Part 4

There once lived in a village two brothers, one of whom was rich, and the other poor. With the rich man everything went swimmingly, in everything he laid his hand to he found luck and bliss; but as for the poor man, slave and toil as he might, fortune flew away from him. The rich man, in a few years, so grew out of bounds that he went to live in the town, and built him the biggest house there, and settled down as a merchant; but the poor man got into such straits that sometimes he had not even a crust of bread in the house to feed a whole armful of children, small--smaller--smallest, who all cried together, and begged for something to eat and drink. And the poor man began to repine at his fate, he began to lose heart, and his dishevelled head began to sink deeper between his shoulders. And he went to his rich brother in the town and said, "Help me! I am quite worn out."--"Why should I not?" replied the rich man. "We can well afford it, only you must come and work it out with me all this week."--"Willingly," said the poor man; so he set to work, swept out the yard, curried the horses, and split up firewood. At the end of the week the rich brother gave him a grisenka [28] in money and a large lump of bread. "Thanks even for that," said the poor man, and was about to turn away homewards, when his brother's conscience evidently pricked him, and he said, "Why dost thou slip off like that? To-morrow is my name day; stay and feast with us." And the poor man stayed to his brother's banquet. But, unfortunately for him, a great many rich guests assembled at his brother's--men of renown; and these guests his brother served most zealously, bowing down low before them, and imploring them as a favour to be so good as to eat and drink their fill. But he forgot altogether about his poor brother, who could only look on from afar, and see all the good people eating and drinking, and enjoying themselves, and making merry. At last the banquet was over, the guests arose, they began to thank the host and hostess, and the poor man also bowed to his very girdle. The guests also went home, and very merry they all were; they laughed, and joked, and sang songs all the way. And the poor man went home as hungry as ever, and he thought to himself, "Come, now, I will sing a song too, so that people may think that I too was not overlooked or passed over on my brother's name day, but ate to surfeit, and drank myself drunk with the best of them." And so the peasant began singing a song, but suddenly his voice died away. He heard quite plainly that some one behind his back was imitating his song in a thin piping voice. He stopped short, and the voice stopped short; he went on singing, and again the voice imitated him. "Who is that singing? come forth!" shrieked the poor man, and he saw before him a monster, all shrivelled up and yellow, with scarcely any life in it, huddled up in rags, and girded about with the same vile rags, and its feet wound round with linden bast. The peasant was quite petrified with horror, and he said to the monster, "Who art thou?"--"I am Gore-Gorinskoe; I have compassion on thee; I will help thee to sing."--"Well, Gore, let us go together through the wide [29] world arm in arm; I see that I shall find no other friends and kinsmen there."--"Let us go, then, master; I will never desert thee."--"And on what shall we go, then?"--"I know not what you are going upon, but I will go upon you," and flop! in an instant he was on the peasant's shoulders. The peasant had not strength enough to shake him off. And so the peasant went on his way, carrying Woeful Woe on his shoulders, though he was scarce able to drag one leg after the other, and the monster was singing all the time, and beating time to it, and driving him along with his little stick. "I say, master, wouldst thou like me to teach thee my favourite song?

I am Woe, the woefully woeful! Girt about with linden bast rags, Shod with beggars' buskins, bark stript. Live with me, then; live with Woe, And sorrow never know. If you say you have no money, You can always raise it, honey; Yet provide a hard-won penny 'Gainst the day thou'lt not have any.

And besides," added Woe, "thou already hast this penny against an evil day, besides a crust of bread; let us, then, go on our way, and drink and be merry." So they went on and on, and drank and drank, and so they got home. There sat the wife and all the children, without food, weeping, but Woe set the peasant a-dancing. On the following day Woe began to sigh, and said, "My head aches from drinking!" and again he called upon the master to drink a thimbleful. "I have no money," said the peasant.--"But didn't I tell thee thou canst always raise it, honey? Pawn thy harrow and plough, sledge and cart, and let us drink; we'll have a rare time of it to-day, at any rate." What could he do? The peasant could not rid himself of Woe, so painfully tight did he sit upon him by this time, so he let himself be dragged about by Woe, and drank and idled away the whole day. And on the next day Woe groaned still more, and even began howling, and said, "Come, let us saunter about; let us drink away everything and pawn it. Sell thyself into slavery, and so get money to drink with." The peasant saw that ruin was approaching him, so he had resort to subtlety, and he said to Woeful Woe, "I have heard our old men say that a treasure was buried about here a long time ago, but it was buried beneath such heavy stones that my single strength would be quite unable to raise it; now, if only we could raise this treasure, darling little Woe, what a fine time of loafing and drinking we should have together!"--"Come, then, and let us raise it; Woe has strength enough for everything." So they went all about the place, and they came to a very large and heavy stone; five peasants together could not have moved it from the spot, but our friend and Woe lifted it up at the first go. And lo! beneath the stone there was indeed a coffer dark and heavy, and at the very bottom of this coffer something was sparkling. And the peasant said to Woe, "You just creep into the coffer and get out the gold, and I'll stand here and hold up the stone." So Woe crept into the coffer with great glee, and cried out, "Hie, master, here are riches incalculable! Twenty jars choke-full of gold, all standing one beside the other!" and he handed up to the peasant one of the jars. The peasant took the jar into his lap, and, as at the same time he let the stone fall back into its old place, he shut up Woeful Woe in the coffer with all the gold. "Perish thou and thy riches with thee!" thought the peasant; "no good luck goes along with thee." And he went home to his own, and with the money he got from the jar he bought wood, repaired his cottage, added live-stock to his possessions, and worked harder than ever, and he began to engage in trade, and it went well with him. In a single year he grew so much richer, that in place of his hut he built him a large wooden house. And then he went to town to invite his brother and his wife to the house-warming. "What are you thinking of?" said his rich brother, with a scornful smile. "A little while ago you were naked, and had nothing to eat, and now you are giving house-warmings, and laying out banquets!"--"Well, at one time, certainly, I had nothing to eat, but now, thank God, I am no worse off than you. Come and see."

The next day the rich brother went out into the country to his poor brother, and there on the pebbly plain he saw wooden buildings, all new and lofty, such as not every town merchant can boast of. And the poor brother who dwelt on the pebbles fed the rich brother till he could eat no more, and made him drink his fill; and after that, when the strings of his tongue were loosened, he made a clean breast of it, and told his brother how he had grown so rich. Envy overcame the rich brother. He thought to himself, "This brother of mine is a fool. Out of twenty kegs he only took one. With all that money Woe itself is not terrible. I'll go there myself, I'll take away the stone, take the money, and let Woe out from beneath the stone. Let him hound my brother to death if he likes." No sooner said than done. The rich man took leave of his brother, but, instead of going home, he went to the stone. He pulled and tugged at it, and managed at last to push it a little to one side, so as to be able to peep into the coffer, but before he could pull his head back again, Woe had already skipped out, and was sitting on his neck. Our rich man felt the grievous burden on his shoulders, looked round, and saw the frightful monster bestriding him. And Woe shrieked in his ear, "A pretty fellow you are! You wanted to starve me to death in there, did you? You shall not shake me off again in a hurry, I warrant you. I'll never leave you again."--"Oh, senseless Woe!" cried the rich man, "indeed 'twas not I who placed you beneath that stone, and 'tis not me, the rich man, you should cleave to; go hence, and torment my brother." But Woeful Woe would not listen to him. "No," it screeched, "you lie! You deceived me once, but you shan't do it a second time." And so the rich man carried Woe home with him, and all his wealth turned to dust and ashes. But the poor brother now lives in peace and plenty, and sings jesting ditties of Woe the outwitted.

GO I KNOW NOT WHITHER--FETCH I KNOW NOT WHAT.

By the blue sea, in a certain empire, there dwelt once upon a time a king who was a bachelor, and he had a whole company of archers, and the archers used to go a-hunting with him and shoot the birds that flew about, and provided meat for their master's table. In this company served a youthful archer named Fedot, a clever marksman was he, never missing his aim, wherefore the King loved him better than all his comrades. One day he chanced to go a-hunting very early, even at break of day. He went into a dense, drear forest, and there he saw a dove sitting on a tree. Fedot stretched his bow, took aim, fired and broke one of the dove's little wings, and the bird fell from the tree down upon the damp earth. The marksman picked it up, and was about to twist its neck and put it in his pouch, when the dove thus spoke to him: "Alas! young marksman! do not twist my poor little silly neck; drive me not out of the white world. 'Twere better to take me alive, carry me home, put me in thy little window, and lo! the moment that slumber comes over me, at that very moment, I say, stroke me the wrong side down with thy right hand, and great good fortune shall be thine!" The marksman was much amazed. "Why, what is this?" thought he. "Mine eyes tell me 'tis a bird, and naught else, yet it speaks with a human voice! Such a thing has never happened to me before." So he took the bird home, placed it in the window-sill, and waited and waited. 'Twas not very long before the bird laid its head beneath its wing and began to doze. Then the marksman raised his right hand and stroked it, quite lightly, the wrong side down. The dove instantly fell to the ground and became a maiden-soul, and so beautiful that the like of it can only be told in tales, but is neither to be imagined nor guessed at. And she spoke to the good youth who was the royal archer, and said: "Thou hast had wit enough to win me, have also wit enough to live with me. Thou art my predestined husband, I am thy pre-ordained wife." They were immediately of one mind. Fedot married, lived at home, and rejoiced in his young wife, yet forgot not his service either. Every morning, before break of day, he took his weapon, went into the forest, shot various kinds of wild beasts, and took them to the royal kitchen. But it was plain that his wife was much tormented by these hunting expeditions, and one day she said to him: "Listen, my friend! I am fearful for thee! Every blessed day thou dost cast thyself into the forest, dost wander through fen and morass, and returnest home wet through and through, and we are none the better for it. What sort of a trade dost thou call this! Look now, I have a plan whereby thou also shalt profit by it. Get me now a hundred or two of rubles, and I'll manage all the rest." Then Fedot hastened to his comrades, and borrowed a ruble from one, and two rubles from another till he had collected about two hundred rubles. These then he brought to his wife. "Now," said she, "buy me various kinds of silk with all this money!" The archer went and bought various kinds of silk with the two hundred rubles. She took them and said: "Be not sorrowful! Pray God and lay thee down to sleep, the morning is wiser than the evening!" So the husband fell asleep, and the wife went out upon the balcony, opened her book of spells, and immediately two invisible youths appeared before her and said: "What art thou pleased to command?"--"Take this silk, and in a single hour weave me a carpet more wondrous than anything to be found in the wide world, and let the whole kingdom be embroidered on this carpet, with all its cities and villages and rivers and lakes." Then they set to work and wove the carpet, and it was wondrous to behold, wondrous above everything. In the morning the wife handed the carpet to her husband. "There," said she, "take it to the market-place and sell it to the merchants; but look now! haggle not about the price, but take whatever they offer thee for it." Fedot took the carpet, turned it round, hung it over his arm, and went to the market-place. A merchant saw him, ran up to him at once, and said to him: "Hearken to me, honoured sir, wilt thou not sell me that carpet?"--"Willingly!"--"And what then is the price?"--"Thou art a frequenter of the marts, therefore will I leave the price to thee!" The merchant fell a-thinking and a-thinking, he could not price the carpet--he was at his wits' end. Another merchant came running up, and after him a third and a fourth till a great crowd of them collected; they looked at the carpet, marvelled at it, and could not fix the price. At that moment the royal steward passed by that way, saw the crowd, and wanted to know what all the merchants were talking about. So he went up to them and said, "What is the matter?"--"We cannot price this carpet," said they. The steward looked at the carpet, and he also was amazed. "Hearken, archer!" said he, "tell me the real truth; where didst thou get this lordly carpet?"--"My wife wrought it!"--"How much dost thou want for it?"--"I myself know not the value of it; my wife bade me not to haggle over it, but to take whatever was offered."--"Then what dost thou say to 10,000 rubles?" The archer took the money and gave up the carpet. Now this steward was always by the King, and ate and drank at his table. So he went to dine with the King now also, and took the carpet with him. "Would it please your Majesty to look at the carpet I have bought to-day?" The King looked, and saw there his whole realm just as if it were on the palm of his hand, and he heaved a great sigh. "Why, what a carpet is this! In all my life I have never seen such cunning craft. Say now, what wilt thou take for this carpet?" And the King drew out 25,000 rubles and gave them into the hand of the steward, but the carpet they hung up in the palace. "That is a mere nothing," thought the steward, "I'll make a much better thing out of the second chance." So he immediately went in search of the archer, sought out his little hut, entered the dwelling-room, and the moment he saw the archer's wife, at that very instant he forgot all about himself and the errand on which he had come. Nevertheless the steward manned himself with a great effort and turned sullenly homewards. From henceforth he bungled over everything he took in hand, and whether asleep or awake, he thought only of one thing, the wonderfully lovely little archeress.

The King observed the change in him, and asked him, "What ails thee? Has any great grief befallen thee?"--"Alas! my king and father, I have seen the wife of the archer--such a beauty the world knows not of nor has ever seen!" The King himself was seized with a desire to fall in love with her, and he also went to the abode of the archer. He entered the living-room, and saw before him a lady of a loveliness unspeakable. "Love's burning chilblain oppressed his heart." "Why should I remain a bachelor any longer?" thought he; "lo! now, I'll marry this beauty, she's too good for a mere archer. From her birth she was evidently meant to be a Queen!"

The King returned to his palace and said to the steward, "Hearken! thou hast had wit enough to show me the archer's wife, that unspeakable beauty; thou must now have wit enough to remove the husband out of the way. I want to marry her myself. And if thou dost not remove him, look to thyself; although thou art my faithful servant, thou shalt be hanged upon a gallows!" Then the steward went about much more afflicted than before, and think as he would, he could not devise a method of getting rid of the archer. He wandered about the broad market-places and the narrow lanes, and there met him one day a miserable old hag. "Stay, thou King's servant!" cried she. "I can see all thy thoughts, thou wantest help against thy unavoidable woe."--"Ah, help me, dear little granny! I'll pay thee what thou wilt!"--"Thou hast received the royal command to get rid of Fedot the archer. The thing is not so very easy. He indeed is simple, but his wife is frightfully artful. Well now, we'll hit upon an errand which will not be accomplished so speedily. Go to the King and say that he must command the archer to go I know not whither, and fetch I know not what. Such a task as that he'll never accomplish, though he live for ever and ever; either he will vanish out of knowledge altogether, or if he does come back, it will be without arms or legs." The steward rewarded the old hag with gold, and hastened back to the King, and the King sent and commanded the archer to be brought before him. "Well, Fedot! thou art my young warrior, and the first in my corps of archers. Render me then this service: Go I know not whither, and fetch me I know not what! And mark me, if thou bring it me not back, 'tis I, the King, who say it to thee, thy head shall be severed from thy shoulders." The archer turned to the left, quitted the palace, and came home very sad and thoughtful. And his wife asked him: "Why art thou so sorrowful, darling; has any misfortune befallen thee?"--"The King has sent me I know not whither to fetch I know not what. 'Tis through thy beauty that this ruin has come upon us!"--"Yes, indeed! this service is no light one! It takes nine years to get there, and nine years to get back again, eighteen years in all, and God only knows if it can be managed even then!"--"What's to be done then, and what will become of me?"--"Pray God and lie down to sleep, the morning is wiser than the evening. To-morrow thou wilt know all." The archer lay down to sleep, and his wife sat watching till midnight, opened her book of spells, and the two youths immediately appeared before her. "What is thy pleasure, and what thy command?"--"Do ye know how one can manage to go I know not whither, and fetch I know not what?"--"No, we do not know." She closed the book, and the youths disappeared from before her eyes. In the morning the archeress awoke her husband. "Go to the King," said she, "and ask for gold from the treasury for thy journey. Thou hast a pilgrimage of eighteen years before thee. When thou hast the money, come back to me to say farewell." The archer went to the King, received a whole purseful of money, and returned to say good-bye to his wife. She gave him a pocket-handkerchief and a ball, and said: "When thou goest out of the town, throw this ball in front of thee, and whithersoever it rolls, follow it. Here too is my pocket-handkerchief; when thou dost wash thyself, wherever thou mayst be, always dry thy face with this handkerchief." The archer took leave of his wife and of his comrades, bowed low on all four sides of him, and went beyond the barriers of the city. He threw the ball in front of him; the ball rolled and rolled, and he followed hard after it.

A month or so passed away, and then the King called the steward and said to him: "The archer has departed to wander about the wide world for eighteen years, and it is plain that he will not return alive. Now eighteen years are not two weeks, and no little disaster may have befallen him by the way; go then to the archer's house and bring me his wife to the palace!" So the steward went to the archer's house, entered the room, and said to the beautiful archeress: "Hail, thou wise woman! The King commands thee to present thyself at court!" So to the court she went. The King received her with joy and led her into his golden halls, and said to her: "Wilt thou be a Queen? I will make thee my spouse!"--"Where was such a thing ever seen, where was such a thing ever heard of, to take a wife away from her living husband? Though he be nothing but a simple archer, he is for all that my lawful husband."--"If thou come not willingly, I'll take thee by force!" But the beauty laughed, stamped upon the floor, turned into a dove, and flew out of the window.