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magnificent staircase.
    â€œWhat a staircase! It feels wrong to step on it. What ornaments! I thought this was just in fairy tales, but no. Look at these banisters! They must have used fifty rubles’ worth of iron on them.” Following the delegates timidly, the blacksmith passed the first drawing room, then the second, then the third. In the fourth, Vakula walked up to the painting depicting Madonna and Child. “What wondrous skill. She could be talking, she could be alive, and the child is angelic, clutchinghis little hands, laughing. And the colors! I don’t think they even touched ochre, only verdigris and mummy red. And the blue shines so—they must have used ceruse for foundation. But look at his brass doorknob: it is more artful than even the painting. What skill! Germans must have charged the top rate for it.”
    He would have continued his inspection, but the footman propelled him toward the other delegates. The Cossacks passed two more rooms and stopped—they were told to wait there. Several generals in gold epaulets strolled up and down, ignoring other supplicants. The delegates bowed four times, then waited. A moment later a tall, corpulent man in a hetman’s uniform entered, followed by a large entourage; one of the man’s eyes was half-closed, his dark hair disheveled. His whole manner showed he possessed the habit of governing. The generals surrounded him eagerly, following his every glance and gesture. But the hetman paid them no mind and walked up directly to the Cossacks, who bowed to the ground.
    â€œAre you all here?” he asked them in a nasal voice.
    â€œAll here, father.” They bowed again.
    â€œYou won’t forget what I’ve taught you?”
    â€œNo, father, we won’t.”
    â€œThe Tsar?” the blacksmith asked the nearest Cossack.
    â€œHe’s not just some tsar—he’s Prince Potemkin.”
    There were voices, and the blacksmith was blinded by a multitude of glittering gowns and brocade coats. Immediately the Zaporozhians fell on the floor, wailed, “Have pity on us,
mamo
, have pity!” “Please get up,” came a pleasant but authoritative voice. “Oh no, we won’t,
mamo
. We’ll die, but we won’t get up!” The delegates continued to wail until the annoyed Potemkin whispered to their leader, and then the delegates got up on their feet and saw before them a short, plump woman with bright blue eyes and a smile that could belong only to a ruling monarch.
    â€œThe Prince has promised to acquaint me with my new subjects, whom I haven’t yet met. Have you been well cared for?” the lady inquired with benign concern.
    â€œJust fine,
mamo
; the grub here ain’t as good as back home—but then you don’t have our lamb.” Potemkin wrinkled his nose at hearing the delegates say the opposite of what he had taught them.
    The leader straightened his back and steppedforward. “Have pity,
mamo
. What have we done to anger you? Have we shaken hands with the Tatars? Signed treaties with the Turks? Have we ever betrayed you in word or deed? Why such disfavor? First we hear you want to fortify against us; next, that you plan to turn us into a regular army. Now we hear of new misfortunes coming our way. What have we done to deserve them? Haven’t we helped your generals cross the Perekop? Haven’t we helped them beat the Crimeans?”
    The empress seemed touched. “What do you want, then?” The Zaporozhians exchanged significant looks. “It’s time,” thought Vakula. He dropped to his knees. “Please, Your Royal Highness, what are your royal shoes made of? I can’t imagine there’s a cobbler in the whole country who could make shoes like these. If only my wife had a pair!”
    The empress laughed at this, and so did her courtiers. Potemkin smiled and frowned simultaneously. The delegates, believing that the blacksmith had lost his