IT was Christmas Eve. Marya had lon

IT was Christmas Eve. Marya had long been snoring on the stove; all the paraffin in the little lamp had burnt out, but Fyodor Nilov still sat at work. He would long ago have flung aside his work and gone out into the street, but a customer from Kolokolny Lane, who had a fortnight before ordered some boots, had been in the previous day, had abused him roundly, and had ordered him to finish the boots at once before the morning service.

"It's a convict's life!" Fyodor grumbled as he worked. "Some people have been asleep long ago, others are enjoying themselves, while you sit here like some Cain and sew for the devil knows whom. . . ."

To save himself from accidentally falling asleep, he kept taking a bottle from under the table and drinking out of it, and after every pull at it he twisted his head and said aloud:

"What is the reason, kindly tell me, that customers enjoy themselves while I am forced to sit and work for them? Because they have money and I am a beggar?"

He hated all his customers, especially the one who lived in Kolokolny Lane. He was a gentleman of gloomy appearance, with long hair, a yellow face, blue spectacles, and a husky voice. He had a German name which one could not pronounce. It was impossible to tell what was his calling and what he did. When, a fortnight before, Fyodor had gone to take his measure, he, the customer, was sitting on the floor pounding something in a mortar. Before Fyodor had time to say good-morning the contents of the mortar suddenly flared up and burned with a bright red flame; there was a stink of sulphur and burnt feathers, and the room was filled with a thick pink smoke, so that Fyodor sneezed five times; and as he returned home afterwards, he thought: "Anyone who feared God would not have anything to do with things like that."

When there was nothing left in the bottle Fyodor put the boots on the table and sank into thought. He leaned his heavy head on his fist and began thinking of his poverty, of his hard life with no glimmer of light in it. Then he thought of the rich, of their big houses and their carriages, of their hundred-rouble notes. . . . How nice it would be if the houses of these rich men -- the devil flay them! -- were smashed, if their horses died, if their fur coats and sable caps got shabby! How splendid it would be if the rich, little by little, changed into beggars having nothing, and he, a poor shoemaker, were to become rich, and were to lord it over some other poor shoemaker on Christmas Eve.

Dreaming like this, Fyodor suddenly thought of his work, and opened his eyes.

"Here's a go," he thought, looking at the boots. "The job has been finished ever so long ago, and I go on sitting here. I must take the boots to the gentleman."

He wrapped up the work in a red handkerchief, put on his things, and went out into the street. A fine hard snow was falling, pricking the face as though with needles. It was cold, slippery, dark, the gas-lamps burned dimly, and for some reason there was a smell of paraffin in the street, so that Fyodor coughed and cleared his throat. Rich men were driving to and fro on the road, and every rich man had a ham and a bottle of vodka in his hands. Rich young ladies peeped at Fyodor out of the carriages and sledges, put out their tongues and shouted, laughing:

"Beggar! Beggar!"

Students, officers, and merchants walked behind Fyodor, jeering at him and crying:

"Drunkard! Drunkard! Infidel cobbler! Soul of a boot-leg! Beggar!"

All this was insulting, but Fyodor held his tongue and only spat in disgust. But when Kuzma Lebyodkin from Warsaw, a master-bootmaker, met him and said: "I've married a rich woman and I have men working under me, while you are a beggar and have nothing to eat," Fyodor could not refrain from running after him. He pursued him till he found himself in Kolokolny Lane. His customer lived in the fourth house from the corner on the very top floor. To reach him one had to go through a long, dark courtyard, and then to climb up a very high slipp ery stair-case which tottered under one's feet. When Fyodor went in to him he was sitting on the floor pounding something in a mortar, just as he had been the fortnight before.

"Your honor, I have brought your boots," said Fyodor sullenly.

The customer got up and began trying on the boots in silence. Desiring to help him, Fyodor went down on one knee and pulled off his old, boot, but at once jumped up and staggered towards the door in horror. The customer had not a foot, but a hoof like a horse's.

"Aha!" thought Fyodor; "here's a go!"

The first thing should have been to cross himself, then to leave everything and run downstairs; but he immediately reflected that he was meeting a devil for the first and probably the last time, and not to take advantage of his services would be foolish. He controlled himself and determined to try his luck. Clasping his hands behind him to avoid making the sign of the cross, he coughed respectfully and began:

"They say that there is nothing on earth more evil and impure than the devil, but I am of the opinion, your honor, that the devil is highly educated. He has -- excuse my saying it -- hoofs and a tail behind, but he has more brains than many a student."

"I like you for what you say," said the devil, flattered. "Thank you, shoemaker! What do you want?"

And without loss of time the shoemaker began complaining of his lot. He began by saying that from his childhood up he had envied the rich. He had always resented it that all people did not live alike in big houses and drive with good horses. Why, he asked, was he poor? How was he worse than Kuzma Lebyodkin from Warsaw, who had his own house, and whose wife wore a hat? He had the same sort of nose, the same hands, feet, head, and back, as the rich, and so why was he forced to work when others were enjoying themselves? Why was he married to Marya and not to a lady smelling of scent? He had often seen beautiful young ladies in the houses of rich customers, but they either took no notice of him whatever, or else sometimes laughed and whispered to each other: "What a red nose that shoemaker has!" It was true that Marya was a good, kind, hard-working woman, but she was not educated; her hand was heavy and hit hard, and if one had occasion to speak of politics or anything intellectual before her, she would put her spoke in and talk the most awful nonsense.

"What do you want, then?" his customer interrupted him.

"I beg you, your honor Satan Ivanitch, to be graciously pleased to make me a rich man."

"Certainly. Only for that you must give me up your soul! Before the cocks crow, go and sign on this paper here that you give me up your soul."

"Your honor," said Fyodor politely, "when you ordered a pair of boots from me I did not ask for the money in advance. One has first to carry out the order and then ask for payment."

"Oh, very well!" the customer assented.

A bright flame suddenly flared up in the mortar, a pink thick smoke came puffing out, and there was a smell of burnt feathers and sulphur. When the smoke had subsided, Fyodor rubbed his eyes and saw that he was no longer Fyodor, no longer a shoemaker, but quite a different man, wearing a waistcoat and a watch-chain, in a new pair of trousers, and that he was sitting in an armchair at a big table. Two foot men were handing him dishes, bowing low and saying:

"Kindly eat, your honor, and may it do you good!"

What wealth! The footmen handed him a big piece of roast mutton and a dish of cucumbers, and then brought in a frying-pan a roast goose, and a little afterwards boiled pork with horse-radish cream. And how dignified, how genteel it all was! Fyodor ate, and before each dish drank a big glass of excellent vodka, like some general or some count. After the pork he was handed some boiled grain moistened with goose fat, then an omelette with bacon fat, then fried liver, and he went on eating and was delighted. What more? They served, too, a pie with onion and steamed turnip with kvass.

"How is it the gentry don't burst with such meals?" he thought.

In conclusion they handed him a big pot of honey. After dinner the devil appeared in blue spectacles and asked with a low bow:

"Are you satisfied with your dinner, Fyodor Pantelyeitch?"

But Fyodor could not answer one word, he was so stuffed after his dinner. The feeling of repletion was unpleasant, oppressive, and to distract his thoughts he looked at the boot on his left foot.

"For a boot like that I used not to take less than seven and a half roubles. What shoemaker made it?" he asked.

"Kuzma Lebyodkin," answered the footman.

"Send for him, the fool!"

Kuzma Lebyodkin from Warsaw soon made his appearance. He stopped in a respectful attitude at the door and asked:

"What are your orders, your honor?"

"Hold your tongue!" cried Fyodor, and stamped his foot. "Don't dare to argue; remember your place as a cobbler! Blockhead! You don't know how to make boots! I'll beat your ugly phiz to a jelly! Why have you come?"

"For money."

"What money? Be off! Come on Saturday! Boy, give him a cuff!"

But he at once recalled what a life the customers used to lead him, too, and he felt heavy at heart, and to distract his attention he took a fat pocketbook out of his pocket and began counting his money. There was a great deal of money, but Fyodor wanted more still. The devil in the blue spectacles brought him another notebook fatter still, but he wanted even more; and the more he counted it, the more discontented he became.

In the evening the evil one brought him a full-bosomed lady in a red dress, and said that this was his new wife. He spent the whole evening kissing her and eating gingerbreads, and at night he went to bed on a soft, downy feather-bed, turned from side to side, and could not go to sleep. He felt uncanny.

"We have a great deal of money," he said to his wife; "we must look out or thieves will be breaking in. You had better go and look with a candle."

He did not sleep all ni

Hasil (Bahasa Indonesia) 1:

Itu malam Natal. Saeful lama mendengkur di atas kompor; Semua parafin di little lamp telah terbakar keluar, tapi Fyodor Nilov masih duduk di tempat kerja. Ia lama telah melemparkan samping pekerjaannya dan pergi ke jalan, tapi pelanggan dari Kolokolny Lane, yang memiliki dua minggu sebelum memesan beberapa sepatu bot, telah di hari sebelumnya, telah menyalahgunakan dia terus terang, dan telah memerintahkan untuk menyelesaikan sepatu bot sekaligus sebelum Layanan pagi.

"itu adalah seorang narapidana yang hidup!" Fyodor menggerutu karena ia bekerja. "Beberapa orang telah tertidur lama yang lalu, orang lain menikmati diri mereka sendiri, sementara Anda duduk di sini seperti beberapa kain dan menjahit untuk Iblis tahu siapa...."

Untuk menyelamatkan dirinya dari sengaja jatuh tertidur, ia terus mengambil botol dari bawah meja dan minum dari itu, setelah setiap tarik itu dia memutar kepalanya dan berkata keras:

"apa alasannya, silakan kirim saya, bahwa pelanggan menikmati diri mereka sendiri sementara aku dipaksa untuk duduk dan bekerja untuk mereka? Karena mereka memiliki uang dan aku seorang pengemis?"

Ia membenci semua pelanggannya, terutama orang yang tinggal di jalur Kolokolny. Dia adalah seorang pria penampilan yang suram, dengan rambut panjang, wajah kuning, biru kacamata, dan suara serak. Dia punya nama Jerman yang satu tidak bisa mengucapkan. Ianya mustahil untuk memberitahu apa panggilan-Nya dan apa yang dia lakukan. Ketika, dua minggu sebelumnya, Fyodor telah pergi untuk mengambil ukuran nya, dia, pelanggan, duduk di lantai berdebar sesuatu dalam sebuah mortir. Sebelum Fyodor punya waktu untuk mengatakan baik-pagi isi mortar tiba-tiba berkobar dan dibakar dengan api merah terang; ada bau belerang dan bulu-bulu yang terbakar, dan ruangan itu dipenuhi asap merah muda tebal, sehingga Fyodor bersin lima kali; dan seperti dia pulang setelah itu, pikirnya: "Siapa pun yang takut Tuhan tidak ada hubungannya dengan hal-hal seperti itu."

Ketika ada tidak ada yang tersisa di dalam botol Fyodor meletakkan sepatu bot di atas meja dan tenggelam ke dalam pikiran. Ia bersandar kepalanya berat tinjunya dan mulai berpikir tentang kemiskinannya, hidupnya sulit dengan tidak secercah cahaya di dalamnya. Maka ia berpikir orang kaya, rumah-rumah besar dan kereta mereka, mereka catatan seratus-rouble.... Betapa menyenangkan itu akan jika rumah-rumah orang-orang kaya ini--Iblis bangsaku mereka! --yang hancur, jika kuda-kuda mereka mati, apabila mereka mantel bulu dan musang topi lusuh! Betapa indah itu akan menjadi jika orang kaya, sedikit demi sedikit, berubah menjadi pengemis yang memiliki apa-apa, dan dia, shoemaker miskin, untuk menjadi kaya, dan tuan atas beberapa shoemaker lain miskin pada malam Natal.

bermimpi seperti ini, Fyodor tiba-tiba memikirkan pekerjaan-Nya, dan membuka matanya.

"Di sini adalah pergi," pikirnya, memandang sepatu bot. "Pekerjaan selesai pernah begitu lama lalu, dan aku pergi di duduk di sini. Saya harus mengambil sepatu untuk pria."

Dia membungkus pekerjaan di sapu tangan merah, mengenakan barangnya, dan keluar ke jalan. Keras salju baik jatuh, penusukan wajah seolah-olah dengan jarum. Itu dingin, licin, gelap, gas-lampu terbakar redup, dan untuk beberapa alasan ada bau parafin di jalan, sehingga Fyodor batuk dan dibersihkan tenggorokannya. Orang-orang kaya yang mengemudi ke sana kemari di jalan, dan setiap orang kaya memiliki ham dan botol vodka di tangannya. Kaya muda wanita mengintip di Fyodor kereta dan kereta, letakkan lidah mereka dan berteriak, tertawa:

"pengemis! Pengemis!"

Siswa, pejabat dan pedagang berjalan di belakang Fyodor, mencemooh kepadanya dan menangis:

"pemabuk! Pemabuk! Kafir tukang sepatu! Jiwa boot-kaki! Pengemis!"

Semua ini menghina, tapi Fyodor diadakan lidahnya dan hanya meludah dengan jijik. Tapi ketika Kuzma Lebyodkin dari Warsawa, master-termasyhur, bertemu dengannya dan berkata: "Aku sudah menikah dengan seorang wanita kaya dan aku punya orang-orang yang bekerja di bawah saya, sementara Anda seorang pengemis dan punya apa-apa untuk makan" Fyodor bisa tidak menahan diri dari berlari. Ia mengejar dia sampai ia menemukan dirinya dalam Kolokolny Lane. Pelanggan tinggal di rumah keempat dari sudut di lantai paling atas. Menghubunginya salah satu harus pergi melalui halaman yang panjang, gelap, dan kemudian memanjat slipp sangat tinggi ery tangga-kasus yang tottered di bawah satu kaki. Ketika Fyodor pergi kepadanya dia duduk di lantai berdebar sesuatu dalam sebuah mortir, sama seperti ia telah dua minggu sebelum.

"kehormatan Anda, saya telah membawa sepatu bot Anda," kata Fyodor sullenly.

pelanggan mulai berdiri dan mencoba sepatu bot dalam keheningan. Mendambakan untuk membantunya, Fyodor turun di atas satu lutut dan melepas sepatunya tua, tapi sekaligus melompat dan terhuyung-huyung kearah pintu dengan ngeri. Pelanggan memiliki tidak satu kaki, tapi kuku seperti kuda.

"Aha!" pikir Fyodor; "di sini adalah pergi!"

Hal pertama yang harus telah menyeberang sendiri, kemudian untuk meninggalkan segalanya dan menjalankan bawah; tapi dia segera tercermin bahwa dia bertemu setan yang pertama dan mungkin yang terakhir kali, dan tidak untuk mengambil keuntungan dari jasa-jasanya akan bodoh. Ia dikendalikan sendiri dan memutuskan untuk mencoba keberuntungan. Menggenggam tangannya belakangnya untuk menghindari membuat tanda salib, dia batuk dengan hormat dan mulai:

"mereka mengatakan bahwa tidak ada di bumi lebih jahat dan tidak murni dari setan, tapi aku berpendapat, menghormati Anda, bahwa setan berpendidikan. Dia telah--alasan saya mengatakan itu--hoofs dan ekor di belakang, tapi ia memiliki otak lebih daripada banyak mahasiswa."

"Saya suka Anda untuk apa yang Anda katakan," kata Iblis, tersanjung. "Terima kasih, shoemaker! Apa yang Anda inginkan?"

Dan tanpa kehilangan waktu Sepatu mulai mengeluh banyak nya. Dia mulai dengan mengatakan bahwa dari masa kecilnya sampai ia telah iri orang kaya. Ia selalu membenci itu bahwa semua orang tidak sama-sama hidup dalam rumah besar dan drive dengan kuda-kuda yang baik. Mengapa, ia bertanya, apakah dia miskin? Bagaimana dia lebih buruk daripada Kuzma Lebyodkin dari Warsawa, yang memiliki rumah sendiri, dan istri yang mengenakan topi? Ia sama seperti hidung, sama tangan, kaki, kepala dan kembali, sebagai orang kaya, dan jadi mengapa ia dipaksa bekerja ketika orang lain menikmati diri mereka sendiri? Mengapa ia menikah Saeful dan tidak seorang wanita bau bau? Dia telah sering melihat wanita muda yang cantik di rumah-rumah pelanggan kaya, tetapi mereka juga memperhatikan tidak dia apa pun, atau kadang-kadang tertawa dan berbisik kepada satu sama lain: "Apa hidung merah shoemaker itu memiliki!" Itu benar bahwa Saeful baik, jenis, wanita bekerja keras, tapi dia tidak berpendidikan; tangannya adalah berat dan memukul keras, dan jika seseorang memiliki kesempatan untuk berbicara tentang politik atau apa pun yang intelektual sebelum dia, ia akan menempatkan dia berbicara dan berbicara omong kosong paling mengerikan.

"apa yang Anda inginkan, kemudian?" pelanggan terganggu dia.

"Aku memohon engkau, mulia Ivanitch setan, menjadi anggun senang membuat saya seorang yang kaya. "

"Pasti. Hanya untuk itu Anda harus memberikan saya jiwa Anda! Sebelum ayam gagak, pergi dan tanda pada kertas ini di sini bahwa Anda memberi saya jiwa mu."

"Kehormatan Anda," kata Fyodor sopan, "ketika Anda memesan sepasang sepatu bot dari saya saya tidak meminta uang di muka. Salah satu memiliki pertama untuk melaksanakan perintah dan kemudian meminta pembayaran."

"Oh, sangat baik!"pelanggan assented.

nyala terang tiba-tiba berkobar di mortar, asap tebal merah muda datang engah, dan ada bau terbakar bulu dan belerang. Ketika asap surut, Fyodor menggosok matanya dan melihat bahwa ia tidak lagi Fyodor, tidak lagi shoemaker, tetapi cukup dengan pria yang berbeda, mengenakan rompi dan menonton-rantai, di sepasang celana, baru dan bahwa ia sedang duduk di kursi di meja besar. Kaki dua orang yang menyerahkan dia hidangan, membungkuk rendah dan berkata:

"Silakan makan, kehormatan, dan mungkin itu melakukan Anda baik!"

Apa kekayaan! Orang pasukan berjalan kaki menyerahkan potongan besar kambing panggang dan hidangan mentimun, dan kemudian membawa sebuah wajan-wajan Panggang angsa, dan sedikit kemudian direbus pork dengan krim lobak kuda. Dan bagaimana bermartabat, Bagaimana sopan semua itu! Fyodor makan, dan sebelum setiap hidangan minum segelas besar baik vodka, seperti beberapa umum atau menghitung beberapa. Setelah daging babi ia ia diberikan beberapa biji-bijian direbus dibasahi dengan Angsa lemak, kemudian telur dadar dengan lemak bacon, kemudian digoreng hati, dan ia pergi pada makan dan senang. Apa lagi? Mereka melayani, terlalu, pie dengan bawang dan kukus lobak dengan kvass.

"Bagaimana itu bangsawan tidak meledak dengan makanan seperti itu?" dia berpikir.

kesimpulan mereka menyerahkan panci besar madu. Setelah makan malam setan muncul dalam kacamata biru dan bertanya dengan busur rendah:

"Apakah Anda puas dengan makan malam, Fyodor Pantelyeitch?"

Tapi Fyodor tidak bisa menjawab satu kata, dia begitu diisi setelah makan malam. Perasaan sakitpun adalah tidak menyenangkan, menindas, dan untuk mengalihkan pikiran dia memandang boot pada kaki kirinya.

"untuk boot seperti yang saya gunakan tidak untuk mengambil kurang dari tujuh setengah roubles. Apa shoemaker membuatnya?"tanyanya.

"Kuzma Lebyodkin,"menjawab footman.

"Kirim baginya, bodoh!"

Kuzma Lebyodkin dari Warsawa segera membuat penampilan. Dia berhenti di sikap hormat di pintu dan bertanya:

"apa yang pesanan Anda, menghormati Anda?"

"Memegang lidah Anda!" teriak Fyodor, dan dicap kakinya. "Jangan berani berpendapat; Ingat Anda sebagai tukang sepatu! Tolol! Anda tidak tahu bagaimana membuat sepatu bot! Aku akan mengalahkan phiz Anda jelek untuk jeli! Mengapa Anda datang?"

"Untuk uang."

"Apa uang? Menjadi off! Datang pada hari Sabtu! Boy, memberinya manset!"

Tetapi dia sekaligus ingat apa yang hidup Pelanggan yang digunakan untuk menyebabkan dia, juga, dan dia merasa berat hati, dan untuk mengalihkan perhatiannya ia mengambil buku saku lemak keluar dari saku dan mulai menghitung uangnya. Ada banyak uang, tetapi Fyodor ingin lebih masih. Iblis dalam kacamata biru membawanya lain notebook masih gemuk, tetapi dia ingin lebih; dan semakin ia menghitung itu, lebih tidak puas ia menjadi.

Di malam hari si jahat membawanya penuh-bosomed wanita dalam gaun merah, dan mengatakan bahwa ini adalah istri barunya. Ia menghabiskan seluruh malam menciumnya dan makan gingerbreads, dan pada malam hari ia pergi tidur di lembut, berbulu bulu-bed, berpaling dari sisi ke sisi, dan tidak bisa tidur. Ia merasa aneh.

"Kami memiliki banyak uang," Dia berkata kepada istrinya; "kita harus melihat atau pencuri akan melanggar di. Anda memiliki lebih baik pergi dan melihat dengan lilin."

Dia tidak tidur semua ni