he took a sledge hammer and brought it down on the thornapple so it smashed to splinters. But that other goblet, the one the Master'd sent the drawing for, he didn't touch. Just spat in the middle of it. Then he dashed out of the house. And disappeared.
Some said he'd taken leave of his senses and died somewhere in the woods, but others said the Mistress had taken him to her mountain workshops for ever.
However, it turned out quite different.
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