The Sebekhlebs have long been famous for their musicians, but the most famous were those who played with Samko Dudik. We didn’t know anyone else like him either then or since. The rumor about them, about the skillful game, spread far, they were invited to both nearby and distant villages and beyond, but Samko and his comrades did not go far. Well, the rumor about them was passed from mouth to mouth to all ends.
This is how it is in this world - one is born to walk behind a plow, another is born to swing an ax or a hammer, and Samko Dudik was destined by fate to play the violin, to amuse the people with music. He was still young, as soon as he stood up on his feet, he began to sing a song, it was a pleasure to listen to, he brought it out so well and purely, the whole village was amazed, they converged under Dudikov Tyn. Father Dudik sighed and said:
- Oh, son, son, what will become of you?
But my son didn’t even think about it.
When he was seven years old, it happened that the shepherd forgot his pity at their house. Samko took it in his hands, turned it this way and that, blew once or twice, and little by little began to play a song on the pity. From that time on, he didn’t think about anything else, everything was just about being pitiful.
Until his father bought him a violin.
What happens, cannot be avoided, says the proverb. Samko was destined to become a musician, so his father had to fork out money and buy his son a violin.
One day the gypsy Fero wandered into Sebekhleby with a violin under his arm and, as if on purpose, went straight to the Dudikis. He strummed the strings and said:
- Buy my violin.
Feraud’s mother got angry and started screaming - has it ever happened that a man would spend money on a violin! She was ready to push the gypsy out of the hallway. And old Dudik, Samko’s father, at first, following his wife, attacked the gypsy. He doesn’t need a violin - neither himself nor his son! How easy is it to send a gypsy away? Fero persuaded Dudik, cajoled him, cajoled him, and then Samko arrived in time. He stands, looks, and can’t take his eyes off the violin. Oh, if only he had one like that! But, hearing the speeches of his father and mother, he did not dare to ask.
However, old Dudik did not have a heart of stone. He saw how Samko looked at the violin with all his eyes, stopped contradicting the gypsy and - what miracles! — I bought my son a violin.
This is how the violin fell into the hands of little Samko. At first he played secretly; neither his father, nor his mother, nor anyone in the world heard him. But Samko was truly born a musician, the violin sang under his bow. And when Samko showed his skill for the first time, old Dudik even laughed with joy, he could not be surprised: and where does his son get what he does, how easily and skillfully he draws something with a bow! And the mother just gasped and threw up her hands, looking at her gifted son.
Years passed, and Samko the violinist became famous, and his comrades became famous. Previously, such tunes and such masterful playing had never been heard here. And not a single wedding or name day, be it for a gentleman or a peasant, was complete without these musicians. And how well Samko played! As soon as he heard a melody once, he immediately adopted it and brought it out himself. People listened to his tunes, and every vein in them played, their legs began to dance, and if something sad happened, people’s hearts would break with grief.
One day Samko was sitting at home alone, looking out the window into the yard. Suddenly someone knocks on the door.
“Come in, come in,” Samko responded and was only surprised that he didn’t see anyone in the yard, even though he was looking out the window.
The door opened, and a handsome, stately fellow came in, dressed in white cloth pants and an embroidered linen shirt, he had a hat on his head, the fellow was belted with a wide belt with a set, such as lumberjacks wear, and in his hand was a hatchet on a long handle - a feller.
He crossed the threshold and boldly said hello:
- Good evening, God bless you!
- God bless you too! - answered Samko, got up from the table to greet the guest, offered his hand, asked him to sit down, and only then spoke: - Where are you from, buddy, and on what business?
“Tell me first, uncle, is it true that I ended up in Samko Dudik’s house?” - asked the guest.
- Right. I am this. What business did you come to me for?
- They sent me. The day after tomorrow there is a wedding in Sitna, I have come for you, for you and your musicians.
- Who marries a son or gives a daughter in marriage? - Samko asked.
- More about that later, uncle. The main thing, don’t forget, is the wedding in three days. As soon as the sun goes down, so you can get there in time. A guide will be waiting for you near Sitenets, and you will go with him.
Samko was both happy and doubtful—he didn’t like the idea. But he didn’t ask the guest anything else; he saw that he had no desire to loosen his tongue.
“Here is the deposit,” said the guest, taking a brand new gold ducat from his belt and placing it on the table in front of Samko.
Samko couldn’t believe his eyes. I rubbed it with my palm - is it imagining things? Dukat clanged on the tabletop and rolled straight towards Samko. Samko quickly put his hand up so that the coin wouldn’t fall on the floor.
But the guest didn’t seem to notice anything and continued:
- We are waiting for you. You will come to the Three Springs and give a sign on the pipe. And a guide will come out to you.
Samko nodded his head.
- Good night and goodbye! — the guest said goodbye and opened the door.
Samko wanted to see him off, but the guest closed the door right in front of his nose.
In the evening Samko called the whole company and told them what happened and how it happened. They were surprised and doubted, but Samko was their boss, they obeyed him in everything, and did as he said.
“This is what I think: the forest fellows, the robbers, are planning to go for a walk.” “No other way than on Sitna,” said Adamets, the one who played the double bass.
“Maybe one of them will get married,” Adam added thoughtfully; he played the pipe.
“Who and what is not our concern, we are all the same,” Vlchko, the second violin, decisively added.
“So be it,” concluded the cymbalist Stakho. “Samko took a deposit - no less than a whole ducat, our job is to go, as that stranger said.”
Everyone agreed. On the third day, our musicians hit the road early in the morning.
Only the first rays of the sun illuminated the tops of the trees; they were already in the forest. We rested a little in the cold and moved on to Sitnets.
The whole day they made their way through the forest and climbed steep slopes. They often sat down to rest, waiting for those who were lagging behind, who were carrying cymbals and double bass. These were the hardest of all, and their comrades helped, took the tools from them and carried them on their shoulders. The thickets here were so dense that a cart would not have been able to pass through. The sun was already setting when they reached the Three Springs. They sat down, took out food from the bundles that they had collected at home for the journey, and refreshed themselves together.
The sun set, and Adam played the pipe, as ordered.
“Phew-few-few,” echoed the forest.
At first it was quiet, then they heard someone making their way through the thickets towards them. Before they had time to look around, a tall, almost tall young fellow was standing in front of them; his mustache sticks out like a curl, dressed like Samkov, the guest who came to order music - in white trousers and an embroidered shirt.
- Good evening, people! — he greeted the musicians.
- Good evening and God bless you! - they responded.
-Will you take us? - asked the young man Samko.
- I am. Take your tools and follow me, our path is not short.
The musicians were tired, they didn’t really want to go, but what can you do? We've trudged here, we'll have to trudge further.
- Don’t look around and keep quiet, watch out that the forest doesn’t drag you in; “Where you go, no human has gone before,” the guide taught them.
-Who are you, a beast, or what? - Vlchko growled angrily.
“Who I am, you don’t know,” the guide said abruptly and walked ahead.
The musicians felt a chill run down their backs, but there was nothing to do - they picked up the instruments and reached for him, didn’t look around, didn’t say a word.
They walked, walked straight through dense thickets, off-road. It was completely dark; not a single step was visible ahead. They stumbled and almost fell.
- Come on, be brave, well done, we’ll soon be out on a smooth road! — the guide encouraged them. “We’ll be there soon!”
They walked more quickly, and now under their feet there was no longer soft moss, but bare rock. There was an icy breeze, as if they had entered a huge hall. They slowed down, and the guide stopped and said:
- Here they come. Put down your tools and wait.
And he disappeared.
They began to look around for where to sit, but they didn’t see anything, and the darkness around them grew thicker, and the cold got deeper.
A wonderful wedding awaited them, where our musicians were invited. Where are the wreaths and flowers, where are the tables with sweet pies? Where are the bride and groom, groomsmen and bridesmaids, where are all the guests? There is no one to be seen, only the dense forest is noisy.
And then suddenly the torches were lit, their guide came out and ordered:
- Sit down here and play!
With these words, he led them out into the middle of the clearing onto a hillock, and he himself disappeared again, as if he had fallen through the ground.
What were the musicians to do? They sat down and began to tune the instruments.
They were strumming and strumming, and then noise, singing and screams were heard behind the rock.
“Looks like the wedding guests are coming,” Samko said quietly and took up the violin.
They began a dashing, cheerful dance, such that the rocks trembled. And when they saw the wedding, they almost turned to stone. There was neither the groom nor the groomsmen there, only the forest robbers, for some reason pale, and danced and jumped around the bride as they walked. And the bride? Whiter than snow, as if she had been taken out of a coffin, she did not laugh, she walked as if in a dream, without raising her eyes, and around her were robbers. He walks, doesn’t say a word, doesn’t nod his head. To the gallows is not the way to go down the aisle, you might say. There is no scarf on her, no wreath, her black hair is down to the ground. And the guests are not dressed up. Our musicians look at the band of robbers, and fear squeezes their hearts. Oh, they have never seen such a wedding before! And the guys who are dancing around the bride don’t even look at the musicians, they spin around, then jump, kicking their feet, twirling their rollers over their heads, and sipping from full damask glasses.
Suddenly one flew up to the musicians and squealed:
- What are you playing? Did you come to the funeral?
The musicians were taken aback, and Samko's eyes widened and he recognized his guest as having ordered the music. His face looks like wax, his eyes glow like coals from under his eyebrows. He waved the stick at Samko, and the violinist only clenched his teeth out of fear—God forbid the robber missed and hit him on the head with the stick.
My darling was getting married, her mother called her dear...,” the robber began to say in a bad voice right in Samko’s ear.
An icy cold wafted from his face. Samko became intimidated, and then he picked up the song, began to play, and all the robbers danced, as it should be at a wedding - whistling, screaming, hooting, and doing knees with their feet.
Then everyone sat down to eat. They brought in roasted sheep, ate the meat, gnawed on the bones, and drank merrily. They gave meat and honey to the musicians, good honey, the kind the musicians had never tasted in Sebekhlebah either then or since. The musicians ate, got drunk, forgot about fear and broke out into a merry dance, as they always did at village weddings near Sitn.
And the robbers kept dancing under the huge oak tree. First one, then the other will run out of the circle, thrust the tree into the thick trunk, grab the bride, spin her around and place her again near the oak tree, like a wooden doll. And so they danced, one after another, with the bride, and then they stood under the oak tree, as if she were lifeless. The musicians were no longer surprised; a little intoxication went to their heads. They played wildly, and the robbers danced, every now and then running up to the musicians, and throwing brand new ducats at the double bass.
At midnight the food was served again, and the musicians took some more refreshment.
The robbers ate, and Samko went aside to take a walk along the edge of the forest. He walks and sees a building - either a barn or a stable. I started looking for the door, wanted to go inside, but found it on the other side of the stone wall. He opened the door and looked, there was a stable and a barn, full of all kinds of animals - horses, cows, oxen. They stand tied to the gutters, all well-fed and sleek to behold. He entered and suddenly heard:
- Hello, Samko! Where did you come from?
Samko shuddered, got scared, but then grew bolder, because only an acquaintance could call him by name. He looks around, but there is not a soul nearby. Who could have called him?
He sees a horse in a stall shaking his head next to him.
“Wasn’t he the one who called me?” - thought Samko.
And it's true!
- Hey, Samko, do you remember the zhupan from Ladzian? - the horse said in a human voice.
The violinist widened his eyes in surprise.
“It’s me, I, the Ladzian zhupan,” the horse repeated in a human voice. “I know, I lived dishonestly in the world, how many forced peasants were flogged on my orders!” People cursed me, and their curses came true, I turned into a horse.
Samko couldn’t believe his ears. I looked at the horse - a horse and a horse, like all horses.
- Do you remember, Samko, how you played for me? - the horse continued. “You were my friend, and I put you in jail for no reason.” Forgive me. Finally, I want to repay you with kindness. Listen to my advice. You probably noticed yourself that everything here is not the same as with people. This is an enchanted place, on Sitna. Remember and listen carefully to what I tell you! The forest guys will throw ducats at your double bass, know that these are not real. If you leave Sitna, the ducats will turn into a handful of rubbish. Make a cross on the double bass, ducats will remain ducats.
The zhupan horse spoke more quietly, Samko stepped closer to the horse to hear him better and thank him for his good advice, but the horse did not allow him to say a word.
- Listen further. They will pay you, don’t take the money, but ask for the rubbish that is visible in the corners. Understood? Now hurry up, they are looking for you. Don’t tell anyone about me, but when you return home, remember me with a kind word.
The horse fell silent, and Samko hurried away. Not far from the stables he met Adamets. He was looking for him. Samko was silent, didn’t say a word, where he was, who he was talking to, and when he sat down with his comrades, he slowly drew a small cross on the double bass.
And so they played all the time, all the time they played, and the robbers and the girl kept dancing, almost fighting for her, and when the dawn lit up in the sky, they all disappeared at once to God knows where, just as they appeared from God knows where.
The musicians were very tired, put down their instruments, sat, looked around restlessly, didn’t know what to do, but didn’t see anyone around. Then a mountainous man with a bushy mustache approached and, as the day before, beckoned them to follow him. Fuck them. Mustache led them through a narrow door into the rock. There was a large spacious cave in the rock. There was no table or bench in it, only sacks stood in the middle, and piles of rubbish in the corners.
“Well, dear musicians, you have done a good job for us, now it’s our turn to settle accounts with you,” he said.
Samko then came forward and said:
- Thank you for your kind words, I’m glad we pleased you. Well, if you started talking about payment, then our will is this: if you want to pay us, give us the rubbish that lies in the corners.
The musicians frowned, barely restrained themselves from rushing at him, they didn’t understand why he asked for such a wonderful payment. But they didn’t dare to contradict. Samko was their boss, they ordered the music for him, and he decided the pay. The man did not answer anything, nodded his head, and Samko immediately approached one pile and poured two handfuls into the pouch that he had with him. The rest of the musicians followed his example.
They got ready to go on the road, and the mountain man led them. They left the stone chamber through a door in the rock and found themselves in a dense forest. It was still night outside, but in the forest itself there was barely a glimmer of light. The mountain man raised his voice:
- Here they come. Wait patiently for the sun to rise. And when the sun rises, you will see for yourself where to go.
He said this - and there was a terrible crash and roar, as if thunder had struck or a rock had hit rock, and the man disappeared. How failed. The musicians stood and stood, but then fatigue overcame them, they sat down and fell asleep like the dead. We woke up and it was a clear day outside.
The musicians rubbed their eyes - and lo and behold, they were under the same oak tree near the Three Springs, where yesterday they were waiting for their guide. Without hesitation, they picked up their instruments, violins and cymbals with a double bass, and - God bless their feet, away from these disastrous places. They lost their breath when they reached the grain boundary. Then let's go quietly and wipe the sweat from our faces. No one said a word, everyone only thought about what they had experienced, what they had seen and heard in the mountains near Sitna.
And what happened to the wallets, where the unprecedented payment lay? As if by whose command the wallets fell from their hands, when they decided to shake out the worthless rubbish and take up Samko - why did he ask for rubbish, and not money for their efforts? One picked up his wallet, picked up another, picked up a third - and all the wallets were tight and heavy, as if filled with lead.
- Oh, damn it, what kind of misfortune is this? - the old Adamets lamented and threw the wallet on his hand.
The musicians began to untie their wallets and saw, the dirty laundry was gone, in all the wallets there were golden ringing ducats. Now they just realized why Samko didn’t choose money. But no matter how much they asked how he knew that the dirty laundry would turn into money, he never said. Samko Dudik kept his word to the horse-jupan in Sitna.
The musicians came to their native village, and they were incredibly surprised.
They met old Krshacheva on the outskirts, and she, as soon as she saw them, raised her hands and began to shout:
- Oh, good people, where have you been?
It was the musicians' turn to be surprised. They stopped, looked at the old woman and thought: is her head clouded? Yes, the old woman was out of her mind, and they found out that three months had passed since they left the village for Sitno. No one really expected to see the musicians alive; they had been mourned for a long time. The musicians were amazed, and no one believed their stories about Sitna. The musicians showed the golden ringing ducats, but people still didn’t believe it, and you know, they said:
“Ah, these ducats are unclean, just like everything that happened to you is unclean.”
“I should sprinkle them with holy water,” suggested the old woman Krshacheva.
The musicians just laughed. Don't sprinkle, ducats remain ducats. Where did the robbers get them from? The robbers took them from the rich gentlemen. And the gentlemen? They tore off the poor, the peasants, so that their backs are bent on them from dawn to dusk.
And it’s as if a lot of those ducats are hidden in Sitna, but no one knows how to get to them.
Maybe a famous violinist like Samko Dudik from Sebekhleb would have found his way to them, but another like him was not born, and so the ducats lie untouched in that rock.
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru