“You paint?” asked the abbot, sitting forward in his chair.
“I’m a violinist. Also, in a small way a poet.”
“Marvellous!” cried the abbot. “You must play for us a little before you leave. I absolutely insist! And you must recite some of your verses!”
“My,” said Armida, “I didn’t realize how late it is.”
The abbot laughed aloud. “Something tells me our Armida has been ‘overexposed,’ so to speak, to poetry.” He winked slyly at the prince. “Never mind,” he said, “no one can hate poetry indefinitely. It’s like trying to think ill of Christmas.”
Then some thought occurred to him that made him frown and purse his lips. He asked, delicately brushing past the slightly awkward word, “This ‘suicide’ business: you’re not planning to do it tonight, I trust?”
“Actually,” Armida began, wringing her hands…
“No no, really!” the abbot insisted. “Not tonight, I beg you! Keep me company awhile. You know how it is, way up here on the mountain. Besides, I want to tell you a story.”
“A story?” the prince echoed, raising one eyebrow but carefully not looking at the abbot for fear of seeming over-eager.
Chapter Eight. The Abbot’s First Tale
Things are not always what they seem,” said the abbot, and tipped his head and smiled. “The sly man digs down through illusion; he picks up a nugget and cries, reading it: ‘Ah ha! No man does anything for another man except for personal gain!’, and on the back: ‘The witch was an innocent child once; the good man, a witch.’ Poor fool! The nugget itself is an illusion, and all the nuggets he stands on (so triumphant!) with his spade. They will suck him to the hall of the accursèd king and we will hear nothing more of him.
“In a certain kingdom, in a certain land, there lived a rich merchant who had a beautiful five-year-old daughter by the name of Anastasya. The merchant’s name was Marco the Rich, and one thing he could not abide, among many, was beggars. Whenever they came begging at his window he would shake his fist and order his servants to drive them away and loose the dogs upon them.
“One day two gray-headed old men came begging at his window. Anastasya, who was familiar with her father’s ways, wept for pity of the two old men and began to implore her father: ‘Dear father, for my sake at least let them shelter in the cattle shed.’ The father consented and ordered the beggars to be shown there.
“When everyone in the house was asleep, Anastasya rose up and went to the cattle shed, where she climbed up into the loft to watch the beggars. When the time came for morning prayers, the candle beneath the ikon came alight by itself, the old men rose up, took priestly vestments out of their bags, put them on, and began their service. An angel of God came flying through the window and said, ‘In such and such a village, a son is born to such and such a peasant. What shall his name be, and what shall be his fortune?’ One of the old men said, ‘I give him the name of Vasily the Luckless, and I hereby present him with all the wealth of Marco the Rich, in whose cattle shed we are spending the night.’ All this Anastasya heard. Now that it was daybreak, the old men made ready to leave the cattle shed. Anastasya went to her father and told him everything she had seen and heard.
“The father decided to see if a babe had indeed been born in such and such village. He had his carriage harnessed, went straight to the priest of the village, and asked him, ‘Was a babe born in your village on such and such a day?’ ‘Yes, a babe was born to our poorest peasant. I christened him “Vasily” and surnamed him “the Luckless,” but I have not yet baptized him because no one will stand as godfather to such a poor man’s child.’ Marco offered to stand as godfather, asked the priest’s wife to be godmother, and bade them prepare a rich feast. The little boy was brought to the church and baptized, and everyone feasted and sang to his heart’s content.
“One day passed and then another, and on the third day Marco the Rich summoned the poor peasant, spoke to him kindly, and said, ‘Friend, you are a poor man, you will never be able to bring up your son. Give him to me, then, and I will help him to rise in the world, and I will give you a thousand rubles.’ The poor man thought and thought and at last consented. Marco gave him the thousand rubles, took the child, wrapped him in fox furs, put him on the seat of his carriage, and drove away. It was winter. When they had driven several miles, Marco bade his coachman stop, handed him the godchild, and said: ‘Take him by the legs and hurl him into the ravine.’ The coachman did as he was ordered and hurled the child into a deep ravine. ‘Now, Vasily,’ said Marco, ‘take my wealth if you can!’ And he drove home.
“The following day, some merchants came driving down this same road. They were carrying twelve thousand rubles they owed Marco the Rich. When they came near the ravine they heard the wailing of a child, and they stopped, listened, and sent a servant to see what it could be. The servant went down into the ravine and beheld a soft green meadow, and in the middle of the meadow a child sat, playing with flowers and whimpering. The servant told all this to his master, who went to the ravine himself, took the child, wrapped him in a fur coat, returned to his carriage, and drove on. The merchants came to Marco the Rich, who asked them where they’d found the child. ‘In a meadow at the bottom of a ravine,’ said the merchants, and Marco guessed at once that it was Vasily the Luckless, his own godchild. He took the boy in his arms, dandled him for a time, then gave him to his daughter, saying, ‘Take this boy, my daughter, and see to his comfort.’
“Then he plied the merchants with all kinds of drink and asked them to let him keep the child, seeing he’d grown so fond of it. The merchants at first refused, but when Marco told them that he would cancel their debt, they consented and left. Anastasya was so overjoyed that she immediately found a cradle, hung curtains around it, and began to tend to the babe, never leaving him by night or day. One day went by, then another. On the third day Marco came home when Anastasya was asleep, took the child, put him into a barrel, tarred it, and threw it into the harbor.
“The world rolled on, and the barrel sailed one week and then another, till finally it floated up against the bank of a monastery. A monk happened to be fetching water. He heard the wailing of a child, and when he looked about him, saw the barrel. He immediately took a boat, caught up the barrel, broke it open, and found the child. He brought the babe to his abbot. The abbot decided he would name the child ‘Vasily,’ and he gave it the surname ‘the Luckless.’ Vasily the Luckless lived in the monastery for sixteen years and learned how to read and write. The abbot loved him and made him his sacristan.
“Now it came to pass that Marco the Rich was traveling to a foreign kingdom to collect some debts that were owed him, and on his way he stopped at this same monastery. He was received as befits a rich man. The abbot ordered the sacristan to go to the church. He went, lighted the candles, and read and sang. Marco the Rich asked the abbot: ‘Has this young man been with you long?’ The abbot told him how the boy had been found in a barrel, and when. Marco reckoned the time and realized that the sacristan was his godchild. He said: ‘If I had an intelligent young man like your sacristan, I would appoint him chief clerk and put him in charge of all my treasure. My friend, you must give him to me.’ For a long time the abbot made excuses. Finally, Marco offered him twenty-five thousand rubles for the benefit of his monastery. The abbot consulted the brothers, and after long deliberation they consented to part with Vasily the Luckless.
“Marco sent Vasily home and gave him a letter to his wife. The letter read: ‘Wife, when you receive this letter, take its bearer to our soap works, and when you pass near the great boiling cauldron, push him in. Do not fail to do this, or I shall punish you severely, for this youth has evil designs on me and, if he survives, will be my ruin.’ Vasily took the letter and went on his way. He met an old man who said, ‘Where are you bound, Vasily the Luckless?’ Vasily said: ‘To the house of Marco the Rich, with a letter to his wife.’ ‘Show me this letter,’ said the old man. Vasily took it out and gave it to the old man, who broke the seal and asked Vasily to read it. Vasily read it and burst into tears. ‘What have I done to this man,’ he said, ‘that he should send me to my death?’ The old man said: ‘Do not grieve, my child. God will not forsake you.’ Then he breathed on the letter and the seal resumed its former shape. ‘Go,’ said the old man, ‘and deliver the letter to the wife of Marco the Rich.’