ack and  the dead body rose. It  was  still more horrible than the
first time. Its teeth clacked  horribly,  row against row; its lips twitched
convulsively and, with  wild  shrieks, incantations  came  rushing out. Wind
whirled  through the  church,  icons fell to the floor, broken glass dropped
from the windows. The doors tore from their hinges, and a numberless host of
monsters flew into God's  church. A  terrible  noise of wings and scratching
claws filled the whole church. Everything flew and rushed about, seeking the
philosopher everywhere.
     Khoma's head cleared  of the  last trace of drunkenness.  He  just kept
crossing himself and reading prayers  at random.  And at  the  same time  he
heard  the unclean powers flitting about him,  all but brushing him with the
tips of their wings and repulsive tails. He did not have the courage to look
at them  closely; he only saw the  whole wall  occupied by  a  huge  monster
standing amidst its own tangled hair as in a forest; through the web of hair
two eyes stared horribly, the eyebrows raised slightly.  Above it in the air
there  was  something like an immense  bubble,  with  a  thousand  tongs and
scorpion stings reaching from its middle. Black earth hung on them in lumps.
They all  looked at him,  searching,  unable  to see him, surrounded by  the
mysterious circle.
     "Bring Viy! Go get Viy!" the words of the dead body rang out.
     And suddenly there was silence in the church; the wolves' howling could
be heard far away, and soon heavy footsteps  rang out in  the church; with a
sidelong glance he saw them  leading in some squat, hefty, splay-footed man.
He was black earth  all over. His earth-covered legs and arms snick out like
strong, sinewy roots.  Heavily  he  trod,  stumbling  all the time. His long
eyelids were  lowered to the ground. With horror Khoma noticed that the face
on him  was made of iron. He was brought  in under the arms and put right by
the place where Khoma stood.
     "Lift my eyelids, I can't see!"  Viy said in a subterranean voice-- and
the entire host rushed to lift his eyelids.
     "Don't look!" some inner voice  whispered to the philosopher. He  could
not help himself and looked.
     "There he is!" Viy cried and fixed an iron finger on him.  And all that
were there fell  upon the philosopher. Breathless, he crashed  to the ground
and straightaway the spirit flew out of him in terror.
     A cockcrow rang out. This was already  the second  cockcrow; the gnomes
had  mjssed  the  first. The  frightened spirits rushed  pell-mell  for  the
windows and doors  in order to fly out quickly, but  nothing  doing: and  so
they stayed there, stuck in the doors and windows. When the priest came  in,
he stopped at the sight of such disgrace in God's sanctuary and did not dare
serve a  panikhida<sup>9</sup>  in such a  place.  So  the  church  remained
forever with monsters stuck in its doors and windows, overgrown with forest,
roots, weeds, wild blackthorn; and no one now can find the path to it.
     when  rumors of  this  reached Kiev and the theologian Khalyava  heard,
finally,  that such had  been  the lot of the philosopher  Khoma, he fell to
thinking for a whole hour. In the meantime great  changes  had happened with
him. Fortune had smiled on  him: upon  completing his studies,  he had  been
made bell-ringer of the tallest belfry, and he almost always went about with
a bloody nose, because the wooden stairs of the belfry had been put together
every which way.
     "Have you heard what happened with Khonia?" Tiberiy Goro-
     bets, by then a philosopher and sporting a fresh mustache, said, coming
up to him.
     "It's what God granted him," said the ringer Khalyava. "Let's go to the
tavern and commemorate his soul!"
     The young philosopher, who had come into his rights with the passion of
an enthusiast, so that his trousers and frock coat and even his hat gave off
a whiff of spirits and coarse tobacco, instantly expressed his readiness.
     "Khoma  was a nice man!" said the ringer, as the lame tavern keeper set
the third mug  down  in front  of him.  "A fine  man!  And he  perished  for
nothing!"
     "No, I know why he perished: because he  got scared. If he hadn't  been
scared, the witch couldn't have done anything to him. You just have to cross
yourself  and  spit right on her tail, and  nothing will  happen. I know all
about it.  Here  in  Kiev,  the  women sitting  in the  marketplace are  all
witches."
     To this the ringer  nodded as a  sign of agreement.  But, noticing that
his tongue was unable to articulate a single word,  he carefully got up from
the table and, swaying  from  side to side, went off to hide himself  in the
remotest part  of the weeds. Withal  not  forgetting, out  of long habit, to
steal an old boot sole that was lying on a bench.