The Priest With The Greedy Eyes

The Priest With The Greedy Eyes THE PRIEST WITH THE GREEDY EYES.[454] In the parish of St. Nicholas there lived a Pope. This Pope's eyes were thoroughly pope-like.[455] He served Nicholas several years, and went on serving until such time as there remained to him nothing either for board or lodging. Then our Pope collected all the church keys, looked at the picture of Nicholas, thumped him, out of spite, over the shoulders with the keys, and went forth from his parish as his eyes led him. And as he walked along the road he suddenly lighted upon an unknown man. "Hail, good man!" said the stranger to the Pope. "Whence do you come and whither are you going? Take me with you as a companion." Well, they went on together. They walked and walked for several versts, then they grew tired. It was time to seek repose. Now the Pope had a few biscuits in his cassock, and the companion he had picked up had a couple of small loaves.[456] "Let's eat your loaves first," says the Pope, "and afterwards we'll take to the biscuits, too." "Agreed!" replies the stranger. "We'll eat my loaves, and keep your biscuits for afterwards." Well, they ate away at the loaves; each of them ate his fill, but the loaves got no smaller. The Pope grew envious: "Come," thinks he, "I'll steal them from him!" After the meal the old man lay down to take a nap, but the Pope kept scheming how to steal the loaves from him. The old man went to sleep. The Pope drew the loaves out of his pocket and began quietly nibbling them at his seat. The old man awoke and felt for his loaves; they were gone! "Where are my loaves?" he exclaimed; "who has eaten them? was it you, Pope?" "No, not I, on my word!" replied the Pope. "Well, so be it," said the old man. They gave themselves a shake, and set out again on their journey. They walked and walked; suddenly the road branched off in two different directions. Well, they both went the same way, and soon reached a certain country. In that country the King's daughter lay at the point of death, and the King had given notice that to him who should cure his daughter he would give half of his kingdom, and half of his goods and possessions; but if any one undertook to cure her and failed, he should have his head chopped off and hung up on a stake. Well, they arrived, elbowed their way among the people in front of the King's palace, and gave out that they were doctors. The servant came out from the King's palace, and began questioning them: "Who are you? from what cities, of what families? what do you want?" "We are doctors," they replied; "we can cure the Princess!" "Oh! if you are doctors, come into the palace." So they went into the palace, saw the Princess, and asked the King to supply them with a private apartment, a tub of water, a sharp sword, and a big table. The King supplied them with all these things. Then they shut themselves up in the private apartment, laid the Princess on the big table, cut her into small pieces with the sharp sword, flung them into the tub of water, washed them, and rinsed them. Afterwards they began putting the pieces together; when the old man breathed on them the different pieces stuck together. When he had put all the pieces together properly, he gave them a final puff of breath: the Princess began to quiver, and then arose alive and well! The King came in person to the door of their room, and cried: "In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost!" "Amen!" they replied. "Have you cured the Princess?" asked the King. "We've cured her," say the doctors. "Here she is!" Out went the Princess to the King, alive and well. Says the King to the doctors: "What sort of valuables will you have? would you like gold or silver? Take whatever you please." Well, they began taking gold and silver. The old man used only a thumb and two fingers, but the Pope seized whole handfuls, and kept on stowing them away in his wallet--shovelling them into it, and then lifting it a bit to see if he was strong enough to carry it. At last they took their leave of the King and went their way. The old man said to the Pope, "We'll bury this money in the ground, and go and make another cure." Well, they walked and walked, and at length they reached another country. In that country, also, the King had a daughter at the point of death, and he had given notice that whoever cured his daughter should have half of his kingdom and of his goods and possessions; but if he failed to cure her he should have his head chopped off and hung up on a stake.[457] Then the Evil One afflicted the envious Pope, suggesting to him "Why shouldn't he go and perform the cure by himself, without saying a word to the old man, and so lay hold of all the gold and silver for himself?" So the Pope walked about in front of the royal gates, forced himself on the notice of the people there, and gave out that he was a doctor. In the same way as before he asked the King for a private room, a tub of water, a large table, and a sharp sword. Shutting himself up in the private room, he laid the Princess on the table, and began chopping her up with the sharp sword; and however much the Princess might scream or squeal, the Pope, without paying any attention to either screaming or squealing, went on chopping and chopping just as if she had been so much beef. And when he had chopped her up into little pieces, he threw them into the tub, washed them, rinsed them, and then put them together bit by bit, exactly as the old man had done, expecting to see all the pieces unite with each other. He breathes on them--but nothing happens! He gives another puff--worse than ever! See, the Pope flings the pieces back again into the water, washes and washes, rinses and rinses, and again puts them together bit by bit. Again he breathes on them--but still nothing comes of it. "Woe is me," thinks the Pope; "here's a mess!" Next morning the King arrives and looks--the doctor has had no success at all--he's only messed the dead body all over with muck! The King ordered the doctor off to the gallows. Then our Pope besought him, crying-- "O King! O free to do thy will! Spare me for a little time! I will run for the old man, he will cure the Princess." The Pope ran off in search of the old man. He found the old man, and cried: "Old man! I am guilty, wretch that I am! The Devil got hold of me. I wanted to cure the King's daughter all by myself, but I couldn't. Now they're going to hang me. Do help me!" The old man returned with the Pope. The Pope was taken to the gallows. Says the old man to the Pope: "Pope! who ate my loaves?" "Not I, on my word! So help me Heaven, not I!" The Pope was hoisted on to the second step. Says the old man to the Pope: "Pope! who ate my loaves?" "Not I, on my word! So help me Heaven, not I!" He mounted the third step--and again it was "Not I!" And now his head was actually in the noose--but it's "Not I!" all the same. Well, there was nothing to be done! Says the old man to the King: "O King! O free to do thy will! Permit me to cure the Princess. And if I do not cure her, order another noose to be got ready. A noose for me, and a noose for the Pope!" Well, the old man put the pieces of the Princess's body together, bit by bit, and breathed on them--and the Princess stood up alive and well. The King recompensed them both with silver and gold. "Let's go and divide the money, Pope," said the old man. So they went. They divided the money into three heaps. The Pope looked at them, and said: "How's this? There's only two of us. For whom is this third share?" "That," says the old man, "is for him who ate my loaves." "I ate them, old man," cries the Pope; "I did really, so help me Heaven!" "Then the money is yours," says the old man. "Take my share too. And now go and serve in your parish faithfully; don't be greedy, and don't go hitting Nicholas over the shoulders with the keys." Thus spake the old man, and straightway disappeared. [The principal motive of this story is, of course, the same as that of "The Smith and the Demon," in No. 13 (see above, p. 70). A miraculous cure is effected by a supernatural being. A man attempts to do likewise, but fails. When about to undergo the penalty of his failure, he is saved by that being, who reads him a moral lesson. In the original form of the tale the supernatural agent was probably a demigod, whom a vague Christian influence has in one instance degraded into the Devil, in another, canonized as St. Nicholas. The Medea's cauldron episode occurs in very many folk-tales, such as the German "Bruder Lustig" (Grimm, No. 81) and "Das junge geglühte Männlein" (Grimm, No. 147), in the latter of which our Lord, accompanied by St. Peter, spends a night in a Smith's house, and makes an old beggar-man young by first placing him in the fire, and then plunging him into water. After the departure of his visitors, the Smith tries a similar experiment on his mother-in-law, but quite unsuccessfully. In the corresponding Norse tale of "The Master-Smith," (Asbjörnsen and Moe, No. 21, Dasent, No. 16) an old beggar-woman is the victim of the Smith's unsuccessful experiment. In another Norse tale, that of "Peik" (Asbjörnsen's New Series, No. 101, p. 219) a king is induced to kill his wife and his daughter in the mistaken belief that he will be able to restore them to life. In one of the stories of the "Dasakumáracharita," a king is persuaded to jump into a certain lake in the hope of obtaining a new and improved body. He is then killed by his insidious adviser, who usurps his throne, pretending to be the renovated monarch. In another story in the same collection a king believes that his wife will be able to confer on him by her magic skill "a most celestial figure," and under that impression confides to her all his secrets, after which she brings about his death. See Wilson's "Essays," ii. 217, &c., and 262, &c. Jacob's "Hindoo Tales," pp. 180, 315.] II. _About Demons._ From the stories which have already been quoted some idea may be gained of the part which evil spirits play in Russian popular fiction. In one of them (No. 1) figures the ghoul which feeds on the dead, in several (Nos. 37, 38, 45-48) we see the fiend-haunted corpse hungering after human flesh and blood; the history of _The Bad Wife_ (No. 7) proves how a demon may suffer at a woman's hands, that of _The Dead Witch_ (No. 3) shows to what indignities the remains of a wicked woman may be subjected by the fiends with whom she has chosen to associate. In the _Awful Drunkard_ (No. 6), and the _Fiddler in Hell_ (No. 41), the abode of evil spirits is portrayed, and some light is thrown on their manners and customs; and in the _Smith and the Demon_ (No. 13), the portrait of one of their number is drawn in no unkindly spirit. The difference which exists between the sketches of fiends contained in these stories is clearly marked, so much so that it would of itself be sufficient to prove that there is no slight confusion of ideas in the minds of the Russian peasants with regard to the demoniacal beings whom they generally call _chorti_ or devils. Still more clearly is the contrast between those ideas brought out by the other stories, many in number, into which those powers of darkness enter. It is evident that the traditions from which the popular conception of the ghostly enemy has been evolved must have been of a complex and even conflicting character. Of very heterogeneous elements must have been composed the form under which the popular fancy, in Russia as well as in other lands, has embodied the abstract idea of evil. The diabolical characters in the Russian tales and legends are constantly changing the proportions of their figures, the nature of their attributes. In one story they seem to belong to the great and widely subdivided family of Indian demons; in another they appear to be akin to certain fiends of Turanian extraction; in a third they display features which may have been inherited from the forgotten deities of old Slavonic mythology; in all the stories which belong to the "legendary class" they bear manifest signs of having been subjected to Christian influences, the effect of which has been insufficient to do more than slightly to disguise their heathenism. The old gods of the Slavonians have passed away and left behind but scanty traces of their existence; but still, in the traditions and proverbial expressions of the peasants in various Slavonic lands, there may be recognized some relics of the older faith. Among these are a few referring to a White and to a Black God. Thus, among the peasants of White Russia some vague memory still exists of a white or bright being, now called Byelun,[458] who leads belated travellers out of forests, and bestows gold on men who do him good service. "Dark is it in the forest without Byelun" is one phrase; and another, spoken of a man on whom fortune has smiled, is, "He must have made friends with Byelun." On the other hand the memory of the black or evil god is preserved in such imprecations as the Ukraine "May the black god smite thee!"[459] To ancient pagan traditions, also, into which a Christian element has entered, may be assigned the popular belief that infants which have been cursed by their mothers before their birth, or which are suffocated during their sleep, or which die from any causes unchristened or christened by a drunken priest, become the prey of demons. This idea has given rise in Russia, as well as elsewhere, to a large group of stories. The Russian peasants believe, it is said, that in order to rescue from the fiends the soul of a babe which has been suffocated in its sleep, its mother must spend three nights in a church, standing within a circle traced by the hand of a priest. When the cocks crow on the third morning, the demons will give her back her dead child.[460] Great stress is laid in the skazkas and legends upon the terrible power of a parent's curse. The "hasty word" of a father or a mother will condemn even an innocent child to slavery among devils, and when it has once been uttered, it is irrevocable. It might have been supposed that the fearful efficacy of such an imprecation would have silenced bad language, as that of the _Vril_ rendered war impossible among the Vril-ya of "The Coming Race;" but that such was not the case is proved by the number of narratives which turn on uncalled-for parental cursing. Here is an abridgment of one of these stories. There was an old man who lived near Lake Onega, and who supported himself and his wife by hunting. One day when he was engaged in the pursuit of game, a well-dressed man met him and said, "Sell me that dog of yours, and come for your money to the Mian mountain to-morrow evening." The old man sold him the dog, and went next day to the top of the mountain, where he found a great city inhabited by devils.[461] There he soon found the house of his debtor, who provided him with a banquet and a bath. And in the bath-room he was served by a young man who, when the bath was over, fell at his feet, saying, "Don't accept money for your dog, grandfather, but ask for me!" The old man consented. "Give me that good youth," said he. "He shall serve instead of a son to me." There was no help for it; they had to give him the youth. And when the old man had returned home, the youth told him to go to Novgorod, there to enquire for a merchant, and ask him whether he had any children. He did so, and the merchant replied, "I had an only son, but his mother cursed him in a passion, crying, 'The devil take thee!'[462] And so the devil carried him off." It turned out that the youth whom the old man had saved from the devils was that merchant's son. Thereupon the merchant rejoiced greatly, and took the old man and his wife to live with him in his house.[463] And here is another tale of the same kind, from the Vladimir Government. Once upon a time there was an old couple, and they had an only son. His mother had cursed him before he was born, but he grew up and married. Soon afterwards he suddenly disappeared. His parents did all they could to trace him, but their attempts were in vain. Now there was a hut in the forest not far off, and thither it chanced that an old beggar came one night, and lay down to rest on the stove. Before he had been there long, some one rode up to the door of the hut, got off his horse, entered the hut, and remained there all night, muttering incessantly: "May the Lord judge my mother, in that she cursed me while a babe unborn!" Next morning the beggar went to the house of the old couple, and told them all that had occurred. So towards evening the old man went to the hut in the forest, and hid himself behind the stove. Presently the horseman arrived, entered the hut, and began to repeat the words which the beggar had overheard. The old man recognized his son, and came forth to greet him, crying: "O my dear son! at last I have found thee! never again will I let thee go!" "Follow me!" replied his son, who mounted his horse and rode away, his father following him on foot. Presently they came to a river which was frozen over, and in the ice was a hole.[464] And the youth rode straight into that hole, and in it both he and his horse disappeared. The old man lingered long beside the ice-hole, then he returned home and said to his wife: "I have found our son, but it will be hard to get him back. Why, he lives in the water!" Next night the youth's mother went to the hut, but she succeeded no better than her husband had done. So on the third night his young wife went to the hut and hid behind the stove. And when she heard the horseman enter she sprang forth, exclaiming: "My darling dear, my life-long spouse! now will I never part from thee!" "Follow me!" replied her husband. And when they came to the edge of the ice-hole-- "If thou goest into the water, then will I follow after thee!" cried she. "If so, take off thy cross," he replied. She took off her cross, leaped into the ice-hole--and found herself in a vast hall. In it Satan[465] was seated. And when he saw her arrive, he asked her husband whom he had brought with him. "This is my wife," replied the youth. "Well then, if she is thy wife, get thee gone hence with her! married folks must not be sundered."[466] So the wife rescued her husband, and brought him back from the devils into the free light.[467] Sometimes it is a victim's own imprudence, and not a parent's "hasty word," which has placed him in the power of the Evil One. There is a well-known story, which has spread far and wide over Europe, of a soldier who abstains for a term of years from washing, shaving, and hair-combing, and who serves, or at least obeys, the devil during that time, at the end of which he is rewarded by the fiend with great wealth. His appearance being against him, he has some difficulty in finding a wife, rich as he is. But after the elder sisters of a family have refused him, the youngest accepts him; whereupon he allows himself to be cleansed, combed, and dressed in bright apparel, and leads a cleanly and a happy life ever afterwards.[468] In one of the German versions of this story, a king's elder daughter, when asked to marry her rich but slovenly suitor, replies, "I would sooner go into the deepest water than do that." In a Russian version,[469] the unwashed soldier lends a large sum of money to an impoverished monarch, who cannot pay his troops, and asks his royal creditor to give him one of his daughters in marriage by way of recompense. The king reflects. He is sorry for his daughters, but at the same time he cannot do without the money. At last, he tells the soldier to get his portrait painted, and promises to show it to the princesses, and see if one of them will accept him. The soldier has his likeness taken, "touch for touch, just exactly as he is," and the king shows it to his daughters. The eldest princess sees that "the picture is that of a monster, with dishevelled hair, and uncut nails, and unwiped nose," and cries: "I won't have him! I'd sooner have the devil!" Now the devil "was standing behind her, pen and paper in hand. He heard what she said, and booked her soul." When the second princess is asked whether she will marry the soldier, she exclaims: "No indeed! I'd rather die an old maid, I'd sooner be linked with the devil, than marry that man!" When the devil heard that, "he booked her soul too." But the youngest princess, the Cordelia of the family, when she is asked whether she will marry the man who has helped her father in his need, replies: "It's fated I must, it seems! I'll marry him, and then--God's will be done!" While the preparations are being made for the marriage, the soldier arrives at the end of his term of service to "the little devil" who had hired him, and from whom he had received his wealth in return for his abstinence and cleanliness. So he calls the "little devil," and says, "Now turn me into a nice young man." Accordingly "the little devil cut him up into small pieces, threw them into a cauldron and set them on to boil. When they were done enough, he took them out and put them together again properly--bone to bone, joint to joint, vein to vein. Then he sprinkled them with the Waters of Life and Death--and up jumped the soldier, a finer lad than stories can describe, or pens portray!" The story does not end here. When the "little devil" returns to the lake from which he came, "the grandfather" of the demons asks him-- "How about the soldier?" "He has served his time honestly and honorably," is the reply. "Never once did he shave, have his hair cut, wipe his nose, or change his clothes." The "grandfather" flies into a passion. "What! in fifteen whole years you couldn't entrap a soldier! What, all that money wasted for nothing! What sort of a devil do you call yourself after that?"--and ordered him to be flung "into boiling pitch." "Stop, grandfather!" replies his grandchild. "I've booked two souls instead of the soldier's one." "How's that?" "Why, this way. The soldier wanted to marry one of three princesses, but the elder one and the second one told their father that they'd sooner marry the devil than the soldier. So you see both of them are ours." After he had heard this explanation, "the grandfather acknowledged that the little devil was in the right, and ordered him to be set free. The imp, you see, understood his business." [For two German versions of this story, see the tales of "Des Teufels russiger Bruder," and "Der Bärenhäuter" (Grimm, Nos. 100, 101, and Bd. iii. pp. 181, 182). More than twelve centuries ago, Hiouen-Thsang transferred the following story from India to China. A certain Rishi passed many times ten thousand years in a religious ecstasy. His body became like a withered tree. At last he emerged from his ecstasy, and felt inclined to marry, so he went to a neighboring palace, and asked the king to bestow upon him one of his daughters. The king, exceedingly embarrassed, called the princesses together, and asked which of them would consent to accept the dreaded suitor (who, of course, had not paid the slightest attention to his toilette for hundreds of centuries). Ninety-nine of those ladies flatly refused to have anything to do with him, but the hundredth, the last and youngest of the party, agreed to sacrifice herself for her father's sake. But when the Rishi saw his bride he was discontented, and when he heard that her elder and fairer sisters had all refused him, he pronounced a curse which made all ninety-nine of them humpbacks, and so destroyed their chance of marrying at all. Stanislas Julien's "Mémoires sur les contrées occidentales," 1857, i. pp. 244-7.] As the idea that "a hasty word" can place its utterer or its victim in the power of the Evil One (not only after death, but also during this life) has given rise to numerous Russian legends, and as it still exists, to some extent, as a living faith in the minds of the Russian peasantry, it may be as well to quote at length one of the stories in which it is embodied. It will be recognized as a variant of the stories about the youth who visits the "Water King" and elopes with one of that monarch's daughters. The main difference between the "legend" we are about to quote, and the skazkas which have already been quoted, is that a devil of the Satanic type is substituted in it for the mythical personage--whether Slavonic Neptune or Indian Rákshasa--who played a similar part in them.