Sozh and Dnieper

Sozh And Dnieper

SOZH AND DNIEPER.

There was once a blind old man called Dvina. He had

two sons--the elder called Sozh, and the younger Dnieper.

Sozh was of a boisterous turn, and went roving about the forests,

the hills, and the plains; but Dnieper was remarkably

sweet-tempered, and he spent all his time at home, and was his

mother's favorite. Once, when Sozh was away from home, the

old father was deceived by his wife into giving the elder son's

blessing to the younger son. Thus spake Dvina while blessing

him:--

"Dissolve, my son, into a wide and deep river. Flow past

towns, and bathe villages without number as far as the blue sea.

Thy brother shall be thy servant. Be rich and prosperous to

the end of time!"

Dnieper turned into a river, and flowed through fertile meadows

and dreamy woods. But after three days, Sozh returned

home and began to complain.

"If thou dost desire to become superior to thy brother,"

said his father, "speed swiftly by hidden ways, through dark

untrodden forests, and if thou canst outstrip thy brother, he will

have to be thy servant!"

Away sped Sozh on the chase, through untrodden places,

washing away swamps, cutting out gullies, tearing up oaks by

the roots. The Vulture[270] told Dnieper of this, and he put on

extra speed, tearing his way through high hills rather than turn

on one side. Meanwhile Sozh persuaded the Raven to fly

straight to Dnieper, and, as soon as it had come up with him

to croak three times; he himself was to burrow under the earth,

intending to leap to the surface at the cry of the Raven, and by

that means to get before his brother. But the Vulture fell on

the Raven; the Raven began to croak before it had caught up

the river Dnieper. Up burst Sozh from underground, and fell

straight into the waves of the Dnieper.[271]

Here is an account of--

THE METAMORPHOSIS OF THE DNIEPER, THE VOLGA, AND THE DVINA.[272]

The Dnieper, Volga, and Dvina used once to be living people.

The Dnieper was a boy, and the Volga and Dvina his sisters.

While they were still in childhood they were left complete orphans,

and, as they hadn't a crust to eat, they were obliged to

get their living by daily labor beyond their strength. "When

was that?" Very long ago, say the old folks; beyond the

memory even of our great-grandfathers.

Well, the children grew up, but they never had even the

slightest bit of good luck. Every day, from morn till eve, it was

always toil and toil, and all merely for the day's subsistence. As

for their clothing, it was just what God sent them! They sometimes

found rags on the dust-heaps, and with these they managed

to cover their bodies. The poor things had to endure cold and

hunger. Life became a burden to them.[273]

One day, after toiling hard afield, they sat down under a bush

to eat their last morsel of bread. And when they had eaten it,

they cried and sorrowed for a while, and considered and held

counsel together as to how they might manage to live, and to

have food and clothing, and, without toiling, to supply others

with meat and drink. Well, this is what they resolved: to set

out wandering about the wide world in search of good luck and

a kindly welcome, and to look for and find out the best places

in which they could turn into great rivers--for that was a possible

thing then.

Well, they walked and walked; not one year only, nor two

years, but all but three; and they chose the places they wanted,

and came to an agreement as to where the flowing of each one

should begin. And all three of them stopped to spend the night

in a swamp. But the sisters were more cunning than their

brother. No sooner was Dnieper asleep than they rose up

quietly, chose the best and most sloping places, and began to

flow away.

When the brother awoke in the morning, not a trace of his

sisters was to be seen. Then he became wroth, and made

haste to pursue them. But on the way he bethought himself,

and decided that no man can run faster than a river. So he

smote the ground, and flowed in pursuit as a stream. Through

gullies and ravines he rushed, and the further he went the

fiercer did he become. But when he came within a few versts

of the sea-shore, his anger calmed down and he disappeared in

the sea. And his two sisters, who had continued running from

him during his pursuit, separated in different directions and fled

to the bottom of the sea. But while the Dnieper was rushing

along in anger, he drove his way between steep banks. Therefore

is it that his flow is swifter than that of the Volga and the

Dvina; therefore also is it that he has many rapids and many

mouths.

There is a small stream which falls into Lake Ilmen on its western

side, and which is called Chorny Ruchei, the Black Brook. On the banks

of this brook, a long time ago, a certain man set up a mill, and the

fish came and implored the stream to grant them its aid, saying, "We

used to have room enough and be at our ease, but now an evil man is

taking away the water from us." And the result was this. One of the

inhabitants of Novgorod was angling in the brook Chorny. Up came a

stranger to him, dressed all in black, who greeted him, and said:--

"Do me a service, and I will show thee a place where the fish swarm."

"What is the service?"

"When thou art in Novgorod, thou wilt meet a tall, big moujik in a

plaited blue caftan, wide blue trowsers, and a high blue hat. Say to

him, 'Uncle Ilmen! the Chorny has sent thee a petition, and has told

me to say that a mill has been set in his way. As thou may'st think

fit to order, so shall it be!'"

The Novgorod man promised to fulfil this request, and the black

stranger showed him a place where the fish swarmed by thousands. With

rich booty did the fisherman return to Novgorod, where he met the

moujik with the blue caftan, and gave him the petition. The Ilmen

answered:--

"Give my compliments to the brook Chorny, and say to him about the

mill: there used not to be one, and so there shall not be one!"

This commission also the Novgorod man fulfilled, and behold! during

the night the brook Chorny ran riotous, Lake Ilmen waxed boisterous, a

tempest arose, and the raging waters swept away the mill.[274]

In old times sacrifices were regularly paid to lakes and streams in

Russia, just as they were in Germany[275] and in other lands. And even

at the present day the common people are in the habit of expressing,

by some kind of offering, their thanks to a river on which they have

made a prosperous voyage. It is said that Stenka Razin, the insurgent

chief of the Don Cossacks in the seventeenth century, once offered a

human sacrifice to the Volga. Among his captives was a Persian

princess, to whom he was warmly attached. But one day "when he was

fevered with wine, as he sat at the ship's side and musingly regarded

the waves, he said: 'Oh, Mother Volga, thou great river! much hast

thou given me of gold and of silver, and of all good things; thou hast

nursed me, and nourished me, and covered me with glory and honor. But

I have in no way shown thee my gratitude. Here is somewhat for thee;

take it!' And with these words he caught up the princess and flung her

into the water."[276]

Just as rivers might be conciliated by honor and sacrifice, so they

could be irritated by disrespect. One of the old songs tells how a

youth comes riding to the Smorodina, and beseeches that stream to show

him a ford. His prayer is granted, and he crosses to the other side.

Then he takes to boasting, and says, "People talk about the Smorodina,

saying that no one can cross it whether on foot or on horseback--but

it is no better than a pool of rain-water!" But when the time comes

for him to cross back again, the river takes its revenge, and drowns

him in its depths, saying the while: "It is not I, but thy own

boasting that drowns thee."

From these vocal rivers we will now turn to that elementary force by

which in winter they are often rendered mute. In the story which is

now about to be quoted will be found a striking personification of

Frost. As a general rule, Winter plays by no means so important a part

as might have been expected in Northern tales. As in other European

countries, so in Russia, the romantic stories of the people are full

of pictures bathed in warm sunlight, but they do not often represent

the aspect of the land when the sky is grey, and the earth is a sheet

of white, and outdoor life is sombre and still. Here and there, it is

true, glimpses of snowy landscapes are offered by the skazkas. But it

is seldom that a wintry effect is so deliberately produced in them as

is the case in the following remarkable version of a well-known tale.