Slavonic Fairy Tales. John Theophilus Naaké

of flowers, ​and sang songs, while Snyegurka took part in their play.

      After sunset the girls piled up a small heap of dry grass and brushwood, lighted it, and, with garlands on their heads, stood in a line, one close upon the other. They put Snyegurka at the end, and said, "When you see us running, you run after us." Then they began to sing, and to jump over the fire.

      Suddenly they heard a painful cry. They turned round quickly, but could see nothing. Greatly surprised, they looked at each other, and then noticed that Snyegurka was missing. "Oh, the mischievous puss!" cried the girls; "she has hidden herself."

      They ran in every direction in search of her, but all in vain. They called her by her name, "Snyegurka!" but there was no answer.

      "Perhaps she has gone home," cried some of the girls. They all ran back to the village—Snyegurka was not there!

      They searched for her the whole night, the following, and the third day; they examined the forest—every tree, every bush; but all to no purpose, Snyegurka was gone!

      Old Ivan and Mary were almost broken-hearted at the loss of their beloved Snyegurka. Every day Mary went to the forest to look for her lost child. Poor woman! ​like a tender mother full of grief and yearning for her young one, she cried aloud—

      "Ah, me! my Snyegurka! Ah, me! my darling dove! Where art thou?"

      She often fancied she could hear her dear Snyegurka's painful cry when she disappeared. Alas! alas! Snyegurka was nowhere to be found.

      Where had Snyegurka gone? Had some wild beast seized and dragged her into his lair? or a bird of prey carried her across the dark blue sea to its nest? No; neither bird nor beast had carried the girl away. When Snyegurka, following her companions, sprang over the fire, she melted away and changed in an instant into a beautiful white cloud, rose up, and disappeared in the sky for ever!

      1 ↑ Snow-child.

      2 ↑ It is customary in some Slavonic countries to welcome the appearance of spring with song.

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      THE DEMON'S DANCE.

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      (from the polish.)

      When the wind throws the dust up in the air, and whirls it round in a dry eddy, it shows the dance of an evil spirit. Whenever you see this, shut up at once all the doors and windows in your hut, or it will certainly do some mischief to your bones. If, however, you are courageous, and wish to obtain riches at the sacrifice of your soul, take a new knife that has been sprinkled with holy water, and throw it dexterously into the very middle of the whirlwind.

      One day, a fearless young peasant, angry with the demon, who, in the shape of a hurricane, had blown off the roof of his barn, took up a new, consecrated knife, and stuck it in the ground in the very centre of the dust-eddy. In a moment the demon appeared, bent double, as if suffering great pain, and trembling with fear. He asked the peasant what he wanted with him.

      "Mend my barn," cried the man in a great fury. "Fill ​up my potato hole with gold; then bring to my hut a keg of brandy and three sides of bacon."

      "I will do it all," answered the demon; "but first take the knife out of the ground. It hurts me cruelly."

      "No!" cried the peasant; "first do what I tell you."

      The obedient spirit did all that was demanded of him. Some time after this the young peasant fell sick. As he was about to die, his friends, who were gathered round him, saw the demon standing at the head of the bed waiting for his soul. They all lamented his miserable fate, and his godfather said—

      "If, instead of asking for money, he had shot the demon with a silver button, he would have lived to be an old man, and have saved his soul."

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      THE PLAGUE-OMEN.

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      (from the polish.)

      A peasant, having lost his wife and children by the plague, fled from his desolate hut and sought refuge in the forest.

      He wandered about the whole day; towards evening he made a hut of branches, lit a fire, and being tired soon fell asleep. It was already past midnight when he was awakened by a great noise. He jumped up and listened. He could hear, at a distance, merry songs, accompanied by the music of drums and pipes. He was greatly surprised at these rejoicings, especially when he remembered that the Plague was depopulating the country.

The music approached, and the terror-stricken peasant saw Homen^[1] advancing through a wide road. "Homen" ​consisted of a number of spectres of the most extraordinary shapes and kinds. In the midst of them was a high, black waggon, on the top of which sat the Plague. The ghastly company increased at every step; for almost everything they met on the road changed into a spectre and followed the rest.

      The peasant's fire was nearly out—there remained only a good sized, half-burnt stem. As soon as Homen approached, the fire-brand stood up, spread out two arms from its sides, and the red embers changed into two shining eyes. It joined at once the train of the Plague, and began also to sing.

      The peasant was thunderstruck. Almost beside himself with terror, he seized his axe and tried to strike the nearest spectre; but the axe fell from his hands, and was immediately changed into the shape of a tall woman. She shook her dark hair before his eyes, joined the throng, and began also to sing.

      Homen passed on; the astonished peasant saw how trees, bushes, even owls, and other night birds, assumed various forms, and swelled the horrible company—the dreadful harbinger of wide-spread death. He fell senseless on the ground.

      In the morning, when the warm sun awakened him, he found that all he had brought with him was broken to pieces: his goods spoiled, his clothes torn. He knew at ​once that it was nothing else than Homen who had done him so much injury; and thanking Heaven that at least his life was spared, he went further on in search of food and shelter.

      1 ↑ So written in the original Polish.

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      STORY OF GOL VOYANSKY.

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      (from the russian.)

A moujik^[1] was once ploughing a field with a miserable, lame mare. The poor beast was greatly tormented by gadflies and gnats. The moujik raised his whip, and with one stroke of the thong killed thirty-three gadflies, and a great number of gnats. The moujik reflected a little, and said to himself:—

      "O-ho! I've become a hero. At one blow I've killed thirty-three knights and no end of common soldiers."

The moujik was called Gol (the naked, or needy). Gol began to think himself a great man; he unharnessed his mare, scrambled on to her back, and rode on till he came to a high road. There he dismounted, cut down a tree, and set it up as a sign-post with the following inscription: "Here passed Gol Voyansky.^[2] He ​encountered the infidels, and at one blow killed thirty-three knights and a countless multitude of common soldiers. Should any knight pass this way, let him read this inscription, and follow Gol Voyansky."