So I crept noiselessly towards the open space where lay my last night's repast and commenced to peer about; but strain my eyes as I would I could see nothing. Suddenly a soft sound broke the silence. It was like a grunt, or a deep breath; I remembered that I had heard a young peasant whom I found asleep under a tree (and subsequently ate) make a similar sound. Could the human be asleep? The noise appeared to proceed from among the pine boughs over my head, and I now peered about with redoubled diligence in the direction whence it came. After a while, I saw him—at least I saw a dark and motionless mass up in the branches of a tree some twenty paces away. Now what in the name of all that is wonderful did the creature mean by choosing such a place to pass the night in? I had seen a man in a tree before this (I have chased many a one up—they always forget that I can follow!), but I never yet saw a human fast asleep among the branches. Then, of a sudden, the true explanation of the mystery occurred to me. This creature had placed the dead horse where I had found it with the deliberate intention of using it as a bait to attract me. Having thus, as it were, invited me to supper, he intended to lie in wait for me and basely slay me from his ambush up in the tree as I feasted below. Oh! the vile, human, petty meanness of the device; the hideous perfidy to be enacted under the mask of hospitality—bah! it sickens me to think of it.
However, it appeared that the tables were about to be turned upon my friend. I was not long making up my mind as to a plan of attack; he had his fire-stick with him, of course, so I must be careful. He was grunting away merrily, and as fast asleep as though it were mid-winter, and the tree hisberloga! Well, I crept cautiously along until I reached the foot of his pine tree: I could see him plainly now sitting up in the fork of the lowest branches; his head was sunk forward on his chest and he held his fire-weapon in one hand, one end of it resting against his foot—ha, ha! I can see him now, fool that he was—dreaming there in a fool's paradise: he little knew whom he had to deal with, or he would have remained wide enough awake, I warrant him!
Then I commenced to climb very carefully and silently. But, cautious as I was, I suppose I must have made some sound, for when I was within a foot or two of his perch, the human suddenly awoke with a start, and stared out into the open space where the dead horse lay. Even then he did not see me. It was a critical moment. Just then he lowered his foot—I suppose it was stiff and required stretching. Luckily for me it came close to my paw and I clutched at it. In doing so I lost my hold of the tree trunk, without, however, letting go of the human creature's foot. Never in all my life did I hear anything so piercing as the yell that human gave as he and I fell to the earth together. To make matters still more startling the fire-stick spat out its fire at the same moment, dropping out of his hand as it did so. The flame did not touch me, luckily, though for a moment I was deafened and scared, as well as blinded, by the discharge. I am proud to say, however, that I did not loose my grip, and as we touched the earth together, I was upon him, and squeezing his deceitful, perfidious life out of his body before he well knew what had happened.
Oh! it was glorious! To think that a crafty human being should have taken the trouble to cater for me, lie in wait for me—gun and all—actually beguile me within easy range of his fire-spitter, and then fall asleep as I lay absolutely at his mercy there—well, it was too rich for words! My supper that night was superlative—two courses—for even man tastes delicious when stolen, so to say, in this manner! Upon my word I find it difficult to say which was the more delicious; the only drawback to it was that I could positively scarcely eat for laughing. Well, well; I laid the rest of the sleepy individual beside the remains of the horse which he had provided for my entertainment, intending to finish him on the morrow; but, unfortunately, his friends found him, and carried him away—I cannot say what they wanted him for: I only hope he was not wasted; and so ended the very merriest adventure I ever experienced. It has proved an unfailing source of mirth to me from that day to this, and I am exceedingly grateful to the sportsman who so obligingly fell asleep and furnished me with an unexpected second course, instead of, as he had anticipated, procuring for himself a valuable bear-skin; for—shall I be believed?—these insolent creatures, if by perfidy or stratagem they manage to do one of us to death, actually presume to wear our fur over their own unworthy carcases, being entirely without any natural covering to protect them from the cold.
But there! I must not allow my tongue to wag any longer; I am getting old, I suppose, and garrulous, but I do love to fight over again those countless battles with my enemies, which have made of me the far-renowned champion that I am. Up to now my teeth are as sharp, my arms as powerful, and my heart as sound as in the days of my youth; but there will come a time, I suppose, when teeth and claws will become blunt, and sight dim; when a grouse rising suddenly from the thicket will startle me, and a hare crossing my path will make my heart to beat—ah, well! when that time arrives, may the end come soon, for I could never bear to support a feeble existence! When I feel that I am no longer a match for my enemies, I am determined what to do: I shall seek out a human who is armed. With his fire-stick he shall free my soul from my body; but with my last strength I shall grip his throat and tear his life from him, so that our two souls shall journey together to those happy hunting-grounds whereweare to handle the fire-weapon, and the men to do the running: I shall like to have a human soul handy to start upon as soon as I arrive in those blessed regions; and oh! if I happen to meet my dear mother, how she will enjoy taking a share in the hunt!
However, I am all right here for the present, and life is pleasant enough while one's teeth are sharp!
The Russian peasant, or moujik, is an individual who has never received his fair share of respect and admiration from us in this country. We know all about his faults: his laziness, his drunkenness, his uncleanliness, his superstition, his persistent wanderings from the narrow ways of truth and honesty; but few of us are prepared to concede to him certain excellent qualities which he undoubtedly possesses: strong religious feeling, unquestioning obedience towards those in authority over him, filial love and reverence towards his father, the Tsar, devotion to his country, reverence for age, the most pious veneration for the memory of his fathers; patience, docility, courage, strangely developed humour, hospitality, and a host of virtues and lovable qualities which only those who know him intimately are able to detect and appreciate.
In the matter of their belief in and dealings with those Beings with which they have peopled the spiritual world, the Slavs are probably the most superstitious of all the European families, or at least they have clung with more pertinacity than any of their neighbours to the old-world traditions and beliefs which were the common property, centuries ago, of all. During these centuries the Church, hand-in-hand with education and civilisation, has done its best to stamp out and destroy the innumerable relics of purely Pagan and Christianised Pagan traditions which abound in the country; but neither priest nor schoolmaster, nor yet the common-sense of the community, have made much appreciable headway against the ineradicable superstition of the Russian moujik:—and the air, the forests, the waters, the very houses are as full of their spiritual inhabitants to-day as they ever were in the days when men looked to the elements and the forces of nature for the gods whom they must worship, and before whose irresistible power they realised their own insignificance. When St. Vladimir, in the zeal of his recent conversion to Christianity, cast into the waters of the Dnieper at Kief the huge wooden, silver-headed, golden-bearded idol of Perun the Thunderer, and in baptizing his twelve sons set an example which was quickly followed by the rest of the population of his grand duchy, he was very far from convincing his people that thunderings in the future were to be regarded as merely impersonal manifestations of the forces of nature. It might not be Perun who thundered, they argued—and since Perun had gone to the bottom of the Dnieper this was probably the case—but if it were not Perun it clearly must be some one else, for the thunder could not roar by itself! Elijah fitted into the gap very neatly. Did not the Church teach that Elijah the prophet went up in a chariot to heaven? The thundering then was undoubtedly the rumbling of Elijah's chariot-wheels, and that, to this day, is the explanation which any Russian peasant will give if asked to account for the noise of the thunder. This is one of many examples of the manner in which Pagan beliefs have survived in Christianised forms. In certain parts of Russia, however, even the name of Perun or Perkun is still preserved in connection with the roar of the thunder. When the familiar rumbling and crashing noise is heard overhead, the peasants in some of the Baltic provinces still remark, "There is Perun thundering again!"
Hand-in-hand with the worship, in Russian Pagan days, of the elements and the forces of nature, went the adoration of the dead; and while Perun and his fellow deities of that age have practically become extinct, or have been Christianised out of all recognition, the superstitious regard of the Russian peasant for the spirits of his departed ancestors has withstood the attacks of time as well as the teachings of Christianity, and is as marked now in some of the remoter districts of the empire as it ever was in the days of heathenism. Sometimes it is actually the spirits of therodítyelui, or forefathers, themselves, who are cherished and invoked by the peasants; sometimes therodítyeluihave become merged in the personality of thedomovoy, or house-spirit, of whom I shall presently have much to say. It is a comparatively common belief that the soul, after leaving the body, remains for a period of six weeks about the house, or at all events in the neighbourhood of its old home, watching the mourning of its relatives, and seeing that its memory is receiving at their hands fitting veneration. During the time that the body remains in the house the soul sits upon the upper portion of the coffin. As it has a long journey to perform before reaching its final home, money is frequently placed in the coffin in order that the departed spirit may be enabled to defray possible charges for being ferried across rivers and seas; food is also provided, to sustain therodítyelupon his way, together with small ladders made of dough, in seven rungs, for scaling the seven heavens. In case the steep should be slippery and difficult to climb, the parings from the nails of the dead man, if these should have been cut shortly before death, are placed close to the folded hands—the talons of some bird of prey being occasionally added, in order to render the business of climbing as easy as possible to the traveller. The coffin itself is sometimes made in the shape of a boat, in order that if Charon or his representative should refuse to convey the traveller across the dark river, or should charge an exorbitant price for so doing, the latter may be independent of the services of the ferryman. All these ancient customs are observed in the letter in many of the remoter villages throughout the empire; but it is doubtful whether the significance of the observances is realised by the peasants who thus perpetuate the ancient traditional customs of their forefathers, as handed down to them, probably, without explanation. It is certain that the belief is very general that numbers ofrodítyelui,i.e., the spirits of the fathers of the family, still reside in and watch over the establishments of their posterity not yet quit of the infirmities of the flesh. These spirits are supposed to have their abode in the wall behind theikon, and food for their use is occasionally placed on certain days close to the holy picture. The spirits may, very rarely, be seen in the form of a fly, sipping sugar-water or honey from a plate; or in the guise of a sparrow or other small bird, gobbling up crumbs upon the window-sill. In the case of a witch, the soul may occasionally take an airing during the lifetime of the hag, choosing the time when the latter is asleep to assume the form of a moth, which issues from the mouth of the witch and flutters about the room. This offers an excellent opportunity to get rid of thevyedmaaltogether. To this end all that has to be done is to conceal the mouth of the hag, so that the moth, when it returns to the body, cannot find its way home again. Repulsed in this fashion, the moth-soul easily becomes discouraged, and giving up the idea of returning to its prison-house, flies out of the window and disappears, and the witch is no more. It should be mentioned with regard to therodítyeluiwho live behind theikon, that when the time approaches for a member of the family to be gathered to his fathers the spirits gently tap-tap within the wall, as a signal to the living members of the household that it is necessary for one of them to come and join his friends behind theikon. This is, of course, the "death-watch," as we know it: and the wonder is that the entire household does not succumb to the terror which must be caused to a family in which the little tapping creature responsible for these summonses to the next world may have taken up its abode.
As for thedomovoy, or house-spirit, it seems uncertain whether this strongly marked individuality is the embodiment, in one person, of the entire company of therodítyelui, or a separate and distinct personality. He is named, together with the spirits of the air, water, and forests, as one of those who accompanied the evil one on the expulsion of the latter from heaven, and as such he would appear to be a distinct individual. But, on the other hand, there exist certain ceremonies in connection with thedomovoy, and to which I shall refer again later on, which seem to associate him with the spirits of the departed. However this may be, it is quite certain that thedomovoyis a recognised and permanent inhabitant of every peasant household throughout Russia, and it is doubtful whether there exists from end to end of the realm a single such household which would venture to express a doubt of his personal existence among them. Nevertheless, he is rarely seen, though his appearance is accurately known according to the particular notions with regard to that appearance as held in the different portions of the empire. In these he is variously described as a tiny old man—he is always a man, not a woman, and always old—no larger than a five-year-old child; as very tall and large; as having long hair; as hairy all over, even to the palms of his hands and the soles of his feet; and as having the extremely disagreeable habit of passing his hands over the faces of sleepers. If his touch is soft and warm all will go well for some time with the establishment over which he presides; but if, on the contrary, his hand is cold, like ice, and rough to the touch, then woe will betide the sleeper or his household in the near future. Thedomovoylives within thepechka, or stove, and is, when properly treated, benignantly disposed towards the members of his own particular family, protecting these from all harm and from the evil machinations of the neighbours, with whosedomovoyshe is always at enmity, quarrels between himself and these latter being of very frequent occurrence, and resulting in great damage to the crockery and other wreckable property of both establishments. The natural consequence of this rivalry between the guardian spirits of neighbouring families is that the reputation of thedomovoyoutside his own family circle is always very bad; for only one's owndomovoyis admittedly a benevolent spirit, every one else's is a demon. Thus thedomovoypresents the unusual spectacle of a being who is an angel at home and a devil out of doors, in direct contradistinction to members of the human race, who are, as I have been informed, frequently angelic in the presence of strangers, though quite "the other thing" at home.
But in spite of this zeal on behalf of his own folks—zeal which so sadly often gets him into trouble with the neighbours—thedomovoymust be kept in good humour by the members of his own family, or he is liable to show in whose company he was obliged to hurriedly leave the Realms of Light, which are asserted to have been his original habitation—in other words, he may become mischievous and troublesome even at home. At such times he will take to throwing the furniture about during the night, breaking the crockery, ill-treating the domestic pets, and so on. Under these circumstances it is best to be bold and upbraid the invisible offender loudly, when he will generally recognise the error of his ways, and desist, on the following night, from throwing the dog and the tea-cups about: he is generous enough to cherish no malice or ill-will against those who have thus been courageous enough to remonstrate with him, which proves that thedomovoy, in spite of his antecedents, is more or less in a state of grace. The tastes and peculiarities of thedomovoymay with advantage be studied by those desirous of ingratiating themselves with him. Especially in the matter of the colouring of his surroundings it is easy and well worth while to study his idiosyncrasies, and to carry out his ideas in this respect by adapting the hue of the feathered and furred animals about the establishment to his known tastes in that direction. The way to find out the favourite colour of thedomovoyis so very simple that it would be almost an insult to the guardian spirit to neglect to pay him this little compliment. All that need be done is to hang a small piece of meat by a string to a nail and to leave it (well out of range of the family nose, let us hope), for a month. At the expiration of that period it will be found to be covered with maggots, and the colour of these maggots is the favourite tint of thedomovoy. If the cows and the horses, the cocks and the hens, are not of the particular colour indicated by the above test, they had better be sold at once, and others bought which correspond with the ideas of thedomovoyin this respect.
The ceremony to be performed by a peasant family removing from one house to another is full of significance, and is, or was, universally recognised as a most important function. In this ceremony there seems to occur that confusion between thedomovoyand the spirits of the departed to which I have already made allusion in the course of this chapter. The whole function centres in the stove, or rather in the embers burning within it. When the family have packed up and are ready to go, the old grandmother, if there be one, or the oldest woman of the establishment, carefully rakes up the red-hot embers still glowing within the stove at the moment of departure, depositing these in a pan which is then quickly covered up. That these embers are supposed to be in some way connected with the spirits of the departed is evident, because the tradition specially enjoins that the greatest care must be observed lest any of them slip through the aperture and into the grate; for if this calamity should happen, it would signify that certain of therodítyeluihad slipped through the barrier and fallen into the fires of hell. When the whole of the glowing coals have been raked out and collected, the old woman carries the pan across to the new house, chanting over and over again as she goes, the words, "Welcome, little grandsire, to the new home." Arrived at the house, the old woman knocks three times upon the wall, and is admitted. The whole family have assembled meanwhile and are ready to greet the old woman and her pan and embers. "Welcome, little grandsire, to the new home" is the cry, repeated over and over again, while the embers are taken out one by one, and placed, still alight, within the new stove. Thus therodítyeluiperform their "flitting," after which they are as much at home in the new abode as they were in the old haunts. I should mention, before leaving the subject, that previously to the occupation of a new house, a cock and hen are let loose in the living room, which is not entered until after the cock has crowed. No evil spirit can bear to hear a cock crow, and the rite is doubtless performed with a view to ridding the house of any evil spirits which may have previously taken possession of the edifice.Domovoysdo not object to the crowing of cocks—another proof that thedomovoyis in a state of grace.
Holy Church has stepped in and substituted for the ceremonies which I have just described, special services for those about to occupy new premises, and these Christian functions now largely take the place of the Pagan rites; but the change of ceremony has not dethroned either thedomovoyor therodítyelui, who still reign, and will doubtless reign for the next thousand years, over the imagination of Ivan Ivanovitch, as the personal and permanent and undoubted guests and guardians of his establishment. There is a specialdomovoyin charge of the bath-house which forms a feature in every Russian village. Thisdomovoyhas a strong objection to the villagers bathing themselves late at night, specially if they do so without having first prayed aloud. It is not very clear what form his displeasure takes when his wishes in this connection are disregarded; but it is known that he dislikes the practice of late bathing. Probably it keeps him up. However, if the moujik be impious enough to disregard his objections and to take a bath at an unseasonable hour of the night, when all good moujiks, andbanniksalso, should be asleep, a can of warm water and a birch-rod-swisher should be left by the untimely "ablutioner" in propitiation of thebannik(who is thedomovoyof the bath-house) thus kept from his rest by the thoughtless and unselfish conduct of the former. Whether thebannikever utilises the opportunity thus offered him of enjoying a comfortable scrub, tradition does not say. If the bathdomovoyis a good Russian, and has imbibed anything of the nature of the moujik during his long connection with that unsavoury member of society, probably he doesnotuse the warm water and the swish; for he will not wash himself unless he is forced to do so by circumstances over which he has no control, such as popular opinion, or the customs or the bye-laws of the village in which he has his habitation.
I have already mentioned that when the Prince of the Spirits of Evil descended from the abode of light and took up his dwelling in the realms of darkness, which are his habitation to this very hour, there accompanied him certain other spirits, inferiors and followers. Among these, according to Slavonic folk-lore, were thevodyánnuie, or water-spirits; thevozdúshnuie, or spirits of the air; and theliéshuie, or wood-demons. There were many others in his train—such as thekarliki, or gnomes—beings of little or no interest in the everyday life of the peasant because they rarely interfere in human affairs, if they can avoid it, and have no special connection with humanity; whereas thedomovuie, as I have shown, and the water and wood spirits, as I intend now to describe, are constantly in contact with members of our race, either for good or for evil. Many of the followers of the Chief demon accompanied their leader into his new home and there remain with him to this day; but it will be better to leave these bad characters where they are, and to concern ourselves solely with those whom common interests have brought into connection with our race. The spirits which I have named did indeed accompany their former leader as far as the portals of his new realm, the nether regions; but they did not actually enter its confines, or if they did do so, did not stay longer than just so much time as was required to arrive at the conclusion that the atmosphere of the place was not such as to suit their private ideas of comfort—which did not take them long—after which they quickly turned their backs upon the front gates and made off as rapidly as possible; theliéshuiehiding themselves in the forests, thekarlikiburying themselves in the earth, while thevozdúshnuieremained in the cool air—finding it refreshing after the heated atmosphere to which they had been lately introduced; and thevodyánnuie, who had perhaps stayed a moment or two longer beside their chief, or who were possibly more sensitive to the discomfort of a warm temperature, plunged headlong into the water in order to cool their parched frames, and have remained in the pleasant depths ever since—taking over the management of all springs and rivers and pools upon the surface of the dry land. These samevodyánnuieare a tricky race of beings and require much propitiation at the hands of millers, fishermen, and others who have dealings with them or with the waters within their jurisdiction. Millers, especially, require to be careful to keep in touch with thevodyánnuie; for each mill-race possesses its own particular water-spirit, and the miller will have no luck, and deserve none, if he does not cast into the race at least one black pig per annum as a gift to the spirit which has its habitation in his waters. The ordinary annual offering to the water-spirits is, however, a horse, whose legs have been previously tied together with red ribbons, and who has been smeared for the sacrifice with honey. A heavy stone is attached to the unfortunate animal's neck and he is thrown into a deep pool. Thevodyánnuie, who have in all probability shown their displeasure for some time before the sacrifice by causing the river to overflow its banks, or the ice to carry away the bridge, having now received their rights as by custom established, at once settle down in peace and quietness for a whole year. But they are, as I have said, a tricky lot, and they must not be depended upon by bathers, or by peasants who would fain cool their horses' heated flanks in the deep pool after a hard day of work in the fields. Thevodyánnuiof the place may be of a malicious disposition, and though everything may have been done in order to secure his benevolent neutrality towards bathers, yet he is just as likely as not to pull down by the leg his very warmest admirer, or the horse of his most sincere follower.
Here, again, the Church, anxious to substitute for the Pagan observances which I have mentioned in connection with thevodyánnuieher own orthodox functions, has ordained for the use of the faithful solemn services for the "blessing of the waters." These services are now performed twice each year all over Russia, and have largely ousted the ancient rites and sacrifices which were considered necessary in honour, or in propitiation of the water-spirits; but though the sacrificial observances are discontinued, the belief in the existence of thevodyánnuie, as active and malevolent beings whose dwelling-place is in the pools and streams, still retains its hold upon the minds of the people with much of its ancient intensity. Before quitting the subject of water-spirits, I should mention that the nymphs and mermaids of our own and universal folk-lore are represented in that of the Slavs by beings known asrusalki, an entirely distinct species from the surly and maliciousvodyánnuie. The latter are of the male sex, while therusalkiare all females, and frequently very beautiful. They employ their good looks unfortunately to the ruin of our race, too frequently luring young men to their doom, by enticing them into the deep waters and there either tickling them to death or else drowning them; for therusalkiare of a mischievous and frivolous nature and have very little good feeling about them. Many of therusalkiare supposed to be the spirits of stillborn or of unbaptized children, or of women who have committed suicide or who have been for some other reason deprived of the privilege of Christian burial. When a child dies unbaptized, its spirit is said to wander through the world for seven years, longing and entreating to be baptized. If any person sufficiently pure in spirit to discern the pleading soul-voice has the presence of mind, on hearing it, to pronounce the words, "I baptize thee in the Name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost," then the forlorn soul is satisfied and flits away to Paradise; but if the seven years go by and the soul remains unbaptized, it becomes arusalka. Annual prayers are offered in Russian churches for the unbaptized, and if the wandering spirit is fortunate enough to be close at hand and to overhear the words of the priest during one of these services, its object is attained: it is considered to have come within actual range of the working of the baptismal rite, and Paradise is won for that soul. There are some who believe that the spirits of the unbaptized, in their wanderings through the world, assume the form of a cuckoo; and these make a point for this reason of baptizing every cuckoo they hear, or even of performing the rite in effigy if no living cuckoo should be available. The fishermen of the Caspian have a pretty legend with regard to therusalki. They declare that these water-maidens are frequently greatly troubled as to the nature of the future state and their own probable destiny therein. The mermaids, to give them a familiar name, are represented as occasionally appearing at the surface of the water to inquire whether the fishermen can tell them whether the end of the world is still far off?
Therusalkivary in size, as do all the spirit forms of Russian folk-lore. Sometimes they are spoken of as tiny beings floating in the cup of the water-lily; sometimes as huge female forms which haunt the cornfields and steal the grain of the peasants. When caught thus misbehaving themselves therusalkiare punished in effigy, straw figures, representing the robbers, being tossed about by companies of girls, who eventually cast them into the water. When this has been done the cornfield is safe from further plunderings at the hands of the beautiful but dishonest water-maidens.
Thevozdúshnuie, or spirits of the air, have but little to do with man, their realm being outside his usual "beat." There are no doubt as many spirits dwelling in the air as inhabit the waters, woods, and houses, but until man shall have taken to journeying in balloons or shall have mastered the science of flying, it is probable that he will not be molested to any great extent by this branch of the spirit family. I will therefore pass on to consider the wood-goblins, whom I have left until the last, because, with the sole exception of thedomovoy, theliéshuiis by far the most important of the spirits who engage in dealings with mankind, as well as the most picturesque. In a country whose woods and forests cover thousands of miles of territory, it is only natural that the spirits whose home is in the fastnesses of those pine-grown regions should play a great part in the imagination of a poetic and superstitious people living beneath the shadow of the pine trees. Theliéshuieare, without doubt, by nature evil spirits, or demons; but, like their brethren of the waters and of the air, they may be propitiated by the observance of certain rites and ceremonies, and by this means rendered friendly or at least neutral towards those who are desirous of living in their good graces—a most necessary condition of existence for those whose flocks and herds wander day-long in the wilds and moors and woodlands of the interior of Russia. Theliéshuiis, in the estimation of his friend Ivan Ivanovitch, a shocking bad character. He is generally an old man, very hairy and wild in appearance, as might be expected. He is a terrible drunkard, and is frequently quite incapacitated and helpless after his bacchanalian excesses; on such occasions he is watched over and protected from the assaults of his enemies by his chief friend and henchman, the bear. But not only is he a drunkard, he is equally a slave to another vice, the indulgence of which seems to strike one as unexpectedly sophisticated in a denizen of the forest: he is a gambler and a card-player, speculating to a tremendous extent, and staking all his possessions frequently enough at a singlecoup. When the villageochotnik, or sportsman, finds to his annoyance that the hares, the blackcock, or the tree partridges within his district have become so scarce that it is no longer worth his while to tramp the woods after them, the apparently unaccountable circumstance is plain enough to his enlightened intelligence: theliéshuiof the place has gambled them away to his next-door neighbour. The same explanation accounts for the migration of squirrels and birds from one part of the country to another—they are in the act of going over to swell the possessions of the fortunateliéshuiwho has won them from their former owner. I should mention, however, that clubs are never used in the packs of cards with which theliéshuiecarry on their games of speculation, since these, to a certain extent, resemble the shape of a cross, an emblem which neither wood-goblins, nor any other evil spirit dares to look upon. But besides these gamblings with one another, and perhaps as the outcome of these very transactions and the ill-feeling and bad blood which operations of this kind so frequently engender, terrific encounters occasionally take place between the rivalliéshuieof a district, when the forest is devastated for hundreds of yards around, the pines lying prone and uprooted in every conceivable position and in every direction, just as though a hurricane of wind had passed by and torn them up, hurling them right and left as it went. Many a time have I encountered such a scene of desolation in mid-forest, and have found the greatest difficulty in forcing a way through the chaos formed by thislom, as it is called. Ignorant as I was in those days of the true origin of these patches of devastation, I used fondly to imagine that the ruin I saw had indeed been wrought by the agency of the tempest, though it was always a puzzle to me to account for the limited sphere in which the whirlwind had conducted its destructive operations; the theory of a wood-goblin duel, of course, satisfactorily accounts for the circumstance. When aliéshuimarries—for he does take to himself a wife in his own good time—his bridal feasts and processions create terrible disorder in the forest; birds and beasts rush frightened and screaming from the neighbourhood, trees are knocked down and strewn about the ground, and the place becomes a pandemonium. It is not very apparent whom this unprincipled goblin finds to marry him. Perhaps the Erl-King has an unlimited supply of those deceitful daughters of his! The peasants naturally have much to do with the spirits whose habitation is in the forests which surround their dwellings, for their flocks and herds must wander free over the outlying pasture-lands, and if the goblin of the district has not been propitiated, the position of such herds, entirely at the mercy of every marauding wolf or bear, is wretched indeed. When the favour of theliéshuihas been gained over, then neither bear nor wolf will be permitted by that all-powerful sylvan authority to injure cow or horse, let it wander where it will, even within the actual confines of the forest. In these days there is a special church function, known as the "blessing of the herd," for use on the first occasion, in each spring, on which the village cattle are allowed to go forth to pasture, this service being designed to take the place of more ancient ceremonies for the propitiation of the wood-goblins.
Occasionally a peasant, after a walk in the woods, feels himself indisposed without any apparent reason for his indisposition. When this is the case it may be assumed with practical certainty that he has crossed the path of aliéshui. The sick man must immediately return to the wood, bearing an offering of bread, salt, and a clean napkin. Over these goods he must pronounce a prayer, afterwards leaving them behind him for the use of the goblin, and returning to his home, when the sickness will quickly pass from him. If any favour is to be asked of theliéshui, he may be invoked for this purpose by the following process: Cut down a number of young birches and place them in a circle, taking care that the tops all converge towards the centre. Then stand in the middle, take the cross from your neck—every Russian wears this—and pocket it, and call out "Grandpapa!" The spirit will instantly appear. There is "another way," as the cookery books would say: Go into the wood on St. John's Eve and fell a tree, taking care that it falls towards the west. Stand on the stump, facing east, and look down at your toes; then invoke theliéshuithus: "Oh! grandfather, come, but not in the form of a grey wolf, nor of a black raven; but come in the shape I myself wear!" Whereupon the spirit appears immediately in the form of a human being, and, like a man, prepared to make a bargain, if favours are asked. Theliéshuihas quite a strong sense of the great modern principle ofquid pro quo, and generally gets the best of it in his dealings with mankind.
Yet another peculiarity of the wood-goblin is his love for startling and frightening those whose business compels them to journey through his domain. He will take up a position among the boughs of a tree under which the traveller must pass, suddenly giving vent, on the approach of the latter, to all manner of terrifying sounds—loud frenzied laughter, barking, neighing, bellowing, howling as of a wolf, anything that will startle or alarm the intruder.
Undoubtedly the wood-goblin is the cause of a vast amount of trouble to poor Ivan Ivanovitch; and he is, therefore, far from occupying the snug place which his cousin, thedomovoy, enjoys in the national imagination. On the other hand, he might be very much worse than he is, and he is undoubtedly, with all his faults and shocking vices, infinitely preferable to that mean and skulking and treacherous relative of his, thevodyánnui.
The village folk of Spask were a good-natured lot, as most Russian villagers are, and old Tatiana Danilovna was a popular character in the community for many sufficient reasons. In the first place she was a widow with several children, whom she did her best to support without begging, which is in itself a great distinction for any widow in a Russian village; and Tatiana, her special talents and qualifications apart, had but her late husband's little allotment of land, the portion of one soul (and oh, what a drunken soul was Yashka Shagin, while still under bondage to the flesh!), wherewith to feed the whole five of her brats. But then, as I have just hinted, Tatiana had talents of her own, which enabled her to supplement the meagre income producible from her bit of the communal land, which, but for this fortunate provision of nature in her favour, would have been just about enough to starve upon handsomely. The fact of the matter is, old Tatiana was aznaharka. If the reader were to look out this word in the dictionary he would probably find the English equivalent given as "a sorceress"; but this is not exactly the meaning of the name, which is derived from the rootzna, and signifies rather "a woman who knows her way about." This much old Tatiana certainly did know, as well as most people, although I am sorry to say that her education in the usual fields of even elementary learning had been entirely overlooked. Asznaharkashe did a considerable business, however, in all of the following useful departments of that avocation. She gave her blessing to couples about to be married; and bold indeed would that couple have been who presumed to approach the hymeneal altar without having previously insured themselves against the onslaughts of the evil eye by undergoing the ceremony indicated. Besides this she did a fairish bit of exorcising, for there were always plenty of evil spirits knocking about near Spask, and the priest of the nearest church could not always be got at very conveniently; besides her fee was, naturally, lower than that of his reverence, who could not be expected to come all that distance and bring a largeikonwith him into the bargain, for nothing; also, the priest had to be refreshed, while Tatiana was frugal to a fault in her habits, and was far too wise a woman to go near the village beer-shop at any time for drinking purposes. She would use the resort as a convenient place for haranguing the assembled souls, indeed, and visited it also occasionally in a benevolent way, to haul some boosing moujik out of the den before he should have drunk his soul out of his body. Then, again, Tatiana was thesage femmeof the district, and ushered into the world every little squalling moujik that was unfortunate enough to be born into this vale of tears and poverty. Lastly, for even the tale of Tatiana's accomplishments must end somewhere, she was the medico of the place. Tatiana did not attempt surgery, but she knew a number of incantations and charms, which, of course, are the same thing without the vivisection. Faith and Tatiana together effected many a cure in Spask; and it is marvellous, when one thinks of it, how very simple a matter will set right our suffering bodies if we only know how to "do the trick." Tatiana knew how to do the trick, and had herbs and potent decoctions which were able to remove every disease, unless, indeed, it was God's will that the patient should die, in which case, of course, neither Tatiana, nor Professor Virchow, nor any one else, would have kept the poor creature alive. When Providence was willing that the sick person should enjoy a further lease of life, then Tatiana and her herbs and her occasional blood-letting were safe things to resort to, as all Spask well knew, and were as sure as anything could be to pull the patient through with flying colours. She also dealt in charms for the use of lovers, mothers (or would-be mothers), hunters, farmers, &c.; and could doctor horses and cows and dogs and poultry with wonderful success, always, of course, under the saving clause as toforce majeure, in the way of interferences from Providence. I will merely add that Tatiana was dear to all children, whom she regaled withprianniki(biscuits) after a good stroke of business, and that the whole village feared as well as respected the old woman.
Such being Tatiana's position in the community, it is not surprising that the entire population of Spask were ready and willing to lend a hand whenever the word went round that theznaharkawas about to mow her field of grass, or to dig up her potatoes, or whatever may have been the particular nature of the work to be done upon her bit of land. On the occasion which we have to consider to-day there was hay to be made, and as Tatiana's allotment adjoined others upon which a similar work had to be performed, nearly all the "souls," or ratepayers, of the village were present and busy with their scythes, while there was assuredly no single child in the place absent; all were there, tossing Tatiana's hay about ("tedding" is the word, I believe), and making themselves more or less useful and entirely happy over the job. The field was a large one, for it comprised the whole of the hay allotments of the souls of the community, about twenty-five in all; hence Tatiana's strip, which was but one twenty-fifth of the whole, was soon mown by so large a body of workers, who then passed on to the next strip, and thence to a third and a fourth, until all was mown. The field lay close up to the very edge of the pine forest, Tatiana's strip being actually the nearest to the wood, so that, as the work went on, the whole body of workers gradually drew further and further from the cover, until towards evening the busy, noisy crowd were at quite a considerable distance from the spot at the edge of the forest where work had commenced in early morning. On such occasions as mowing day at Spask there is no question of returning to the village during working hours; for once in a way Ivan Ivanich sticks to business, and meals, as well as any little refreshers of a liquid nature, are partaken of upon the spot; hunks of black bread tied up in red handkerchiefs, salted herrings in grimy bits of newspaper, andkvass, in dirty-looking bottles, forming the principal items of the food and drink brought by the moujiks to be consumed upon the ground.Kvassis a drink to which I should recommend every reader to give a very wide berth, for it is without exception the nastiest decoction that ever the perverted ingenuity of mankind invented, and is calculated to nauseate the toughest British palate to such an extent that the said Britisher will flee the country rather than taste the noxious stuff a second time.
On this occasion there was quite an array of red handkerchiefs left at the edge of the field, together with sundry loose hunks of black bread and other comestibles, and half-a-dozen tiny children of a non-perambulating age, which latter had been brought to the field by their mothers for the excellent reason that there was no one left in the village to look after them, and were now peacefully sleeping, like so many little bundles of rags, each under the tree selected by its parent for the office of shade-giver. Assuredly not one of the red-shirted souls so busily wielding their scythes, or of the gaily-kerchiefed women tossing and drying the grass, ever bethought herself of the possibility of danger to the little ones thus left a hundred or so of yards away: for who would hurt them? There were no gipsies to carry them away, or brigands—they had never heard of such gentry; it was perfectly safe, and nobody bothered his head about the babies. Therefore it came as a terrible shock to every person present when of a sudden some one raised the cry: "Medvyed, medvyed!" (a bear, a bear!) There was no mistake about it, it was indeed a bear, and a big one, too—"the tsar of the bears," as a moujik expressed it afterwards. The brute was apparently busy searching among the red handkerchiefs for something to eat, when first seen; but at the general shout or howl of fear and surprise which immediately arose from the whole body of peasants in the field, he raised his nose and deliberately scanned the assembled villagers, showing his teeth and growling unpleasantly.
The villagers were too frightened, at first, to either move or utter a sound. The spectacle of a bear in their midst was too unusual in that portion of Russia in which Spask lay to be other than intensely horrifying. Spask did not even boast of anochotnik, or hunter, among its inhabitants; the population, one and all, were as ignorant of the best course to pursue under the circumstances as though the foul fiend himself had suddenly appeared among them, and their tongues, as well as their arms, were absolutely paralysed with amazement and terror.
Meanwhile the bear, seeing that none seemed anxious to dispute his presence, turned his attention to the red bundles which contained the food whose good smell had probably attracted him, visiting several of these in turn and rolling them about in his attempts to get at their contents. Then he visited a bundle which contained a baby. The child was, fortunately, fast asleep; neither did it awake when Bruin rolled it over to sniff at it; if it had moved the consequences might perhaps have been fatal. But, as matters turned out, the child slept on, and the bear, satisfied that it was dead, left it. Then at length the spirit of the assembled population returned to them, and, as though with one accord, the entire crowd gave vent to a shriek of relief and rage; men began to finger their scythes and women their rakes, and the whole assembly moved a step or two towards the intruder. Then Bruin began to think that discretion was, perhaps, after all, the better part of valour, and, with a few savage snarls and grunts, he retired into the forest, stepping upon a sleeping baby as he withdrew, and causing the child to wake and scream with pain or fright. Then he disappeared among the dark pines, moaning and grunting so as to be heard for a considerable distance.
The villagers lost no time in rushing to the assistance of the screaming child, now that danger was over; when it was seen that the baby was quite uninjured, and, further, that the child was a relative and goddaughter of old Tatiana, whose bundle of black bread the bear had also honoured with particular attention. These facts amounted, in the minds of the good people of Spask, to a coincidence. Why had the brute thus chosen out theznaharkafor special and deliberate insult? Undoubtedly he was an evil spirit, and these acts of hostility on his part directed against the chief local enemy of evil spirits must be regarded as something in the nature of a challenge. Tatiana's bread was all eaten or spoiled, and Tatiana's godchild still lay screaming, though unhurt, in her mother's arms. There was more in this than appeared on the surface.
All eyes were now upon theznaharka, for it was evident that something must be said or done under the circumstances; the reputation of the wise woman of the village was, in a way, at stake.
Tatiana did not disappoint her admirers. She first crossed herself, and then spat; then she fixed her eyes upon the spot where the bear's retreating form had last been seen, and commenced a speech, half a formula of exorcisation and half pure (or rather very impure) abuse, which certainly did the greatest credit both to her inventive faculties and to her knowledge of the intricacies of the Russian language as arranged specially for the use of vituperative peasants. If one fractional portion of the old woman's curse had taken effect upon its object, the rest of the days of that bear upon this earth would indeed have been days of blighting and misery both for himself and for those who called him son or cousin or husband; his female relatives especially came under condemnation, and most of all she who had brought him into the world; her fate was to be shocking indeed, so much so that I shrink from entering into the matter in detail for fear of wounding the feelings of my readers, who are not perhaps accustomed to the beauties of the Russian peasant's vocabulary, which is exceedingly rich in certain forms of speech. Tatiana's curse, however, produced a great effect upon her fellow villagers, who felt that it was all that the occasion demanded, and that they had for the present obtained satisfaction for the insults heaped upon them by the uninvited stranger; the baby was also, presumably, of this opinion, for it now stopped crying, and began to look about it with eyes full of the last few unshed tears, as though it expected to find the corpse of the bear lying somewhere about as the immediate result of Tatiana's heroics. After this, the souls, accompanied by their female relatives and the children, returned to the village, where the rest of the evening was spent by the majority of the gentlemen in the refinements ofvodka-drinking and wrangling at the beer-shop.
But, alas! shocking though the curse of Tatiana had sounded, and dire as the results ought to have been in the way of utter confusion and annihilation in this world and the next for that bear and all his relations, it soon appeared that somehow or other the malediction had missed its mark. The very next day the creature was seen by a villager who chanced to penetrate somewhat deep into the forest in search of mushrooms; and so far from being any the worse for the liberal cursing it had had, the bear had appeared—so the moujik declared—to be all the better, or rather fiercer for it; it had actually chased him for some little distance, and would have caught him if he had not, most providentially, reached a wide expanse of open ground which the bear had hesitated to cross in daylight.
This was serious news, and Tatiana was observed that morning, after hearing it, to grow very thoughtful; she made her hay diligently, but silently, exchanging neither word nor salutation with man, woman, or child during the whole of the day. The peasant women eyed the oldznaharkawith unquiet minds; was this evil spirit destined to prove more mighty than she, and to defy with impunity the very clearly expressed maledictions of their all-powerfulznaharka? Surely not. It would be a bad day for Spask if the confidence which the village had so long reposed in the mystic powers of the sagacious Tatiana were now to be shaken! This was the very reflection which was disturbing the mind of theznaharkaherself, with the corollary that it would be an uncommonly bad thing for her business also. Things however, went from bad to worse. Far from feeling any ill effects from the curses of Tatiana, these seemed to have inspired the offending animal with greater courage and ferocity than had ever hitherto been the portion of mortal bruin. He chased the villagers at every opportunity: he entered the village at night and stole—alas! poorznaharka!—Tatiana's own dog; he grew bolder day by day, and at last his daring culminated in the pursuit and capture of a poor little child. The unfortunate baby, for she was scarcely more, had strayed beyond the edge of the wood while her people were busy in the hayfield, had been caught, carried away, and eaten. This was the climax. Tatiana's reputation was tottering. Already several sick persons had presumed to get well without her assistance; another had done an even worse thing, he had ridden over to the neighbouringselo, which means the chief of a group of villages, in order to consult the localfeldscher, an insult to the medical genius of Tatiana which had never before been offered to that lady—who, to do her justice, little as she knew about medicine or human bodies and their ailments, nevertheless knew a great deal more than her professional rival upon these subjects, for he was as absolutely ignorant of one as he was of the other.
And now Tatiana began to feel her influence in the village, and therefore her very livelihood, slipping away, not gradually, but, if I may use the expression, with a run. If something did not happen to re-establish her reputation, and that very soon, both position and emoluments as wise-woman of the district would inevitably go by the board! Folks began to eye her askance when they met her; some even openly mocked at her as she passed, delighting to tell her each new tale of the appearance of the demon bear, that thrived on curses; in a word, the position became insupportable. The discredited wise-woman now took to roaming the woods, armed with her sickle, in hopes of meeting and, by some fortunate combination of circumstances in which cursing and cunning and violence were all to play a part, compassing the death of her arch-enemy, the ruiner of her position and prospects, the hated, the accursed, the demoniac bear. Strangely enough, Tatiana still believed in herself though the rest of the village had learned to doubt her powers, and she was not without hope that a second curse, if personally applied, might yet prove efficacious. All Tatiana's wanderings in the forest seemed, however, to be doomed to end in disappointment; the enemy would not show himself, and matters were growing extremely critical when at last one afternoon the unexpected happened. As the old woman was busily employed washing her children's clothes in the river, on chancing to raise her head she espied for the first time since the memorable evening of her first abortive cursing, the very identical object of that curse and of very many others since lavished upon him in the secret recesses of her being—Bruin himself. The bear, unaware of her proximity, was standing at the edge of the steepish bank which at that spot overhung the water, endeavouring to reach the stream for a drink. Unsuccessful in his efforts to effect this, the brute was softly whining and grunting, growing excited and passionate the while, as baulked bears will, over his failure to get at the water. Seeing that his whole attention was absorbed in the interest of the moment, Tatiana, who, brave as she was, had at first forgotten everything in the terror of this suddenrencontrewith the savage brute, determined to seize the opportunity to escape. But when she had crept a very few paces away, a thought struck her. She was discredited and disgraced at the village; her reputation, which meant her livelihood, had gone from her; what was life worth to her under the circumstances? Why not make one bold stroke for reputation and fortune, and succeed or perish in the attempt? Here was this bear busily engaged in balancing himself over the surface of the swift stream, endeavouring to get at the water which he could not possibly reach, but, bear-like, persisting in the attempt; now, why not creep quietly up, and—yes, she would do it! Tatiana stole softly behind her enemy—it was a matter of life and death, she quite understood that, so she was careful enough to make no sound—approached within a yard or two of the monster's broad stern, then, as he bent himself further than ever over the water, gave one loud shout and one big rush, and in an instant had thrown the whole weight of her body against that of the already almost overbalanced animal at the brink. The next momentznaharkaand bear were both rising to the surface of the river Neva, beneath whose cool waters they had plunged in company. Old Tatiana could swim like a duck and soon struck out for the best landing place; the bear, like a sensible creature, following her lead. But the old woman, trained to swim in these waters from childhood, quickly outstripped her companion, and was ready, with her sickle in her hand, when that half-drowned individual arrived. The river was deep to the very bank, so that Tatiana had no great difficulty in beating off her enemy, who, placing two huge paws upon the edge of the bank, received a cut from the sickle upon each, which soon compelled him to snatch away those members with a roar of pain and rage.
Then commenced an unequal battle. The bear splashed about endeavouring to gain a footing; but whenever he came to the bank, there was Tatiana awaiting him with her deadly sickle, and in addition to many cuts over paw and forearm the unfortunate brute had soon to bewail sundry gashes over face and head, which first enraged and then stupefied him, the old woman accompanying her blows with volleys of abuse and imprecations which, I am convinced, must have made that bear feel exceedingly ashamed of himself had he not had other matters to engage his attention at the moment!
The result of all this was a foregone conclusion. The poor brute could not land; his efforts to gain a foothold waxed feeble; his roars of pain and rage grew weaker, thinned themselves into pitiful whines and bubbling moans, and then died away altogether. His head went under water, reappeared once and a second time, and sank again. He was drowned.
Then the oldznaharkacrossed herself, spat towards her defunct enemy, and fainted.
An hour afterwards, as the Souls of Spask were engaged,more suo, in wrangling over their middayvodka, at the beer-house, to them entered the pale and dishevelled figure of the discredited wise-woman.
"Well, little mother," said one, "what are you asking for curses this afternoon? I'm told they are a drug in the market!"
Rude laughter followed this sally.
"Curses have gone up since the morning," said the old woman. "I have seen a vision——"
"If your visions are as nourishing as your maledictions," interrupted a second moujik, "you'd better feed the demon bear with them. He may thrive on them, and it will save our oats!"
"The bear is dead," said Tatiana "I have seen him in a vision. You will find his body at the shallow rapids near Gouriefka. My curse has fallen upon him. He will eat no more oats!"
With which solemn words Tatiana made an effective exit before her hearers had decided what to make of them.
When the dripping body of that ill-used bear was brought in triumph to the village and laid in the street in front of Tatiana's cottage, it would be difficult to say which of two parties, all the members of which talked at once, were the loudest—those who applauded and extolled the marvellous triumph of theznaharkaover the powers of darkness, or those who raised their voices in denunciation upon the prostrate enemy of mankind. The two parties changed places continually, those who cursed the bear taking a turn at extolling the woman of the hour, andvice versâ. Suffice it to say that never was bear better cursed, and never was praise more lavished upon human being. For several years after this, if there was a wise woman in all Russia whose blessings and cursings were esteemed absolutely effective in all emergencies, and carried their own steady market value for miles around Spask, that woman was Tatiana. Her cures were marvellous after this, for so great was the faith reposed in her powers that she might have saved her herbs and still the patients would have recovered. As for the death of the bear, St. Sergius, on whose name-day the brute perished, got the credit of that, after deduction had been made for the glory fairly earned by Tatiana, but for whose maledictions the good saint might never have been moved to interfere for the relief of the Spask peasantry. Tatiana knew exactly how much St. Sergius had to do with the killing of the bear; but, in her opinion, it paid her far better to pose as the successful curser than as the intrepid hunter, and no doubt she knew best about that, as about most things, being aznaharka.
Moreover, the bear, whether he died of curses or of cold water, provided an excellent fur to clothe Tatiana withal when winter frosts came on, for the widow's ancient mantle had worn out with her reputation.
Summer was "a comin' in," and a certain serious matter began to weigh upon the mind of the peasants of Kushlefka, which is a prosperous village in a grain-growing district of Archangel; for its settlement could not much longer be delayed. The fact is, that early in the winter Kushlefka had been so unfortunate as to lose the services of itspastuch, or cowherd, death having carried off the old man during the slack time—when the cows were all at home, that is, and needed no one to look after them. But now that summer was at hand, and the cows would soon be wanting to be up and about, wandering over communal pasture and moorland in search of the fresh young blades of grass, it was very awkward to feel that there was no pastuch to personally conduct them in their wanderings, and that no single candidate had been near the place to apply for the post. None of the villagers would so much as think of accepting the office, for it was but a poorly-paid billet, and was generally held by some one unconnected with the place—some outsider who had wandered into the village in search of a job and was appointed pastuch for as long as he would keep the situation.
Hence when, one Sunday afternoon, as the assembly of the Heads of Families or Souls composing the Mir or Commune of Kushlefka were met to consider matters of local interest, and to settle certain business questions appertaining to their jurisdiction, it was considered rather a stroke of good luck for the community when a ragged moujik of middle age suddenly appeared at the door of the council-hall, doffed his cap and crossed himself towards theikonin the corner of the room, made a bow to those present, grinned, scratched his head, and said:
"Good day, brothers; don't leave me!"
The reader must not suppose that the new-comer in thus addressing the Souls of Kushlefka was seized with a sudden misgiving that those gentlemen might all arise and depart just as he had arrived; the Russian expression "Don't leave me!" merely indicates a desire to be heard, and if possible assisted, and is a common mode for an inferior to commence a conversation with a superior.
"What do you want?" asked the starost, or president.
"Why—work," said the man; "some job—bread to eat—any kind of work will do for me." This seemed most providential, and the starost looked meaningly around at his lieutenants.
"What do you know—what can you do?" he asked.
"Better ask me what Ican'tdo!" replied the new man; "I can do a bit of anything and everything!"
"You can drinkvodka,Iwarrant!" said one of the Souls, "or you'd have pockets in your clothes and something inside them!" This was in rude allusion to the attire of the new-comer.
"Well, if you come to that, brother," said that ragged individual, "the moujik who doesn't take kindly tovodkais like a fish who can't swim; I can drinkvodkaas well as most—try me, if you don't believe it."
"Do you understand the duties of a pastuch?" the starost inquired. The man laughed scornfully.
"You give me a pastuch's pipe, starost, and I'll show you what I can do! I can blow the pipe so that not only the cows of my own village follow me home, but the cattle from the next village as well! Why, all theliéshuie(wood-spirits) come flying up from miles around when I play, and settle on the trees likeriabchiks(tree partridges) to listen! Wolves come and fawn at my feet! You won't find a pastuch like me in all Russia!"
The fact is, the stranger was exceedingly anxious to obtain the situation of pastuch; it was just the sort of loafing work to suit him; hence his eloquence.
Now, when the patron of a situation is no less anxious to give away the office at his disposal than the candidate is to obtain it, there is not much need to waste words over the appointment; accordingly, Radion Vasilitch was speedily engaged as the village pastuch, at a salary of four roubles per month, and entered at once upon his duties.
The appointment was made none too soon; for the very next day was that on which the cattle were annually allowed to make their first excursion beyond their own yard gates. Radion appeared in full pastuch costume at earliest morn, and blew his long horn or pipe in a manner which proved that he was no novice in the accomplishment. Out came the cows into the street, a noisy, happy herd, lowing and gambolling in exuberant but ungainly joy, for they were very naturally delighted to learn that their long captivity was over. Each house contributed its one or two or four cows to the herd as Radion passed trumpeting down the street, and at last the starost's house was reached.
"Starost!" shouted Radion, "aren't you going to do what is necessary for the safety of the herd before I take them into the woods?"
"What do you mean?" asked the chief Soul, who was standing indéshabilleat his own yard gate, watching the pastuch and his charge.
"Why, about the wood-goblins. It is better to propitiate them—we always did so on the first day of the season at Kirilova!"
"This is not Kirilova, my brother," said the starost, "but Kushlefka. We have no wood-spirits here. A good pastuch is better than charms and ceremonies."
"Very well; but don't blame me if anything happens!" said Radion; and blowing a mighty blast upon his strident instrument, he accompanied his cows down the road. Presently the whole party branched off to the left across the ditch—the cows jumping it, most of them, in the inimitable manner of their tribe—struck across a patch of sandy common, reached a stretch of green pasture-land beyond, distributed themselves over this natural banqueting-hall in picturesque blotches of whites and reds and blacks, and so gradually passed out of sight and went their happy way until the evening. The villagers meanwhile would see no more of them, but left them in perfect confidence to the care of the pastuch, who received, or was to receive, the sum of four roubles per month for thus taking the cows "off their minds."
Radion performed his work with perfect success, and brought his herd home safely, in spite of the danger to be apprehended fromliéshuieand their chosen agents for destruction, the wolves and bears.
Days passed, and still all went well. Radion's playing of the blatant cowhorn was all that he had described it, and his success as pastuch was complete. He occasionally brought back with him a hare which he had managed, somehow, to capture; or a greyhen, whom he had discovered upon her nest with nine little cheeping blackcock beneath her. Radion had none of the chivalry of the sportsman, and thought nothing of taking the "matka," or mother-bird, from her helpless fledglings, leaving them to starvation, or to the foxes and the grey-hooded crows. The game thus acquired he would distribute as gifts to those of the wives of the moujiks who had the most cows, for Radion's aim in life, as is the aim and object of every true Russian peasant, was "na chaiok," or tea money, so called because tea would be the very last thing upon which any moujik would think of laying out a gratuity. Radion hoped, then, for substantialna chaioksat the end of the season from those whose large property in cattle he had safeguarded successfully. But one fine evening, while the summer was yet young and Radion still more or less of a novelty in the village, a terrible thing happened, of a sort to make those in the community who had laughed at the superstitious pastuch and his fears of the wood-goblins to look grave, and ask themselves whether there was not, after all, more in this question of old-time superstitions than appeared at first sight. True, the villagers had never hitherto had any reason to fear theliéshuie, or indeed to regard them as anything more than mere story-book beings, having no existence save in the pages of nursery literature and in the brains of loafers like Radion; but now....
The facts of the matter were as follows. Radion brought home the herd of cows on a certain eveningone short. The pastuch arrived from the pasture looking pale and haggard, escorted the herd as far as the village street, and himself turned aside into the house of the starost, whom he found lying asleep upon the top of his stove. Radion spent a considerable time bowing and crossing himself before theikon, prostrating himself several times and touching with his forehead the bare boards of the floor. Then he turned his wild eyes towards the chief peasant of the village.
"Starost," he said, "a fearful thing has happened. Theliéshuieare against us. We have offended the Spirits of the Forest, in whose service are the bears and the wolves. Let us propitiate them before it is too late, or a worse thing may happen!"
"Worse than what?" asked the starost. "It appears to me, my brother, that you are drunk."
"I may be a little drunk, brother Ivan Ivanich," replied Radion, "but who would not take a little drop if he had been chased by two enormous wolves and laughed at by the king of theliéshuiehimself?"
"Are you sure it was not abielaya kooropatka(willow grouse)?" said the unbelieving starost. "Even sober men have ere now mistaken the cry of thekooropatkafor the laugh of a wood-goblin."
"And what of the wolves, your charitableness, and the cow that is eaten up together with her bones and skin?" retorted the offended pastuch.
"What!" cried Ivan Ivanich, starting to his feet; "not one ofmycows, Radion Vasilitch?" The starost was serious enough now!
"Yes, Ivan Ivanich; and the best cow in the village, and the fattest. Do you think the wolf-hunters of theliéshuiedo not know which is the pick of the herd? As for me, though I blew my horn—yes, and cracked my long whip at them and shouted—all I could do was to attract their attention to myself instead of to the cow. Starost, I would not again go through that fearful chase for ten times four roubles a month. They pursued me to the foot of a tree, Ivan Ivanich—it is a true word" (here Radion turned towards theikonand crossed himself); "and had I not remembered to call upon the holy saint and equal to the Apostles, my patron, they would have eaten me as well as the cow Masha! As it was, from the top of a tree I saw the furious beasts fall upon poor Masha, tear her to pieces, and eat her entirely up, so that not a trace remained, while an invisibleliéshuispirit laughed aloud until every particle was consumed. Then the wolves came licking their lips, to the foot of my tree, and, looking up at me, howled three times and vanished. It was with difficulty that I succeeded in reaching the village, for my knees have no strength, and my heart is as the heart of a lamb or of a sucking-pig after this terrible day."
The starost looked grave and troubled. That these wolves should have appeared after Radion's warning as toliéshuiewas curious. That they should have selected his cow would surely indicate a deliberate intention on the part of the spirits—if, indeed, the spirits were at the bottom of the trouble—to accentuate the significance of their action; for they had eaten Masha, and that cow represented the starost; therefore theliéshuiehad struck their blow at the starost, who, again, was the representative man of the community. This surely would mean that the spirits desired to demonstrate their displeasure with the community through their representative, the starost. A meeting of the Mir was held that very evening in order to discuss the situation, and a Soul was sent on horseback to the priest of the district, five miles away, to ask for guidance in the emergency which had arisen. Late at night the deputy returned to the village bearing a message from the priest. The message was extremely to the point, though very short, and ran thus: "Tell the starost and his moujiks and the pastuch that they are a set of drivelling fools. The only spirits they have to keep clear of arevodkaand cognac."
This was encouraging, if somewhat lacking in courtesy. But a difficulty arose. The pastuch professed to be so terrified with his experiences of the preceding day that he really could not bring himself to enter the woods again unless the usual ceremonies were first performed to protect the herd from the perils of the forest. However, ana chaiokof a rouble from the public funds proved a strong argument, and Radion was persuaded to convoy his cows as usual into their pastures.
All went well on this occasion and the day after, but on the evening of the third day another catastrophe happened. Radion returnedminustwo more of the cattle placed under his care—a second cow and the only bull of the herd. Radion himself was in a terrible state. He raved and laughed and cried and cursed like one demented. To the ordinary observer he would have appeared to be merely rather far gone in alcoholic poisoning; but this, of course, could not be the case: theznaharka, the wise woman of the village, said so. It was the simple and natural result of great terror, she explained. In all probability he had seen theliéshuieor, at least, their wolf-slaves, and the terror of it had maddened him.
This proved to be the case; for after a night's rest Radion was so far recovered that he gave a history of the events of the preceding day. These were, it appeared, almost a repetition of those of last week, excepting that, in addition to the horrors before experienced, a huge bear had come out of the forest, as well as the two wolves, and had eaten an entire cow to itself. After the meal it had climbed the tree upon which the affrighted Radion had taken refuge, seated itself beside him, growled and roared three times in his face, and climbed down again, tearing his trousers as it did so. Radion showed a long slit in the leg of his nether garments, which, of course, proved the truth of his story.
After this there could be no further shilly-shallying. Theznaharkacalled upon the starost, and spoke to that official very seriously upon the subject. She knew, she explained, the details of the proper function to be performed before a herd can be considered safe from interference by theliéshuie, and would be pleased to take the management of the affair into her hands. Her fee was three roubles. The cattle could not possibly be sent to pasture again before this most necessary function had been performed. No one would send their cows out under the circumstances—how could they? It was tempting Providence; or, at all events, insulting the wood-spirits, which came to the same thing. Besides, the pastuch had declared he would not go out again, and who was to take his place?