The Fiend

The Fiend

THE FIEND.[18]

In a certain country there lived an old couple who had a daughter

called Marusia (Mary). In their village it was customary to

celebrate the feast of St. Andrew the First-Called (November

30). The girls used to assemble in some cottage, bake pampushki,[19]

and enjoy themselves for a whole week, or even longer.

Well, the girls met together once when this festival arrived, and

brewed and baked what was wanted. In the evening came the

lads with the music, bringing liquor with them, and dancing and

revelry commenced. All the girls danced well, but Marusia the

best of all. After a while there came into the cottage such a

fine fellow! Marry, come up! regular blood and milk, and

smartly and richly dressed.

"Hail, fair maidens!" says he.

"Hail, good youth!" say they.

"You're merry-making?"

"Be so good as to join us."

Thereupon he pulled out of his pocket a purse full of gold,

ordered liquor, nuts and gingerbread. All was ready in a trice,

and he began treating the lads and lasses, giving each a share.

Then he took to dancing. Why, it was a treat to look at him!

Marusia struck his fancy more than anyone else; so he stuck

close to her. The time came for going home.

"Marusia," says he, "come and see me off."

She went to see him off.

"Marusia, sweetheart!" says he, "would you like me to

marry you?"

"If you like to marry me, I will gladly marry you. But

where do you come from?"

"From such and such a place. I'm clerk at a merchant's."

Then they bade each other farewell and separated. When

Marusia got home, her mother asked her:

"Well, daughter! have you enjoyed yourself?"

"Yes, mother. But I've something pleasant to tell you besides.

There was a lad there from the neighborhood, good-looking

and with lots of money, and he promised to marry me."

"Harkye Marusia! When you go to where the girls are to-morrow,

take a ball of thread with you, make a noose in it, and,

when you are going to see him off, throw it over one of his buttons,

and quietly unroll the ball; then, by means of the thread,

you will be able to find out where he lives."

Next day Marusia went to the gathering, and took a ball of

thread with her. The youth came again.

"Good evening, Marusia!" said he.

"Good evening!" said she.

Games began and dances. Even more than before did he

stick to Marusia, not a step would he budge from her. The time

came for going home.

"Come and see me off, Marusia!" says the stranger.

She went out into the street, and while she was taking leave

of him she quietly dropped the noose over one of his buttons.

He went his way, but she remained where she was, unrolling the

ball. When she had unrolled the whole of it, she ran after the

thread to find out where her betrothed lived. At first the thread

followed the road, then it stretched across hedges and ditches,

and led Marusia towards the church and right up to the porch.

Marusia tried the door; it was locked. She went round the

church, found a ladder, set it against a window, and climbed up

it to see what was going on inside. Having got into the church,

she looked--and saw her betrothed standing beside a grave and

devouring a dead body--for a corpse had been left for that

night in the church.

She wanted to get down the ladder quietly, but her fright prevented

her from taking proper heed, and she made a little noise.

Then she ran home--almost beside herself, fancying all the

time she was being pursued. She was all but dead before she

got in. Next morning her mother asked her:

"Well, Marusia! did you see the youth?"

"I saw him, mother," she replied. But what else she had

seen she did not tell.

In the morning Marusia was sitting, considering whether she

would go to the gathering or not.

"Go," said her mother. "Amuse yourself while you're

young!"

So she went to the gathering; the Fiend[20] was there already.

Games, fun, dancing, began anew; the girls knew nothing of

what had happened. When they began to separate and go

homewards:

"Come, Marusia!" says the Evil One, "see me off."

She was afraid, and didn't stir. Then all the other girls

opened out upon her.

"What are you thinking about? Have you grown so bashful,

forsooth? Go and see the good lad off."

There was no help for it. Out she went, not knowing what

would come of it. As soon as they got into the streets he began

questioning her:

"You were in the church last night?"

"No."

"And saw what I was doing there?"

"No."

"Very well! To-morrow your father will die!"

Having said this, he disappeared.

Marusia returned home grave and sad. When she woke up

in the morning, her father lay dead!

They wept and wailed over him, and laid him in the coffin.

In the evening her mother went off to the priest's, but Marusia

remained at home. At last she became afraid of being alone in

the house. "Suppose I go to my friends," she thought. So

she went, and found the Evil One there.

"Good evening, Marusia! why arn't you merry?"

"How can I be merry? My father is dead!"

"Oh! poor thing!"

They all grieved for her. Even the Accursed One himself

grieved; just as if it hadn't all been his own doing. By and by

they began saying farewell and going home.

"Marusia," says he, "see me off."

She didn't want to.

"What are you thinking of, child?" insist the girls. "What

are you afraid of? Go and see him off."

So she went to see him off. They passed out into the street.

"Tell me, Marusia," says he, "were you in the church?"

"No."

"Did you see what I was doing?"

"No."

"Very well! To-morrow your mother will die."

He spoke and disappeared. Marusia returned home sadder

than ever. The night went by; next morning, when she awoke,

her mother lay dead! She cried all day long; but when the

sun set, and it grew dark around, Marusia became afraid of

being left alone; so she went to her companions.

"Why, whatever's the matter with you? you're clean out of

countenance!"[21] say the girls.

"How am I likely to be cheerful? Yesterday my father

died, and to-day my mother."

"Poor thing! Poor unhappy girl!" they all exclaim sympathizingly.

Well, the time came to say good-bye. "See me off, Marusia,"

says the Fiend. So she went out to see him off.

"Tell me; were you in the church?"

"No."

"And saw what I was doing?"

"No."

"Very well! To-morrow evening you will die yourself!"

Marusia spent the night with her friends; in the morning

she got up and considered what she should do. She bethought

herself that she had a grandmother--an old, very old woman,

who had become blind from length of years. "Suppose I go

and ask her advice," she said, and then went off to her grandmother's.

"Good-day, granny!" says she.

"Good-day, granddaughter! What news is there with you?

How are your father and mother?"

"They are dead, granny," replied the girl, and then told

her all that had happened.

The old woman listened, and said:--

"Oh dear me! my poor unhappy child! Go quickly to the

priest, and ask him this favor--that if you die, your body shall

not be taken out of the house through the doorway, but that the

ground shall be dug away from under the threshold, and that

you shall be dragged out through that opening. And also beg

that you may be buried at a crossway, at a spot where four

roads meet."

Marusia went to the priest, wept bitterly, and made him promise

to do everything according to her grandmother's instructions.

Then she returned home, bought a coffin, lay down in it,

and straightway expired.

Well, they told the priest, and he buried, first her father and

mother, and then Marusia herself. Her body was passed underneath

the threshold and buried at a crossway.

Soon afterwards a seigneur's son happened to drive past

Marusia's grave. On that grave he saw growing a wondrous

flower, such a one as he had never seen before. Said the

young seigneur to his servant:--

"Go and pluck up that flower by the roots. We'll take

it home and put it in a flower-pot. Perhaps it will blossom

there."

Well, they dug up the flower, took it home, put it in a glazed

flower-pot, and set it in a window. The flower began to grow

larger and more beautiful. One night the servant hadn't gone

to sleep somehow, and he happened to be looking at the window,

when he saw a wondrous thing take place. All of a sudden the

flower began to tremble, then it fell from its stem to the ground,

and turned into a lovely maiden. The flower was beautiful, but

the maiden was more beautiful still. She wandered from room

to room, got herself various things to eat and drink, ate and

drank, then stamped upon the ground and became a flower

as before, mounted to the window, and resumed her place upon

the stem. Next day the servant told the young seigneur of the

wonders which he had seen during the night.

"Ah, brother!" said the youth, "why didn't you wake me?

To-night we'll both keep watch together."

The night came; they slept not, but watched. Exactly at

twelve o'clock the blossom began to shake, flew from place to

place, and then fell to the ground, and the beautiful maiden

appeared, got herself things to eat and drink, and sat down to

supper. The young seigneur rushed forward and seized her by

her white hands. Impossible was it for him sufficiently to look

at her, to gaze on her beauty!

Next morning he said to his father and mother, "Please

allow me to get married. I've found myself a bride."

His parents gave their consent. As for Marusia, she said:

"Only on this condition will I marry you--that for four years

I need not go to church."

"Very good," said he.

Well, they were married, and they lived together one year,

two years, and had a son. But one day they had visitors at

their house, who enjoyed themselves, and drank, and began

bragging about their wives. This one's wife was handsome;

that one's was handsomer still.

"You may say what you like," says the host, "but a handsomer

wife than mine does not exist in the whole world!"

"Handsome, yes!" reply the guests, "but a heathen."

"How so?"

"Why, she never goes to church."

Her husband found these observations distasteful. He

waited till Sunday, and then told his wife to get dressed for

church.

"I don't care what you may say," says he. "Go and get

ready directly."

Well, they got ready, and went to church. The husband

went in--didn't see anything particular. But when she looked

round--there was the Fiend sitting at a window.

"Ha! here you are, at last!" he cried. "Remember old

times. Were you in the church that night?"

"No."

"And did you see what I was doing there?"

"No."

"Very well! To-morrow both your husband and your son will

die."

Marusia rushed straight out of the church and away to her

grandmother. The old woman gave her two phials, the one full

of holy water, the other of the water of life, and told her what

she was to do. Next day both Marusia's husband and her son

died. Then the Fiend came flying to her and asked:--

"Tell me; were you in the church?"

"I was."

"And did you see what I was doing?"

"You were eating a corpse."

She spoke, and splashed the holy water over him; in a

moment he turned into mere dust and ashes, which blew to the

winds. Afterwards she sprinkled her husband and her boy with

the water of life: straightway they revived. And from that

time forward they knew neither sorrow nor separation, but they

all lived together long and happily.[22]

Another lively sketch of a peasant's love-making is given in the

introduction to the story of "Ivan the widow's son and Grisha."[23]

The tale is one of magic and enchantment, of living clouds and

seven-headed snakes; but the opening is a little piece of still-life

very quaintly portrayed. A certain villager, named Trofim, having been

unable to find a wife, his Aunt Melania comes to his aid, promising to

procure him an interview with a widow who has been left well provided

for, and whose personal appearance is attractive--"real blood and

milk! When she's got on her holiday clothes, she's as fine as a

peacock!" Trofim grovels with gratitude at his aunt's feet. "My own

dear auntie, Melania Prokhorovna, get me married for heaven's sake!

I'll buy you an embroidered kerchief in return, the very best in the

whole market." The widow comes to pay Melania a visit, and is induced

to believe, on the evidence of beans (frequently used for the purpose

of divination), that her destined husband is close at hand. At this

propitious moment Trofim appears. Melania makes a little speech to the

young couple, ending her recommendation to get married with the

words:--

"I can see well enough by the bridegroom's eyes that the bride is to

his taste, only I don't know what the bride thinks about taking him."

"I don't mind!" says the widow. "Well, then, glory be to God! Now,

stand up, we'll say a prayer before the Holy Pictures; then give each

other a kiss, and go in Heaven's name and get married at once!" And so

the question is settled.

From a courtship and a marriage in peasant life we may turn to a death

and a burial. There are frequent allusions in the Skazkas to these

gloomy subjects, with reference to which we will quote two stories,

the one pathetic, the other (unintentionally) grotesque. Neither of

them bears any title in the original, but we may style the first--