Russian Fairy Tales — 34 - Chapter 6 - Legends - About Saints - Part 3 - The Priest with the Greedy Eyes

Thereupon the matter ended.

Elijah was appeased and didn't threaten to hurt the Moujik any more.

And the Moujik led a prosperous life, and from that time forward he held in equal honor Elijah's Day and Nicholas's Day.

It is not always to the Prophet Ilya that the power once attributed to Perun is now ascribed.

The pagan wielder of the thunderbolt is represented in modern traditions by more than one Christian saint.

Sometimes, as St. George, he transfixes monsters with his lance;

sometimes, as St. Andrew, he smites with his mace a spot given over to witchcraft.

There was a village (says one of the legends of the Chernigof Government) in which lived more than a thousand witches, and they used to steal the holy stars, until at last "there was not one left to light our sinful world."

Then God sent the holy Andrew, who struck with his mace--and all that village was swallowed up by the earth, and the place thereof became a swamp.

[447] About St. George many stories are told, and still more ballads (if we may be allowed to call them so) are sung.

Under the names of Georgy, Yury, and Yegory the Brave, he is celebrated as a patron as well of wolves as of flocks and herds, as a Christian Confessor struggling and suffering for the faith amid pagan foes, and as a chivalrous destroyer of snakes and dragons.

The discrepancies which exist between the various representations given of his character and his functions are very glaring, but they may be explained by the fact that a number of legendary ideas sprung from separate sources have become associated with his name; so that in one story his actions are in keeping with the character of an old Slavonian deity, in another, with that of a Christian or a Buddhist saint.

In some parts of Russia, when the cattle go out for the first time to the spring pastures, a pie, made in the form of a sheep, is cut up by the chief herdsman, and the fragments are preserved as a remedy against the diseases to which sheep are liable.

On St. George's Day in spring, April 23, the fields are sanctified by a church service, at the end of which they are sprinkled with holy water.

In the Tula Government a similar service is held over the wells.

On the same day, in some parts of Russia, a youth (who is called by the Slovenes the Green Yegory) is dressed like our own "Jack in the Green," with foliage and flowers.

Holding a lighted torch in one hand and a pie in the other, he goes out to the cornfields, followed by girls singing appropriate songs.

A circle of brushwood is then lighted, in the centre of which is set the pie.

All who take part in the ceremony then sit down around the fire, and eventually the pie is divided among them.

Numerous legends speak of the strange connection which exists between St. George and the Wolf.

In Little Russia that animal is called "St. George's Dog," and the carcases of sheep which wolves have killed are not used for human food, it being held that they have been assigned by divine command to the beasts of the field.

The human victim whom St. George has doomed to be thus destroyed nothing can save.

A man, to whom such a fate had been allotted, tried to escape from his assailants by hiding behind a stove; but a wolf transformed itself into a cat, and at midnight, when all was still, it stole into the house and seized the appointed prey.

A hunter, who had been similarly doomed, went on killing wolves for some time, and hanging up their skins; but when the fatal hour arrived, one of the skins became a wolf, and slew him by whom it had before been slain.

In Little Russia the wolves have their own herdsman[448]--a being like unto a man, who is often seen in company with St. George.

There were two brothers (says a popular tale), the one rich, the other poor.

The poor brother had climbed up a tree one night, and suddenly he saw beneath him what seemed to be two men--the one driving a pack of wolves, the other attending to the conveyance of a quantity of bread.

These two beings were St. George and the Lisun.

And St. George distributed the bread among the wolves, and one loaf which remained over he gave to the poor brother; who afterwards found that it was of a miraculous nature, always renewing itself and so supplying its owner with an inexhaustible store of bread.

The rich brother, hearing the story, climbed up the tree one night in hopes of obtaining a similar present.

But that night St. George found that he had no bread to give to one of his wolves, so he gave it the rich brother instead.

[449] One of the legends attributes strange forgetfulness on one occasion to St. George.

A certain Gypsy who had a wife and seven children, and nothing to feed them with, was standing by a roadside lost in reflection, when Yegory the Brave came riding by.

Hearing that the saint was on his way to heaven, the Gypsy besought him to ask of God how he was to support his family.

St. George promised to do so, but forgot.

Again the Gypsy saw him riding past, and again the saint promised and forgot.

In a third interview the Gypsy asked him to leave behind his golden stirrup as a pledge.

A third time St. George leaves the presence of the Lord without remembering the commission with which he has been entrusted.

But when he is about to mount his charger the sight of the solitary stirrup recalls it to his mind.

So he returns and states the Gypsy's request, and obtains the reply that "the Gypsy's business is to cheat and to swear falsely."

As soon as the Gypsy is told this, he thanks the Saint and goes off home.

"Where are you going?"

cries Yegory.

"Give me back my golden stirrup."

"What stirrup?"

asks the Gypsy.

"Why, the one you took from me."

"When did I take one from you?

I see you now for the first time in my life, and never a stirrup did I ever take, so help me Heaven!"

So Yegory had to go away without getting his stirrup back.

[450] There is an interesting Bulgarian legend in which St. George appears in his Christian capacity of dragon-slayer, but surrounded by personages belonging to heathen mythology.

The inhabitants of the pagan city of Troyan, it states, "did not believe in Christ, but in gold and silver."

Now there were seventy conduits in that city which supplied it with spring-water; and the Lord made these conduits run with liquid gold and silver instead of water, so that all the people had as much as they pleased of the metals they worshipped, but they had nothing to drink.

After a time the Lord took pity upon them, and there appeared at a little distance from the city a deep lake.

To this they used to go for water.

Only the lake was guarded by a terrible monster, which daily devoured a maiden, whom the inhabitants of Troyan were obliged to give to it in return for leave to make use of the lake.

This went on for three years, at the end of which time it fell to the lot of the king's daughter to be sacrificed by the monster.

But when the Troyan Andromeda was exposed on the shore of the lake, a Perseus arrived to save her in the form of St. George.

While waiting for the monster to appear, the saint laid his head on her knees, and she dressed his locks.

Then he fell into so deep a slumber that the monster drew nigh without awaking him.

But the Princess began to weep bitterly, and her scalding tears fell on the face of St. George and awoke him, and he slew the monster, and afterwards converted all the inhabitants of Troyan to Christianity.

[451] St. Nicholas generally maintains in the legends the kindly character attributed to him in the story in which he and the Prophet Ilya are introduced together.

It is to him that at the present day the anxious peasant turns most readily for help, and it is he whom the legends represent as being the most prompt of all the heavenly host to assist the unfortunate among mankind.

Thus in one of the stories a peasant is driving along a heavy road one autumn day, when his cart sticks fast in the mire.

Just then St. Kasian comes by.

"Help me, brother, to get my cart out of the mud!"

says the peasant.

"Get along with you!"

replies St. Kasian.

"Do you suppose I've got leisure to be dawdling here with you!"

Presently St. Nicholas comes that way.

The peasant addresses the same request to him, and he stops and gives the required assistance.

When the two saints arrive in heaven, the Lord asks them where they have been.

"I have been on the earth," replies St. Kasian.

"And I happened to pass by a moujik whose cart had stuck in the mud.

He cried out to me, saying, 'Help me to get my cart out!'

But I was not going to spoil my heavenly apparel."

"I have been on the earth," says St. Nicholas, whose clothes were all covered with mud.

"I went along that same road, and I helped the moujik to get his cart free."

Then the Lord says, "Listen, Kasian!

Because thou didst not assist the moujik, therefore shall men honor thee by thanksgiving once only every four years.

But to thee, Nicholas, because thou didst assist the moujik to set free his cart, shall men twice every year offer up thanksgiving."

"Ever since that time," says the story, "it has been customary to offer prayers and thanksgiving (_molebnui_) to Nicholas twice a year, but to Kasian only once every leap-year."

[452] In another story St. Nicholas comes to the aid of an adventurer who watches beside the coffin of a bewitched princess.

There were two moujiks in a certain village, we are told, one of whom was very rich and the other very poor.

One day the poor man, who was in great distress, went to the house of the rich man and begged for a loan.

"I will repay it, on my word.

Here is Nicholas as a surety," he cried, pointing to a picture of St. Nicholas.

Thereupon the rich man lent him twenty roubles.

The day for repayment came, but the poor man had not a single copeck.

Furious at his loss, the rich man rushed to the picture of St. Nicholas, crying-- "Why don't you pay up for that pauper?

You stood surety for him, didn't you?"

And as the picture made no reply, he tore it down from the wall, set it on a cart and drove it away, flogging it as he went, and crying-- "Pay me my money!

Pay me my money!"

As he drove past the inn a young merchant saw him, and cried-- "What are you doing, you infidel!"

The moujik explained that as he could not get his money back from a man who was in his debt, he was proceeding against a surety; whereupon the merchant paid the debt, and thereby ransomed the picture, which he hung up in a place of honor, and kept a lamp burning before it.

Soon afterwards an old man offered his services to the merchant, who appointed him his manager; and from that time all things went well with the merchant.

But after a while a misfortune befell the land in which he lived, for "an evil witch enchanted the king's daughter, who lay dead all day long, but at night got up and ate people."

So she was shut up in a coffin and placed in a church, and her hand, with half the kingdom as her dowry, was offered to any one who could disenchant her.

The merchant, in accordance with his old manager's instructions, undertook the task, and after a series of adventures succeeded in accomplishing it.

The last words of one of the narrators of the story are, "Now this old one was no mere man.

He was Nicholas himself, the saint of God."

[453] With one more legend about this favorite saint, I will conclude this section of the present chapter.

In some of its incidents it closely resembles the story of "The Smith and the Demon," which was quoted in the first chapter.

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 gegluehte Maennlein" (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," (Asbjoernsen 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" (Asbjoernsen'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 "Dasakumaracharita," 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.