The Soldier's Midnight Watch

The Soldier's Midnight Watch

THE SOLDIER'S MIDNIGHT WATCH.[366]

Once upon a time there was a Soldier who served God and the

great Gosudar for fifteen years, without ever setting eyes on his

parents. At the end of that time there came an order from the

Tsar to grant leave to the soldiers--to twenty-five of each company

at a time--to go and see their families. Together with

the rest our Soldier, too, got leave to go, and set off to pay a

visit to his home in the government of Kief. After a time he

reached Kief, visited the Lavra, prayed to God, bowed down

before the holy relics, and then started again for his birthplace,

a provincial town not far off. Well, he walked and walked.

Suddenly there happens to meet him a fair maiden who was the

daughter of a merchant in that same town; a most remarkable

beauty. Now everyone knows that if a soldier catches sight of

a pretty girl, nothing will make him pass her by quietly, but he

hooks on to her somehow or other. And so this Soldier gets

alongside of the merchant's daughter, and says to her jokingly--

"How now, fair damsel! not broken in to harness yet?"

"God knows, soldier, who breaks in whom," replies the girl.

"I may do it to you, or you to me."

So saying she laughed and went her way. Well, the Soldier

arrived at home, greeted his family, and rejoiced greatly at finding

they were all in good health.

Now he had an old grandfather, as white as a lun, who had

lived a hundred years and a bit. The Soldier was gossiping

with him, and said:

"As I was coming home, grandfather, I happened to meet

an uncommonly fine girl, and, sinner that I am, I chaffed her,

and she said to me:

"'God knows, soldier, whether you'll break me in to harness,

or I'll break you.'"

"Eh, sirs! whatever have you done? Why that's the

daughter of our merchant here, an awful witch! She's sent

more than one fine young fellow out of the white world."

"Well, well! I'm not one of the timid ones, either! You

won't frighten me in a hurry. We'll wait and see what God will

send."

"No, no, grandson!" says the grandfather. "If you don't

listen to me, you won't be alive to-morrow!"

"Here's a nice fix!" says the Soldier.

"Yes, such a fix that you've never known anything half so

awful, even when soldiering."

"What must I do then, grandfather?"

"Why this. Provide yourself with a bridle, and take a thick

aspen cudgel, and sit quietly in the izba--don't stir a step anywhere.

During the night she will come running in, and if she

manages to say before you can 'Stand still, my steed!' you

will straightway turn into a horse. Then she will jump upon

your back, and will make you gallop about until she has ridden

you to death. But if you manage to say before she speaks,

'Tprru! stand still, jade!' she will be turned into a mare.

Then you must bridle her and jump on her back. She will run

away with you over hill and dale, but do you hold your own; hit

her over the head with the aspen cudgel, and go on hitting her

until you beat her to death."

The Soldier hadn't expected such a job as this, but there

was no help for it. So he followed his grandfather's advice,

provided himself with a bridle and an aspen cudgel, took his

seat in a corner, and waited to see what would happen. At the

midnight hour the passage door creaked and the sound of steps

was heard; the witch was coming! The moment the door of

the room opened, the Soldier immediately cried out--

"Tprru! stand still, jade!"

The witch turned into a mare, and he bridled her, led her

into the yard, and jumped on her back. The mare carried him

off over hills and dales and ravines, and did all she could to try

and throw her rider. But no! the Soldier stuck on tight, and

thumped her over the head like anything with the aspen cudgel,

and went on treating her with a taste of the cudgel until he

knocked her off her feet, and then pitched into her as she lay on

the ground, gave her another half-dozen blows or so, and at last

beat her to death.

By daybreak he got home.

"Well, my friend! how have you got on?" asks his grandfather.

"Glory be to God, grandfather! I've beaten her to death!"

"All right! now lie down and go to sleep."

The Soldier lay down and fell into a deep slumber. Towards

evening the old man awoke him--

"Get up, grandson."

He got up.

"What's to be done now? As the merchant's daughter is

dead, you see, her father will come after you, and will bid you

to his house to read psalms over the dead body."

"Well, grandfather, am I to go, or not?"

"If you go, there'll be an end of you; and if you don't go,

there'll be an end of you! Still, it's best to go."

"But if anything happens, how shall I get out of it?"

"Listen, grandson! When you go to the merchant's he will

offer you brandy; don't you drink much--drink only a moderate

allowance. Afterwards the merchant will take you into the room

in which his daughter is lying in her coffin, and will lock you in

there. You will read out from the psalter all the evening, and

up to midnight. Exactly at midnight a strong wind will suddenly

begin to blow, the coffin will begin to shake, its lid will

fall off. Well, as soon as these horrors begin, jump on to the

stove as quick as you can, squeeze yourself into a corner, and

silently offer up prayers. She won't find you there."

Half an hour later came the merchant, and besought the

Soldier, crying:

"Ah, Soldier! there's a daughter of mine dead; come and

read the psalter over her."

The Soldier took a psalter and went off to the merchant's

house. The merchant was greatly pleased, seated him at his

table, and began offering him brandy to drink. The Soldier

drank, but only moderately, and declined to drink any more.

The merchant took him by the hand and led him to the room in

which the corpse lay.

"Now then," he says, "read away at your psalter."

Then he went out and locked the door. There was no help

for it, so the Soldier took to his psalter and read and read.

Exactly at midnight there was a great blast of wind, the coffin

began to rock, its lid flew off. The Soldier jumped quickly on

to the stove, hid himself in a corner, guarded himself by a sign

of the cross, and began whispering prayers. Meanwhile the

witch had leapt out of the coffin, and was rushing about from

side to side--now here, now there. Then there came running

up to her countless swarms of evil spirits; the room was full of

them!

"What are you looking for?" say they.

"A soldier. He was reading here a moment ago, and now

he's vanished!"

The devils eagerly set to work to hunt him up. They

searched and searched, they rummaged in all the corners. At

last they cast their eyes on the stove; at that moment, luckily

for the Soldier, the cocks began to crow. In the twinkling of

an eye all the devils had vanished, and the witch lay all of a

heap on the floor. The Soldier got down from the stove, laid

her body in the coffin, covered it up all right with the lid, and

betook himself again to his psalter. At daybreak came the

master of the house, opened the door, and said--

"Hail, Soldier!"

"I wish you good health, master merchant."

"Have you spent the night comfortably?"

"Glory be to God! yes."

"There are fifty roubles for you, but come again, friend, and

read another night."

"Very good, I'll come."

The Soldier returned home, lay down on the bench, and

slept till evening. Then he awoke and said--

"Grandfather, the merchant bid me go and read the psalter

another night. Should I go or not?"

"If you go, you won't remain alive, and if you don't go, just

the same! But you'd better go. Don't drink much brandy,

drink just what is right; and when the wind blows, and the

coffin begins to rock, slip straight into the stove. There no one

will find you."

The Soldier got ready and went to the merchant's, who

seated him at table, and began plying him with brandy. Afterwards

he took him to where the corpse was, and locked him into

the room.

The Soldier went on reading, reading. Midnight came, the

wind blew, the coffin began to rock, the coffin lid fell afar off on

the ground. He was into the stove in a moment. Out jumped

the witch and began rushing about; round her swarmed devils,

the room was full of them!

"What are you looking for?" they cry.

"Why, there he was reading a moment ago, and now he's

vanished out of sight. I can't find him."

The devils flung themselves on the stove.

"Here's the place," they cried, "where he was last night!"

There was the place, but he wasn't there! This way and

that they rushed. Suddenly the cocks began to crow, the devils

vanished, the witch lay stretched on the floor.

The Soldier stayed awhile to recover his breath, crept out

of the stove, put the merchant's daughter back in her coffin, and

took to reading the psalter again. Presently he looks round,

the day has already dawned. His host arrives:

"Hail, Soldier!" says he.

"I wish you good health, master merchant."

"Has the night passed comfortably?"

"Glory be to God! yes."

"Come along here, then."

The merchant led him out of the room, gave him a hundred

roubles, and said--

"Come, please, and read here a third night; I sha'n't treat

you badly."

"Good, I'll come."

The Soldier returned home.

"Well, grandson, what has God sent you?" says his grandfather.

"Nothing much, grandfather! The merchant told me to

come again. Should I go or not?"

"If you go, you won't remain alive, and if you don't go, you

won't remain alive! But you'd better go."

"But if anything happens where must I hide?"

"I'll tell you, grandson. Buy yourself a frying-pan, and hide

it so that the merchant sha'n't see it. When you go to his house

he'll try to force a lot of brandy on you. You look out, don't

drink much, drink just what you can stand. At midnight, as

soon as the wind begins to roar, and the coffin to rock, do you

that very moment climb on to the stove-pipe, and cover yourself

over with the frying-pan. There no one will find you out."

The Soldier had a good sleep, bought himself a frying-pan,[367]

hid it under his cloak, and towards evening went to the merchant's

house. The merchant seated him at table and took to plying

him with liquor--tried every possible kind of invitation and

cajolery on him.

"No," says the Soldier, "that will do. I've had my whack.

I won't have any more."

"Well, then, if you won't drink, come along and read your

psalter."

The merchant took him to his dead daughter, left him alone

with her, and locked the door.

The Soldier read and read. Midnight came, the wind blew,

the coffin began to rock, the cover flew afar off. The Soldier

jumped up on the stove-pipe, covered himself with the frying-pan,

protected himself with a sign of the cross, and awaited what was

going to happen. Out jumped the witch and began rushing

about. Round her came swarming countless devils, the izba

was full of them! They rushed about in search of the Soldier;

they looked into the stove--

"Here's the place," they cried, "where he was last night."

"There's the place, but he's not there."

This way and that they rush,--cannot see him anywhere.

Presently there stepped across the threshold a very old devil.

"What are you looking for?"

"The Soldier. He was reading here a moment ago, and now

he's disappeared."

"Ah! no eyes! And who's that sitting on the stove-pipe

there?"

The Soldier's heart thumped like anything; he all but tumbled

down on the ground!

"There he is, sure enough!" cried the devils, "but how are

we to settle him. Surely it's impossible to reach him there?"

"Impossible, forsooth! Run and lay your hands on a candle-end

which has been lighted without a blessing having been

uttered over it."

In an instant the devils brought the candle-end, piled up a

lot of wood right under the stove-pipe, and set it alight. The

flame leapt high into the air, the Soldier began to roast: first one

foot, then the other, he drew up under him.

"Now," thinks he, "my death has come!"

All of a sudden, luckily for him, the cocks began to crow,

the devils vanished, the witch fell flat on the floor. The soldier

jumped down from the stove-pipe, and began putting out the

fire. When he had put it out he set every thing to rights, placed

the merchant's daughter in her coffin, covered it up with the

lid, and betook himself to reading the psalter. At daybreak

came the merchant, and listened at the door to find out whether

the Soldier was alive or not. When he heard his voice he

opened the door and said--

"Hail, Soldier!"

"I wish you good health, master merchant."

"Have you passed the night comfortably?"

"Glory be to God, I've seen nothing bad."

The merchant gave him a hundred and fifty roubles, and

said--

"You've done a deal of work, Soldier! do a little more.

Come here to-night and carry my daughter to the graveyard."

"Good, I'll come."

"Well, friend, what has God given?"

"Glory be to God, grandfather, I've got off safe! The merchant

has asked me to be at his house to-night, to carry his

daughter to the graveyard. Should I go or not?"

"If you go, you won't be alive, and if you don't go, you won't

be alive. But you must go; it will be better so."

"But what must I do? tell me."

"Well this. When you get to the merchant's, everything will

be ready there. At ten o'clock the relations of the deceased will

begin taking leave of her; and afterwards they will fasten three

iron hoops round the coffin, and place it on the funeral car; and

at eleven o'clock they will tell you to take it to the graveyard.

Do you drive off with the coffin, but keep a sharp look-out. One

of the hoops will snap. Never fear, keep your seat bravely; a

second will snap, keep your seat all the same; but when the

third hoop snaps, instantly jump on to the horse's back and

through the duga (the wooden arch above its neck), and run

away backwards. Do that, and no harm will come to you."

The Soldier lay down to sleep, slept till the evening, and then

went to the merchant's. At ten o'clock the relations began

taking leave of the deceased; then they set to work to fasten

iron hoops round the coffin. They fastened the hoops, set the

coffin on the funeral car, and cried--

"Now then, Soldier! drive off, and God speed you!"

The Soldier got into the car and set off: at first he drove

slowly, but as soon as he was out of sight he let the horse go

full split. Away he galloped, but all the while he kept an eye on

the coffin. Snap went one hoop--and then another. The witch

began gnashing her teeth.

"Stop!" she cried, "you sha'n't escape! I shall eat you up

in another moment."

"No, dovey! Soldiers are crown property; no one is allowed

to eat them."

Here the last hoop snapped: on to the horse jumped the

Soldier, and through the duga, and then set off running backwards.

The witch leapt out of the coffin and tore away in pursuit.

Lighting on the Soldier's footsteps she followed them back

to the horse, ran right round it, saw the soldier wasn't there, and

set off again in pursuit of him. She ran and ran, lighted again

on his footsteps, and again came back to the horse. Utterly at

her wit's end, she did the same thing some ten times over. Suddenly

the cocks began crowing. There lay the witch stretched

out flat on the road! The Soldier picked her up, put her in the

coffin, slammed the lid down, and drove her to the graveyard.

When he got there he lowered the coffin into the grave, shovelled

the earth on top of it, and returned to the merchant's house.

"I've done it all," says he; "catch hold of your horse."

When the merchant saw the Soldier he stared at him with

wide-open eyes.

"Well, Soldier!" said he, "I know a good deal! and as to

my daughter, we needn't speak of her. She was awfully sharp,

she was! But, really, you know more than we do!"

"Come now, master merchant! pay me for my work."

So the merchant handed him over two hundred roubles. The

soldier took them, thanked him, and then went home, and gave

his family a feast.

  [The next chapter will contain a number of vampire

  stories which, in some respects, resemble these tales

  of homicidal corpses. But most of them belong, I

  think, to a separate group, due to a different myth or

  superstition from that which has given rise to such

  tales as those quoted above. The vampire is actuated

  by a thirst which can be quenched only by blood, and

  which impels it to go forth from the grave and

  destroy. But the enchanted corpses which rise at

  midnight, and attempt to rend their watchers, appear

  to owe their ferocity to demoniacal possession. After

  the death of a witch her body is liable, says popular

  tradition, to be tenanted by a devil (as may be seen

  from No. iii.), and to corpses thus possessed have

  been attributed by the storytellers the terrible deeds

  which Indian tales relate of Rákshasas and other evil

  spirits. Thus in the story of Nischayadatta, in the

  seventh book of the "Kathásaritságara," the hero and

  the four pilgrims, his companions, have to pass a

  night in a deserted temple of Siva. It is haunted by a

  _Yakshini_, a female demon, who turns men by spells

  into brutes, and then eats them; so they sit watching

  and praying beside a fire round which they have traced

  a circle of ashes. At midnight the demon-enchantress

  arrives, dancing and "blowing on a flute made of a

  dead man's bone." Fixing her eyes on one of the

  pilgrims, she mutters a spell, accompanied by a wild

  dance. Out of the head of the doomed man grows a horn;

  he loses all command over himself, leaps up, and

  dances into the flames. The _Yakshini_ seizes his

  half-burnt corpse and devours it. Then she treats the

  second and the third pilgrim in the same way. But just

  as she is turning to the fourth, she lays her flute on

  the ground. In an instant the hero seizes it, and

  begins to blow it and to dance wildly around the

  _Yakshini_, fixing his eyes upon her and applying to

  her the words of her own spell. Deprived by it of all

  power, she submits, and from that time forward renders

  the hero good service.[368]]

In one of the skazkas a malignant witch is destroyed by a benignant

female power. It had been predicted that a certain baby princess would

begin flying about the world as soon as she was fifteen. So her

parents shut her up in a building in which she never saw the light of

day, nor the face of a man. For it was illuminated by artificial

means, and none but women had access to it. But one day, when her

nurses and Mamzeli had gone to a feast at the palace, she found a

door unlocked, and made her way into the sunlight. After this her

attendants were obliged to allow her to go where she wished, when her

parents were away. As she went roaming about the palace she came to a

cage "in which a Zhar-Ptitsa,[369] lay [as if] dead." This bird, her

guardians told her, slept soundly all day, but at night her papa flew

about on it. Farther on she came to a veiled portrait. When the veil

was lifted, she cried in astonishment "Can such beauty be?" and

determined to fly on the Zhar-Ptitsa to the original of the picture.

So at night she sought the Zhar-Ptitsa, which was sitting up and

flapping its wings, and asked whether she might fly abroad on its

back. The bird consented and bore her far away. Three times it carried

her to the room of the prince whose portrait she had so much admired.

On the first and second occasion he remained asleep during her visit,

having been plunged into a magic slumber by the Zhar-Ptitsa. But

during her third visit he awoke, "and he and she wept and wept, and

exchanged betrothal rings." So long did they remain talking that,

before the Zhar-Ptitsa and his rider could get back, "the day began

to dawn--the bird sank lower and lower and fell to the ground." Then

the princess, thinking it was really dead, buried it in the

earth--having first cut off its wings, and "attached them to herself

so as to walk more lightly."

After various adventures she comes to a land of mourning. "Why are

you so mournful?" she asks. "Because our king's son has gone out of

his mind," is the reply. "He eats a man every night." Thereupon she

goes to the king and obtains leave to watch the prince by night. As

the clock strikes twelve the prince, who is laden with chains, makes a

rush at her; but the wings of the Zhar-Ptitsa rustle around her, and

he sits down again. This takes place three times, after which the

light goes out. She leaves the room in search of the means of

rekindling it, sees a glimmer in the distance, and sets off with a

lantern in search of it. Presently she finds an old witch who is

sitting before a fire, above which seethes a cauldron. "What have you

got there?" she asks. "When this cauldron seethes," replies the witch,

"within it does the heart of Prince Ivan rage madly."

Pretending to be merely getting a light, the Princess contrives to

splash the seething liquid over the witch, who immediately falls dead.

Then she looks into the cauldron, and there, in truth, she sees the

Prince's heart. When she returns to his room he has recovered his

senses. "Thank you for bringing a light," he says. "Why am I in

chains?" "Thus and thus," says she. "You went out of your mind and ate

people." Whereat he wonders greatly.[370]

The Zhar-Ptitsa, or Fire-Bird, which plays so important a part in

this story, is worthy of special notice. Its name is sufficient to

show its close connection with flame or light,[371] and its appearance

corresponds with its designation. Its feathers blaze with silvery or

golden sheen, its eyes shine like crystal, it dwells in a golden cage.

In the depth of the night it flies into a garden, and lights it up as

brightly as could a thousand burning fires. A single feather from its

tail illuminates a dark room. It feeds upon golden apples which have

the power of bestowing youth and beauty, or according to a Croatian

version, on magic-grasses. Its song, according to Bohemian legends,

heals the sick and restores sight to the blind. We have already seen

that, as the Phœnix, of which it seems to be a Slavonic counterpart,

dies in the flame from which it springs again into life, so the

Zhar-Ptitsa sinks into a death-like slumber when the day dawns, to

awake to fresh life after the sunset.

One of the skazkas[372] about the Zhar-Ptitsa closely resembles the

well-known German tale of the Golden Bird.[373] But it is a

"Chap-book" story, and therefore of doubtful origin. King Vuislaf has

an apple-tree which bears golden fruits. These are stolen by a

Zhar-Ptitsa which flies every night into the garden, so he orders

his sons to keep watch there by turns. The elder brothers cannot keep

awake, and see nothing; but the youngest of the three, Prince Ivan,

though he fails to capture the bird, secures one of its tail-feathers.

After a time he leaves his home and goes forth in search of the bird.

Aided by a wolf, he reaches the garden in which the Zhar-Ptitsa

lives, and succeeds in taking it out of its golden cage. But trying,

in spite of the wolf's warning, to carry off the cage itself, an alarm

is sounded, and he is taken prisoner. After various other adventures

he is killed by his envious brothers, but of course all comes right in

the end. In a version of the story which comes from the Bukovina, one

of the incidents is detailed at greater length than in either the

German or the Russian tale. When the hero has been killed by his

brothers, and they have carried off the Zhar-Ptitsa, and their

victim's golden steed, and his betrothed princess--as long as he lies

dead, the princess remains mute and mournful, the horse refuses to

eat, the bird is silent, and its cage is lustreless. But as soon as he

comes back to life, the princess regains her spirits, and the horse

its appetite. The Zhar-Ptitsa recommences its magic song, and its

cage flashes anew like fire.

In another skazka[374] a sportsman finds in a forest "a golden feather

of the Zhar-Ptitsa; like fire does the feather shine!" Against the

advice of his "heroic steed," he picks up the feather and takes it to

the king, who sends him in search of the bird itself. Then he has

wheat scattered on the ground, and at dawn he hides behind a tree near

it. "Presently the forest begins to roar, the sea rises in waves, and

the Zhar-Ptitsa flies up, lights upon the ground and begins to peck

the wheat." Then the "heroic steed" gallops up, sets its hoof upon the

bird's wing, and presses it to the ground, so that the shooter is able

to bind it with cords, and take it to the king. In a variant of the

story the bird is captured by means of a trap--a cage in which "pearls

large and small" have been strewed.

   *       *       *       *       *

I had intended to say something about the various golden haired or

golden-horned animals which figure in the Skazkas, but it will be

sufficient for the present to refer to the notices of them which occur

in Prof. de Gubernatis's "Zoological Mythology." And now I will bring

this chapter to a close with the following weird story of