Two hundred years ago, in a village located near the forest of Giblou, there lived an old bob nicknamed the Scorched de La Fan.
Singed de La Fan was a very pious man. He prayed and fasted all the time, often went on pilgrimages and visited many holy places. At the same time, Scorched de La Fan was not at all an unsociable and silent man. On the contrary, he had a wonderful sense of humor and the kindest disposition. The old man's face was terribly disfigured, and not a single hair grew on his head, for sometime in the past he had been badly burned under very strange circumstances.
The old man's real name was: Marc-Pierre de La Fan. In his youth he was known as a wonderful violinist. More than anything in the world, Marc-Pierre loved music, dancing and fun. And he was afraid of nothing more than boredom and loneliness. He was always surrounded by a crowd of careless youth. Not a single holiday was complete without Marc-Pierre's violin.
The parish priest often reprimanded the young musician for his irrepressible passion for entertainment.
- Stop wandering around the villages with a violin. You can't lead such a dissolute life! - said the old curé. – Because of you, young people forget about their Christian duty. Instead of praying in church and thinking about the salvation of your soul, all day long you indulge in the most dangerous fun. Remember, Marc-Pierre, everything you do plays into the hands of Satan! May you not have to pay bitterly for your frivolity!
Marc-Pierre swore to the priest to become more serious and go to services more often. But he was unable to keep his word. He could not live without holidays, and every evening, with a violin under his arm, he went to the green meadow, where his cheerful friends were waiting for him.
Marc-Pierre's mother was also upset by her son's behavior. With tears in her eyes, she begged the young man to listen to the words of the curé, come to his senses and not anger God. And again Marc-Pierre promised to improve, but then did it his own way. The loud laughter of young people and the sounds of music carried far throughout the neighborhood every evening.
Summer was in full swing. The feast of St. John was approaching. Marc-Pierre had been in joyful anticipation for a long time. After all, the summer solstice is coming soon, when you can jump over fire. What a joy! Marc-Pierre was literally trembling with delight. He imagined a huge bonfire lit on the top of the Mont du Solt, boys and girls who, with joyful laughter, whirl in a fast dance and, shouting joyfully, fly through the flames. What a holiday! The luminary will reach its highest position above the horizon, and the longest day and shortest night of the year will come to earth.
Marc-Pierre had long been inciting the village youth to go to the mountains at night to dance around the fire. And this was well known to the parish priest. He himself went to the main instigator of the fun and sternly told him:
— Marc-Pierre, my patience is full. What kind of fire do you want to light on top of Mont du Solt? Don't you know that this is a pagan custom? The ancient Germans, who worshiped the forces of nature, held festivals when one season gave way to another. They conjured evil spirits, learned the will of their gods and tried to enlist their favors. Wodan seems to have been the god of light, Donar the god of air. I don’t even remember their demonic names... In sacred groves, under the canopy of old trees, on the banks of streams, at the foot of rocks, sometimes in some roughly built temple, the Alemans sacrificed meat of wild animals, bread, beer and honey to their gods.
On the day of the summer solstice, the pagans lit huge bonfires and organized jumps. They believed that fire had a cleansing power and that by jumping through the flames, one could get rid of diseases and become stronger. Do you really believe this too? Please, Marc-Pierre, don’t do wild things. You are a kind young man, but stupid. You don't understand how dangerous it is to flirt with the devil. The holy missionaries sent to us from Ireland fought against paganism for many years. And now, in our enlightened age, you are inciting the youth of Villarlaud, Estavare, Wuysternance and Giblu to take part in ancient rituals. This is very bad! Lighting a fire on a mountain top at night and jumping over the fire is not the best way to honor St. John, who was against all witchcraft. I ask you, my son, do not anger the Lord. Think about your poor mother. How she suffers from your mischief! Promise me, Marc-Pierre, that you will pray more often and get rid of thoughts of dancing on the top of Mont du Solt from your head.
Marc-Pierre, excited by the priest's words, promised to put an end to entertainment and go to church more often. But a day later the young man again began to dream about the day of the summer solstice. Soon he and other fun-goers were clearing a place for dancing, chopping wood for a fire and distributing invitations to the holiday to the young men and women of neighboring villages.
Sunday has arrived. During his sermon, the old priest angrily condemned the careless youth for their passion for songs and dances. But Marc-Pierre was not at work - he was making preparations for the holiday.
Finally the long-awaited, shortest night of the year has arrived. A fresh wind was blowing. The trees rustled in the darkness. The warm air was filled with the sweet, tart smells of herbs and flowers. The valleys and mountain slopes were shrouded in white fog. And at the top of Mont du Solt there was such a large fire burning that it could be seen even from the ridges of the Jura. The roar of the fire and the crackling of flaming logs merged with the screams, laughter and songs of the dressed-up youth. The wine flowed like a river. The music was blaring. The youth danced until they dropped. The funniest thing was jumping over the fire. Boys and girls, inflamed with unprecedented fun, forgetting about everything in the world, with sparkling eyes, accelerated with all their might and, jumping, flew over the raging flames.
The center of everyone's attention was, of course, Marc-Pierre with his violin, which tirelessly sang the most perky melodies. The musician was having more fun than ever. Looking at the happy faces of his friends, he thought that this was the best holiday of his life. From wine, dancing and jumping over the fire, Marc-Pierre’s body and thoughts felt some kind of extraordinary lightness. It seemed to the young man that he had merged into one with all of nature, that the darkness of the night sky, the sound of the wind, the smell of herbs and the heat of fire became part of his being.
Midnight was approaching. The fire was dying out. The laughter and songs of the youth became quieter. Tired of wild dancing, the young men and women little by little went down the mountain in pairs and went home. Soon the dance floor was empty. Multi-colored tongues of dying fire danced restlessly on the red coals. There was such a deep silence at the top of Mont du Solt that it was hard to believe that there had been fun here an hour ago. None of the young dancers would now want to be near the ashes, for everyone knew that in the place where the fire burned on the summer solstice, after midnight there was a sheta, a meeting of dark forces - the ghosts of dead sinners, witches, devils and other evil spirits.
The boys and girls, extremely pleased with the evening spent on the top of Mont du Solt, said goodbye and wished each other good night. And none of them noticed that violinist Marc-Pierre had disappeared somewhere...
The poor guy, tired from dancing and jumping over the fire, was about to go home, but suddenly he began to feel inexorably sleepy. The musician's eyes were stuck together, his arms and legs were numb. As if knocked down, he collapsed on the ground next to the fire and fell asleep.
Waking up from his sleep, Marc-Pierre looked around in amazement. He was alone on the top of the mountain, and a huge fire was burning in front of him again. Suddenly the young man screamed loudly in horror. He saw that in the middle of the flames, right on the burning logs, sitting a tall devil with pointed ears, a curly beard and menacing horns. His red eyes looked mockingly at the violinist. In his clawed paw he clutched a black trident. Out of nowhere, a flock of disgusting demons with webbed, bat-like wings appeared in the air. The vile creatures, whistling, screaming and howling, rushed at the man. Dozens of tenacious hands grabbed Marc-Pierre and lifted him high above the ground. The demons, throwing the unfortunate violinist to each other, spun in a round dance with incredible speed. They sang:
Let yourself dance as much as you can -
This is your grave now!
Instead of a nimble girl
Dance with the black devil!
Soon you will burn in hell -
Unfortunately, you dozed off!
Poor, poor Marc-Pierre! Did he expect such an end to the holiday? The young man sobbed loudly, bursting into tears. He desperately called for help, but who could rescue him from the clutches of Satan at midnight, on the top of Mont du Solt, filled with evil spirits? The devil, sitting in the middle of the fire, laughed, looking at the suffering of the musician. He extended his clawed hand forward, and a flock of demons flew to their master to hand him the victim. Marc-Pierre looked with horror at the menacing flame. Truly, a terrible death awaited him! He closed his eyes...
But the strange thing is that something prevented the demons from throwing Marc-Pierre into the fire. The evil spirits flew up to the fire again and again to throw the violinist there, but it was not to be. The hellish dancers were suddenly attacked by an incomprehensible illness. They began to feel chills. Despite the bright flames, their teeth chattered and they shivered from the cold. Marc-Pierre's tormentors were losing their strength. Having completely weakened, they dropped the young man from their furry paws to the ground. Their leader jumped up in rage and struck the ground with his trident. There was a crash. Sparks flew in all directions. The devil was impatient to get his prey as soon as possible. He came out of the fire to personally grab Marc-Pierre, but, approaching the young man, he also felt that he was freezing. In fear, Satan retreated back to the fire.
The fact is that Marc-Pierre's mother did not sleep. Her heart told her that something bad had happened to her son. She asked the saints to intercede for the unlucky child, and her prayers were heard in heaven. Someone invisible and strong stood next to Marc-Pierre at the top of Mont du Solt. And the demons and their leader felt threatened. They were confused. Then the devil whispered:
- Young man, come to me quickly, otherwise you will die! With me you will find unprecedented happiness. We will spin in an eternal dance. Come to me and I will sing you the most beautiful melody in the world. Hurry up!
But Marc-Pierre did not succumb to the devil's temptation. He began to read the “Our Father” loudly. Hearing the words of the prayer, the devil squirmed in disgust. Shouting a curse, he threw himself into the fire and disappeared into his native element. All the winged demons followed him. Before Marc-Pierre had time to read the prayer to the end, the fire went out and darkness enveloped the top of Mont du Solt.
The next morning, the villagers, worried about Marc-Pierre's absence, went to the dance floor. There, next to a pile of black coals, they saw the charred body of a musician. At first everyone thought that the young man had died from such terrible burns, but surprisingly it turned out that his heart was still beating. The half-dead violinist was carried to the village on a stretcher. The curé served a prayer service for the healing of the poor young man. A few days later, consciousness returned to Marc-Pierre, and he told people about the terrible events that happened at night on the top of Mont du Solt. Needless to say, everyone was amazed by what happened.
Marc-Pierre was ill for many months. His wounds healed very slowly. Having recovered, the violinist first went to the top of Mont du Solt. He placed a high cross on the very spot where the hellish fire burned on the summer solstice. This was in 1765, and the significant date can still be discerned on the granite pedestal. Since then, pilgrims often come there to pray to the saints who saved the village violinist from death.
Marc-Pierre himself lived a long life. After the terrible night in the mountains, he never played the violin, sang or danced again. Despite his external ugliness, he was a cheerful and good-natured person and was not at all offended when he was called the Scorched de La Fan.
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru