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May Night, or the Drowned Maiden
May Night, or the Drowned Maiden
May Night, or the Drowned Maiden
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May Night, or the Drowned Maiden

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In Nikolai Gogol's short story "May Night, or the Drowned Maiden," a single night ends up changing the lives of many. Young Levko is the son of the head of a Ukrainian village and madly in love with a maiden named Hanna. To Levko's dismay, his father attempts to break off the romance in secret. What follows is a night during which both the alive and dead seek vengeance. In this tale wrapped in mysterious folktale, family ties are put to the test and characters are faced with a lesson or two. The story was adapted into two operas in the late 19th century and a Soviet film in 1952.-
LanguageEnglish
PublisherSAGA Egmont
Release dateOct 9, 2020
ISBN9788726502046
Author

Nikolai Gogol

Nikolai Gogol was a Russian novelist and playwright born in what is now considered part of the modern Ukraine. By the time he was 15, Gogol worked as an amateur writer for both Russian and Ukrainian scripts, and then turned his attention and talent to prose. His short-story collections were immediately successful and his first novel, The Government Inspector, was well-received. Gogol went on to publish numerous acclaimed works, including Dead Souls, The Portrait, Marriage, and a revision of Taras Bulba. He died in 1852 while working on the second part of Dead Souls.

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    May Night, or the Drowned Maiden - Nikolai Gogol

    Nikolai Gogol

    May Night, or the Drowned Maiden

    SAGA Egmont

    May Night, or the Drowned Maiden

    Claud Field

    Майская ночь, или Утопленница

    The characters and use of language in the work do not express the views of the publisher. The work is published as a historical document that describes its contemporary human perception.

    Copyright © 1831, 2020 Nikolai Gogol and SAGA Egmont

    All rights reserved

    ISBN: 9788726502046

    1.e-book edition, 2020

    Format: EPUB 2.0

    All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrievial system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor, be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

    SAGA Egmont www.saga-books.com – a part of Egmont, www.egmont.com

    A may night

    I

    Songs were echoing in the village street. It was just the time when the young men and girls, tired with the work and cares of the day, were in the habit of assembling for the dance. In the mild evening light, cheerful songs blended with mild melodies. A mysterious twilight obscured the blue sky and made everything seem indistinct and distant. It was growing dark, but the songs were not hushed.

    A young Cossack, Levko by name, the son of the village headman, had stolen away from the singers, guitar in hand. With his embroidered cap set awry on his head, and his hand playing over the strings, he stepped a measure to the music. Then he stopped at the door of a house half hidden by blossoming cherry-trees. Whose house was it? To whom did the door lead? After a little while he played and sang:

    "The night is nigh, the sun is down,

    Come out to me, my love, my own!"

    No one is there; my bright-eyed beauty is fast asleep, said the Cossack to himself as he finished the song and approached the window. Hanna, Hanna, are you asleep, or won't you come to me? Perhaps you are afraid someone will see us, or will not expose your delicate face to the cold! Fear nothing! The evening is warm, and there is no one near. And if anyone comes I will wrap you in my caftan, fold you in my arms, and no one will see us. And if the wind blows cold, I will press you close to my heart, warm you with my kisses, and lay my cap on your tiny feet, my darling. Only throw me a single glance. No, you are not asleep, you proud thing! he exclaimed now louder, in a voice which betrayed his annoyance at the humiliation. You are laughing at me! Good-bye!

    Then he turned away, set his cap jauntily, and, still lightly touching his guitar, stepped back from the window. Just then the wooden handle of the door turned with a grating noise, and a girl who counted hardly seventeen springs looked out timidly through the darkness,

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