Folk-lore and Legends: Russian and Polish 18

Folk-lore and Legends: Russian and Polish 18

Stanislas nodded his head, as if he approved of his master’s choice, and

cheerfully put some wood upon the fire. His master went back to his room

in deep thought, and the old servant mumbled to himself—

 

“Heaven grant it! But pears don’t grow on willow-trees.”

 

And he was soon asleep.

 

 

IV.

 

On the following morning the traveller rose rested and refreshed, but he

was not able to continue his journey in consequence of the illness of

his wife.

 

The master of the house was pleased when he heard that the strangers

must pass some more days in his house, and old Stanislas began almost to

think that the pears might grow on the willows after all.

 

The stranger was not exactly a rich man, but he had enough, was deemed

an honest man, and lived honourably. He was much pleased with his

friendly host, and as he was one day talking to his wife, who had much

improved in her health, he said—

 

“Margaret, it strikes me that our host is in love with our daughter

Mary, and, from what I can see, I think she does not dislike him. I

cannot but be pleased with it.”

 

“Oh,” said his wife, “you only imagine it.” But she was secretly pleased

that her husband had no objection to what she had herself very much

wished.

 

“The man is not poor, he has lived here a long time, he has proved

himself a gentleman,” went on the husband, walking up and down the room,

“and our daughter is old enough to be married and take on her the cares

of a household.”

 

In the evening the husband, having partaken of the host’s good wine,

stroked his grey moustache with satisfaction, and listened with joy when

the master of the house asked for his daughter’s hand.

 

“My brother,” said he after a short pause, “I am pleased with you, and

since you ask no dowry with my daughter, and you have enough to live

upon, she shall be your wife.”

 

Three months later the terrible man took his wife home. The grass and

weeds were cleared from the avenue of poplars, and many horses and

carriages passed along it to and fro, as relations and friends of the

beautiful bride came in troops to the wedding at the White House. In a

few days, however, all was still again, and fresh grass and weeds began

to grow in the avenue under the poplars.

 

 

V.

 

The winter was at hand, and the inmates of the White House only numbered

one more—the mistress of the house.

 

Most of the servants whom the master had engaged ran away at once as

soon as they heard he had an evil eye, and those who stayed a while,

having been taken ill, soon left the house also.

 

The young, beautiful wife lay ill upon her rich bed. Near her was her

husband, who, with averted eyes, pressed her cold hand.

 

The poor wife knew well how terrible was her husband’s glance. She knew

that through it her suffering and sorrow were increased; but still, in

her love for the sorrowing man, she asked him to look upon her once

more.

 

“My Mary,” said the wretched man, with a deep sigh. “I shall never be

happy with you so long as I have my eyes. Cut them out, then. Here is a

sharp knife, and at your hand it will cause me no pain.”

 

The poor wife shuddered at this terrible proposal, and the wretched man

sank from his chair to the floor, and commenced to weep bitterly.

 

“Of what use is this gift of Heaven to me?” cried he. “Of what use is it

to me to possess the pleasures men have in sight, when my eyes scatter

destruction and ruin around? You are ill, my Mary. Why, a tree itself

would wither when I cast my glance upon it in an evil hour. Take

courage, though. Upon our child these eyes shall never look. Him they

shall never harm, and he shall not have reason to curse his father.”

 

A groan was the only answer of the sick wife.

 

The master called in a servant and left the room. All at once two

different cries were heard from the two opposite sides of the White

House.

 

From one side came the cry of a new-born child, from the other side, in

the hall where the fire burned, came the cry of a man in pain. The one

was the cry of an infant as it looked upon the light for the first time,

the other was the cry of a man who had bid farewell to sight for ever.

 

 

VI.

 

Six years later there were windows in the White House from which one

could obtain a fine view of the village and the surrounding country. The

sailors had begun to make the House a resting-place on their way down

the stream. The mistress was well and merry, and her great joy was a

beautiful little daughter who led her blind father about.

 

The country-folk, who had fled in terror from the miserable man, now

came up to him in friendship, when they saw him blind and taking a walk

led by his little daughter. The former stillness departed. The servants

filled the once empty halls of the White House.

 

Old Stanislas had on that terrible day buried his master’s eyes in the

garden. One day he wondered what had become of them, and whether he

could find them. So he dug for them. All of a sudden the eyes glared on

him with a bright light. Hardly had the glance fallen on his face when

he stumbled and, falling to the ground, died.

 

That was the first time the evil eyes had done him hurt, and it was the

last time their power was exerted. They had done him no hurt while his

master kept them, because, as he loved his servant, his heart had

destroyed their power. Now they were in the earth they had acquired

power for fresh evil, and killed the honest old man!

 

His blind master sorrowed long for him, and over his grave he placed a

fine cross, near which the sailors often offered up a prayer when they

landed at the White House.

 

------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

 

 

THE SEVEN BROTHERS.

 

 

ONCE upon a time there lived an old man and an old woman, who had been

married many years and had no children, and when they were yet old they

prayed to God to give them a child who might help them in their work as

they advanced in years. Their prayer was heard. When seven years had

passed the old woman gave birth to seven sons, and they were all called

Simeon. When the children were ten years old the old man and his wife

died, and the sons began to till his ground.

 

It chanced that one day the Czar Ados came past, and, seeing them

working in the fields, he was astonished to see such little fellows

doing such work. He sent one of his nobles to ask whose children they

were. So the noble came to them and asked who they were who worked so

hard. The eldest Simeon told him that they were orphans and had no one

to work for them. As for their names they were all called Simeon.

 

When the Czar got back to the palace he called together all his nobles

and asked them their opinion, saying—

 

“My lords, there are seven orphans who have no kinsfolk. I will make

them such men that they shall be grateful to me. Now, I want your advice

as to what trade or art I shall have them taught.”

 

Then all answered—

 

“Gracious sire, since they are old enough and have ability, we think it

would be best to ask each of them what trade or art he wishes to learn.”

 

The Czar was pleased with this advice, and asked the eldest Simeon—

 

“Tell me, friend, what trade or art would you like to learn? I will see

that you are instructed in it.”

 

The lad answered—

 

“May it please your majesty, I wish to learn no art, but if you will

order a smithy to be built in the middle of your court, I will smithy a

column which shall reach to heaven.”

 

The Czar saw that this Simeon required no teaching, since he was such a

smith, for he showed him very costly work, but he did not believe that

he would be able to smithy a column that should reach to heaven.

However, he ordered a place to be built in the middle of his yard, and

the eldest Simeon set to work.

 

Then the Czar asked the second Simeon—

 

“And you, my friend, what art will you learn?”

 

“Your majesty,” said he, “I do not wish to learn any business or trade,

but when my brother has finished the column, I will stand on the top of

it, look around into all the countries, and let you know what is passing

in each of them.”

 

The Czar perceived that there was no need to teach this lad anything,

since he was so clever already.

 

Then he said to the third Simeon—

 

“What business or what art will you learn?”

 

“Your majesty,” said he, “I do not wish to learn either handiwork or

art, but if my eldest brother will make me an axe, I will build a ship

in an instant.”

 

“Such a man do I want,” said the Czar. “You, too, have nothing to

learn.”

 

“And you,” said the Czar to the fourth Simeon, “what handiwork or what

art do you wish to learn?”

 

“Your majesty,” said he, “I do not wish to learn anything, but, when my

brother has finished his ship, and it is attacked by the enemy, I will seize it by the prow, carry it to the underground kingdom, and, when the enemy is gone, I will put it again on the sea.”