(The "Viy" is a monstrous creation of popular fancy. It is the name
which the inhabitants of Little Russia give to the king of the
gnomes, whose eyelashes reach to the ground. The following story is
a specimen of such folk-lore. I have made no alterations, but
reproduce it in the same simple form in which I heard it.--Author's
Note.)
I
As soon as the clear seminary bell began sounding in Kieff in the
morning, the pupils would come flocking from all parts of the town. The
students of grammar, rhetoric, philosophy, and theology hastened with
their books under their arms over the streets.
The "grammarians" were still mere boys. On the way they pushed against
each other and quarrelled with shrill voices. Nearly all of them wore
torn or dirty clothes, and their pockets were always crammed with all
kinds of things--push-bones, pipes made out of pens, remains of
confectionery, and sometimes even young sparrows. The latter would
sometimes begin to chirp in the midst of deep silence in the school, and
bring down on their possessors severe canings and thrashings.
The "rhetoricians" walked in a more orderly way. Their clothes were
generally untorn, but on the other hand their faces were often strangely
decorated; one had a black eye, and the lips of another resembled a
single blister, etc. These spoke to each other in tenor voices.
The "philosophers" talked in a tone an octave lower; in their pockets
they only had fragments of tobacco, never whole cakes of it; for what
they could get hold of, they used at once. They smelt so strongly of
tobacco and brandy, that a workman passing by them would often remain
standing and sniffing with his nose in the air, like a hound.
About this time of day the market-place was generally full of bustle,
and the market women, selling rolls, cakes, and honey-tarts, plucked the
sleeves of those who wore coats of fine cloth or cotton.
"Young sir! Young sir! Here! Here!" they cried from all sides. "Rolls
and cakes and tasty tarts, very delicious! I have baked them myself!"
Another drew something long and crooked out of her basket and cried,
"Here is a sausage, young sir! Buy a sausage!"
"Don't buy anything from her!" cried a rival. "See how greasy she is,
and what a dirty nose and hands she has!"
But the market women carefully avoided appealing to the philosophers and
theologians, for these only took handfuls of eatables merely to taste
them.
Arrived at the seminary, the whole crowd of students dispersed into the
low, large class-rooms with small windows, broad doors, and blackened
benches. Suddenly they were filled with a many-toned murmur. The
teachers heard the pupils' lessons repeated, some in shrill and others
in deep voices which sounded like a distant booming. While the lessons
were being said, the teachers kept a sharp eye open to see whether
pieces of cake or other dainties were protruding from their pupils'
pockets; if so, they were promptly confiscated.
When this learned crowd arrived somewhat earlier than usual, or when it
was known that the teachers would come somewhat late, a battle would
ensue, as though planned by general agreement. In this battle all had to
take part, even the monitors who were appointed to look after the order
and morality of the whole school. Two theologians generally arranged the
conditions of the battle: whether each class should split into two
sides, or whether all the pupils should divide themselves into two
halves.
In each case the grammarians began the battle, and after the
rhetoricians had joined in, the former retired and stood on the benches,
in order to watch the fortunes of the fray. Then came the philosophers
with long black moustaches, and finally the thick-necked theologians.
The battle generally ended in a victory for the latter, and the
philosophers retired to the different class-rooms rubbing their aching
limbs, and throwing themselves on the benches to take breath.
When the teacher, who in his own time had taken part in such contests,
entered the class-room he saw by the heated faces of his pupils that the
battle had been very severe, and while he caned the hands of the
rhetoricians, in another room another teacher did the same for the
philosophers.
On Sundays and Festival Days the seminarists took puppet-theatres to the
citizens' houses. Sometimes they acted a comedy, and in that case it was
always a theologian who took the part of the hero or heroine--Potiphar
or Herodias, etc. As a reward for their exertions, they received a piece
of linen, a sack of maize, half a roast goose, or something similar. All
the students, lay and clerical, were very poorly provided with means for
procuring themselves necessary subsistence, but at the same time very
fond of eating; so that, however much food was given to them, they were
never satisfied, and the gifts bestowed by rich landowners were never
adequate for their needs.
Therefore the Commissariat Committee, consisting of philosophers and
theologians, sometimes dispatched the grammarians and rhetoricians under
the leadership of a philosopher--themselves sometimes joining in the
expedition--with sacks on their shoulders, into the town, in order to
levy a contribution on the fleshpots of the citizens, and then there was
a feast in the seminary.
The most important event in the seminary year was the arrival of the
holidays; these began in July, and then generally all the students went
home. At that time all the roads were thronged with grammarians,
rhetoricians, philosophers, and theologians. He who had no home of his
own, would take up his quarters with some fellow-student's family; the
philosophers and theologians looked out for tutors' posts, taught the
children of rich farmers, and received for doing so a pair of new boots
and sometimes also a new coat.
A whole troop of them would go off in close ranks like a regiment; they
cooked their porridge in common, and encamped under the open sky. Each
had a bag with him containing a shirt and a pair of socks. The
theologians were especially economical; in order not to wear out their
boots too quickly, they took them off and carried them on a stick over
their shoulders, especially when the road was very muddy. Then they
tucked up their breeches over their knees and waded bravely through the
pools and puddles. Whenever they spied a village near the highway, they
at once left it, approached the house which seemed the most
considerable, and began with loud voices to sing a psalm. The master of
the house, an old Cossack engaged in agriculture, would listen for a
long time with his head propped in his hands, then with tears on his
cheeks say to his wife, "What the students are singing sounds very
devout; bring out some lard and anything else of the kind we have in the
house."
After thus replenishing their stores, the students would continue their
way. The farther they went, the smaller grew their numbers, as they
dispersed to their various houses, and left those whose homes were still
farther on.
On one occasion, during such a march, three students left the main-road
in order to get provisions in some village, since their stock had long
been exhausted. This party consisted of the theologian Khalava, the
philosopher Thomas Brutus, and the rhetorician Tiberius Gorobetz.
The first was a tall youth with broad shoulders and of a peculiar
character; everything which came within reach of his fingers he felt
obliged to appropriate. Moreover, he was of a very melancholy
disposition, and when he had got intoxicated he hid himself in the most
tangled thickets so that the seminary officials had the greatest trouble
in finding him.
The philosopher Thomas Brutus was a more cheerful character. He liked to
lie for a long time on the same spot and smoke his pipe; and when he was
merry with wine, he hired a fiddler and danced the "tropak." Often he
got a whole quantity of "beans," i.e. thrashings; but these he endured
with complete philosophic calm, saying that a man cannot escape his
destiny.
The rhetorician Tiberius Gorobetz had not yet the right to wear a
moustache, to drink brandy, or to smoke tobacco. He only wore a small
crop of hair, as though his character was at present too little
developed. To judge by the great bumps on his forehead, with which he
often appeared in the class-room, it might be expected that some day he
would be a valiant fighter. Khalava and Thomas often pulled his hair as
a mark of their special favour, and sent him on their errands.
Evening had already come when they left the high-road; the sun had just
gone down, and the air was still heavy with the heat of the day. The
theologian and the philosopher strolled along, smoking in silence, while
the rhetorician struck off the heads of the thistles by the wayside with
his stick. The way wound on through thick woods of oak and walnut; green
hills alternated here and there with meadows. Twice already they had
seen cornfields, from which they concluded that they were near some
village; but an hour had already passed, and no human habitation
appeared. The sky was already quite dark, and only a red gleam lingered
on the western horizon.
"The deuce!" said the philosopher Thomas Brutus. "I was almost certain
we would soon reach a village."
The theologian still remained silent, looked round him, then put his
pipe again between his teeth, and all three continued their way.
"Good heavens!" exclaimed the philosopher, and stood still. "Now the
road itself is disappearing."
"Perhaps we shall find a farm farther on," answered the theologian,
without taking his pipe out of his mouth.
Meanwhile the night had descended; clouds increased the darkness, and
according to all appearance there was no chance of moon or stars
appearing. The seminarists found that they had lost the way altogether.
After the philosopher had vainly sought for a footpath, he exclaimed,
"Where have we got to?"