But, unfortunately, the assessor wasn’t anywhere in the vicinity, and why would he be? He had his own district to mind.

Unnoticed, the witch rose so high that one could see only a little speck darting here and there, blotting out the stars. The witch collected a whole sleeve full of stars; there were only three or four left in the whole sky. Suddenly another dot appeared in the distance and quickly expanded, turning into something so odd that even if you put on glasses the size of cart wheels you wouldn’t have believed what you were seeing. From the front, the new creature looked like a regular German*: the narrow mug ended in a pig’s snout that constantly twitched and sniffed the air; the thin legs seemed so brittle that if they belonged to the village head of neighboring Yareski they’d snap the first time he danced a kazachok. From the back, the creature could be taken for a country attorney because of the long, thin tail that hung exactly like the tails on today’s civil-service uniforms. Only the goatee, the small horns, and the creature’s extreme griminess betrayed the truth: that this was no German or country attorney but just an ordinary devil who had one night left to roam among Christian folk and teach them devilish tricks. Tomorrow, at the first peal of church bells, he’d curl up his tail and scurry back to his lair.

The devil flew up to the moon, reached out and tried to grab it, but must have burned his fingers, for he hopped on one leg, sucking on his hand. He walked around it and tried again from the other side, and again jumped back. But the sly one didn’t give up: he suddenly grabbed the moon with both hands and, juggling it like a hot pancake, stuffed it in his pocket, and flew off as though nothing had happened. In our village of Dikanka, no one noticed the theft. True, when the district scribe crawled out of the tavern on all fours he thought he saw the moon dancing in the sky, but who would believe him?

You’ll ask me: why, for what wicked purpose did that evil creature perpetrate such an unconscionable act? I’ll tell you. He knew that the deacon had invited Cossack Chub to a holiday dinner, which besides traditional kutya featured spiced vodka, saffron vodka, and other delectables. The guest list included Dikanka’s village head; the deacon’s kinsman, who owned a blue frock coat and sang the deepest notes in the bishop’s choir; Cossack Sverbyguz; and many other prominent citizens. During that time Chub’s beautiful daughter, Oksana, would have stayed home all by herself and would probably have received a visit from her admirer, blacksmith Vakula, who aggravated the devil even worse than Father Kondrat’s sermons.

In his spare time, you see, the blacksmith dabbled in painting and actually enjoyed a considerable local reputation. The late Captain L. summoned him all the way to Poltava to paint his fence; every soup bowl in the village featured his brushwork. Even today you can find one of his icons in the church at the village of T. The pinnacle of his art was agreed to be a large panel inside the church porch, which depicted St. Peter expelling the devil from hell on the day of the Last Judgment. Faced with imminent death, the terrified devil darts here and there, while the forgiven sinners bash him with whips and sticks. The devil tried everything to stop Vakula from finishing the hateful portrait, shoving his hand, blowing soot on the panel—but despite his heartiest efforts the painting was completed and nailed to the church wall, and since then the devil swore to take revenge on its creator. For only one more night could he roam freely and look for a way to pay Vakula back—hence the moon theft. He reasoned that Chub was lazy and hard to stir to action, and that the deacon lived not too close—all the way around the village, past the mill, past the cemetery, and around the ravine. On a moonlit night, maybe, spiced vodka could induce Chub to leave his warm bunk above the oven and undertake such a lengthy walk, but on a moonless night—unlikely. The wicked blacksmith didn’t get along with Chub and, despite his enormous strength, wouldn’t dare visit Oksana if her father were at home.

As soon as the moon disappeared into the devil’s pocket, it became so utterly dark that no one could have found his way to the village tavern, let alone the deacon’s house. The witch, finding herself surrounded by blackness, shrieked in fear, but the devil sidled up to her, took her gently by the arm, and whispered what men all over the world whisper to the fair sex. Can you believe it—the devil flirting? But that’s life—everyone strives to imitate everyone else. Take our town, Mirgorod. It used to be that only the judge and the mayor owned fancy fur coats, while all the smaller fry wore plain sheepskin and didn’t complain. These days, the assessor and junior magistrate both strut around in curly lamb covered with blue broadcloth; God knows how they afford it.