Marko the Rich

The tale will be captivating; listen to it attentively. Those who open their ears wide will learn many things, but those who happen to fall asleep will leave with nothing.

They say that once upon a time, there lived a nobleman named Marku the Wealthy. His riches were countless, so much so that he lost track of them. He owned numerous palaces, countless mansions, endless fields, and wherever you looked—whether it was a forest or a field—it all belonged to him. Herds of horses, oxen, cows, and flocks of sheep grazed on his meadows and forest clearings.

One day, Marku the Wealthy decided to throw a feast for the whole world, inviting all the wealthy to gather and hold a council to determine whose estate was the largest and whose treasury was the richest.

Guests were awaited at the palace, and the tables groaned under the weight of food and wine. Marku the Wealthy surveyed them with a masterful eye and ordered the guards at the gates:

"If a nobleman arrives, let him be swiftly directed to the table, but if a poor man dares to come—wearing worn-out shoes and a shabby belt—then drive him away with rods without mercy. That is my will, and for that, I pay you."

Carriages and phaetons, unmatched in the world, began to arrive, adorned with bells and chimes, carrying distinguished passengers—their presence announced from three miles away: the noblemen were coming!

By evening, when day mingled with night and the noblemen's feast was in full swing, an old man in rags approached the gates, so ancient and weary that the wind seemed to sway him.

"Back, old man!" shouted the guards as soon as they saw him.

"Let me pass, perhaps the nobleman will grant me something."

"Back, you old wretch, don't come near the gates if you value your life."

Seeing that the situation was serious, the old man hung his head and turned back. He took the road to a nearby village and soon approached the outermost hut, knocking on the door to ask for shelter for the night. The mistress of the house came to the threshold.

"Good evening, hostess!"

"Good evening."

"Would you let me stay the night?"

"With all my heart. Only, don't be offended: my house is full of children, the littlest ones, and I have nothing to feed or clothe them with. At night, I cover them with a skirt and a scarf to protect them from the cold."

"Well, no great trouble, I'll lie behind the stove if I don't disturb you too much."

"You're most welcome, no trouble at all."

In the hut, by the light of a splinter, the old man seemed very strange to her, more like a sorcerer than a man.

The traveler lay down behind the stove and, being very tired from the journey, immediately began to snore. The hostess also lay down and soon fell asleep.

Suddenly, at midnight, she heard: *tock, tock, tock!*—someone was tapping on the window.

She looked and saw: a shining star descended from the sky and whispered to the old man:

"Ancient Sage, Renowned Sorcerer, Do you know or not: A new man is born! What does his life hold?"

And the old man replied from behind the stove:

"Ah, poor soul, he will endure much sorrow, bend his back for seven and all in vain. Cruel need will press him, he will drown his sorrows in drink, and until his death, he will have no other home or refuge but the tavern." The hostess pretended to sleep but saw and heard everything, trembling with fear, her teeth chattering.

Soon she heard again: *tock, tock, tock!*—at the window. Another star had flown in and also spoke:

"Ancient Sage, Renowned Sorcerer, Do you know or not: A new man is born! What does his life hold?"

"Ah, poor soul, his fate is heavy. He will live his whole life honestly, like good scales, but in this dishonest world, the honest only receive scorn and beatings when they stand for what is right. He will be shackled and dragged through dungeons until his death."

At dawn, a star even larger and more beautiful than the previous ones tapped on the window and asked:

"Ancient Sage, Renowned Sorcerer, Do you know or not: A new man is born! What does his life hold?"

"To this one will go all the wealth of Marku the Wealthy," replied the old man, turned over on his side, and fell asleep.

In the morning, the old man thanked the hostess for her hospitality and set off on his journey, to lands known only to him. The hostess remained with her need and her grief. As soon as the sun rose, she went to Marku the Wealthy to work off her corvée. Since the day she was born, all she knew was bending her back from dawn till dusk, enduring hardship and bitterness just to earn a crust of stale bread.

She arrived at the nobleman's estate, where the feast was in full swing, and the sky seemed to split from the songs. Marku came out into the courtyard, and when the woman saw him, she remembered the words of the night guest and shouted:

"Nobleman Marku, Nobleman Marku!"
The boyar furrowed his brows and lashed out at her with curses:

"What do you want? I bet you’ve come to beg for food again, may the graveworms feast on you! If you’ve got business, speak up, but if you’ve come to beg, get out of my sight!"

"Boyar Marku, I want to tell you something: last night, a stranger stayed at my place. I don’t know where he came from or where he was headed. He seemed strange to me—neither fully a man nor a sorcerer. But he must’ve been a great prophet. At night, whenever a child was born, a star would knock on the window and ask him about the child’s fate. To one, he predicted a life of drunken misery; to another, a future of hard labor. And just before dawn, when a third child was born, the stranger foretold that this child would become the owner of all your wealth."

"Ha-ha-ha! What strange dreams you must be having at night."

"Boyar Marku, I heard it all with my own ears." Marku scratched the back of his head, as if bitten by a mosquito, adjusted the belt on his barrel-like belly, and waved the woman off, telling her to get to work, while he retreated to his chambers. The feast grew even wilder. Food piled high on the tables, wine flowed like a river, and Marku raised his glass, shouting in drunken revelry: "Hey, hop, gol, hop!"

The boyars feasted until the evening of the second day, and Marku saw them all off. But as the saying goes: "The water flows away, but the stones remain." So too did the drunken haze fade, but the words of the poor woman lingered in his heart, tormenting him day and night. Marku the Rich wandered about like a dark cloud and finally decided to visit the midwife to ask who in the area had given birth to a son on that particular night and at that particular hour. Who else but the midwife would know when and where a child was born?

"On that night, at that hour, the wife of Ion the Poor gave birth to a son. Poor woman, this is her thirteenth child, and their home is so full of need and poverty that it’s heartbreaking to look at them."

Without delay, the boyar ordered the horses to be whipped into a gallop and stopped his carriage in front of Ion the Poor’s hut.

"Good day, poor man!"

"Good day, boyar!"

"Say, Ion, I heard your wife gave birth to a son."

"That’s right, boyar, my wife gave birth to our thirteenth child. My family is large, but my need is even greater."

"Say, Ion, give him to me. I have no children of my own, so I’ll raise him, and he’ll be my support in my old age. And it will bring you great honor."

"I don’t know what my wife will say."

They called his wife, and when she heard what it was about, she burst into tears.

"Oh, boyar, I have thirteen children, and we live in such poverty that we can barely keep body and soul together. But still, I can’t give you my child—my heart aches for him."

"Enough, woman! He’ll live in comfort and warmth with me, well-fed, clothed, and shod. And when he grows up, I’ll send him to study, and he’ll become one of the foremost men in the kingdom."

Marku the Rich sang so sweetly, promising to clothe, feed, educate, and elevate their son, that in the end, he touched the hearts of the poor couple, and they sold him the infant for three bags of money.

Marku the Rich took the child in his arms, rocking and cooing with feigned affection, then climbed into his carriage and set off for home.

As he rode, he pondered: how to rid himself of this child’s life. He thought of strangling him, but fear stopped him. Then, as the carriage passed through a forest, he decided to abandon the child in the thicket, hoping some wild beast would come across him and tear him apart. No sooner thought than done: he tossed the child under a tall, thick poplar tree, climbed back into his carriage, and merrily rode home. Now, thought the boyar, he would be free of his heavy thoughts and bitter doubts.

But following behind were Marku the Rich’s laborers, hauling firewood to his estate. It so happened that one of the drivers lost his whip, and the oxen, sensing freedom, began to stray from the path, grazing on the grass and nearly overturning the cart. Seeing the trouble, the laborer stopped the oxen, took an axe, and went into the thicket to find a good switch to drive the cattle. He searched and searched until he reached the tall, thick poplar tree, where he found the abandoned infant. He picked up the child, looked around for anyone nearby—but there was no one. What to do? He carried the little one back to the cart. The other laborers gathered around, all wondering: who could have left a child in the forest? No one guessed the truth, but the man who found the baby was overjoyed: he and his wife had been married for thirty years, and she had never borne him a child. He gazed at the foundling so sweetly, smiled so tenderly, and held him to his chest as if he were holding pure gold.

"Look at this fool, how happy he is. As if someone gave him half the world," remarked one of the laborers.

"How could he not be happy when he’s holding the support of his old age in his hands," replied another.

"You never know under which bush happiness lies in wait for a man," quipped a joker, and with a crack of his whip, he jumped onto the cart.

"Gee-up! Gee-up!" The carts moved on. Upon arriving at the estate, the laborers unloaded the firewood and waited to hear what work the master would assign them the next day. Marku the Rich himself had to assign the tasks, as the steward had gone away on business. The laborers gathered, listening to the master, but the man who had found the child kept glancing out the window at the cart. Seeing this, the boyar asked:

"Say, what did you find out there that you can’t sit still, always staring out the window?"

"Hey, boyar, whatever he found, it’ll be a good find for him in life," said one of the laborers.

"Well, what did he find?" the boyar asked, his eyes widening.

"He found a little boy in such-and-such a place."

The news struck the boyar’s heart like a knife, but he didn’t show it. Instead, he turned the matter very cleverly:

"Tsk, may luck strike you down! You weren’t even looking, and you found something, while I’ve been searching high and low and can’t find an heir. Sell him to me, say, I have no sons."

"How can I sell him when I have none myself?"

"So you won’t sell him?! If he were yours, fine, but why grieve over a foundling? Come on, sell him, I’ll give you a good price. It’s better not to cross a boyar alone—he’ll strangle you in no time."

With a heavy heart, the poor man took the money and handed over the child. Once again, Marku the Rich pondered, weighing his options: how to rid himself of the boy, to end his life. All sorts of thoughts came to him, each darker than the last. Such is the mind of a miser: don’t expect good from it, but for evil, it’s generous. Finally, he decided to place the boy in a barrel, tighten the hoops as much as possible, and set it adrift on the river. That very day, he carried out his plan. The wind carried the barrel away from the shore into the middle of the river, the swift waves took it, and the boyar, his heart filled with malice, cursed after it:

"Here, may you perish, roll headfirst, and when this water turns back, then you may return."

Then Marku the Rich climbed into his carriage and returned home with joy in his heart.
The barrel rocked on the waves, hitting the shore, floating day and night, away from the nobleman. In one place, at a bend in the river, it got caught on some driftwood and came to rest near the shore. Not far from that spot, on the riverbank, stood a fulling mill where they made cloth. Soon, two fullers came to the shore to fetch water and stumbled upon the barrel. One, two—they pulled it out of the water. Sensing that the barrel wasn’t empty, they carefully loosened the hoops. Imagine their surprise when they discovered a fine, plump little boy inside! They took the child and ran him to the fulling mill. The masters there cared for him, pampered him, and as he grew, they began to teach him their craft. The boy turned out to be clever, grasping everything quickly and remembering it firmly. He worked all day long in the workshop and soon not only learned everything the old masters knew but surpassed them, producing cloth of any kind and any width. It didn’t take long for word to spread far and wide that this fulling mill was producing cloth the likes of which had never been seen before.

People flocked from all over—some on horseback, others on foot—all eager to get their hands on even a scrap of this rare cloth. The rumors reached Mark the Rich as well. One fine day, he ordered a carriage to be prepared with six horses harnessed in a row, fitted with new harnesses and bells, and the best coachman seated at the reins. When everything was ready, he set off for the famous fulling mill with his pockets full of money, intending to buy as much of the finest cloth and felt as he could. Mark the Rich arrived at the fulling mill and was greeted with honor. They cleared a path for him right to the doorstep, led him to the head of the workshop, seated him at the table, and treated him generously, as befitted a wealthy nobleman. Word by word, the conversation turned to the cloth and the fulling mill.

"Where did you find such skilled masters?" asked Mark the Rich.

"This skilled master came to us on his own."

"From overseas, I suppose?"

"No, my lord, listen to this. About twenty years ago, two fullers went to fetch water. Lo and behold, the waves had washed a barrel ashore. They pulled the barrel out of the water, removed the hoops, and found a baby boy inside, wrapped in swaddling clothes. The nobleman was so shocked it was as if he’d been scalded with boiling water, but he clenched his teeth to keep from showing how his heart burned."

"So we raised him, taught him, and he turned out to be so clever and skilled that ever since he started working, our cloth has become famous throughout the world."

"I suppose he’s learned much, mastered book wisdom, and knows a thing or two about legal matters as well?" asked Mark the Rich.

"Indeed, my lord, he knows a great deal about many things," the masters confirmed.

"Well, I’ve got some troubles in my estate. Could he go there and sort things out? And if he has time, perhaps he could teach my daughter some book wisdom—she’s had nothing but useless teachers so far."

"Why not? The fulling mill can manage without him now—everything’s running smoothly. Shall we call him?"

"Yes, call him."

While the masters went to fetch the young man to inform him of the nobleman’s request, Mark the Rich quickly scribbled a note: "My lady, when this young man arrives with this letter, have him shackled. Then order nine cartloads of firewood to be brought, build a pyre, and burn the boy on it. Scatter his ashes to the wind so that neither his name nor his trace remains in this world." He signed the note: Mark the Rich. Just then, the young man approached the table.

"So this is how it is," the masters explained to him. "Go to Mark the Rich’s estate."

"Alright, I’m ready," the young man replied.

The nobleman handed him the letter and gave him these parting words:

"Take this as a sign that I’ve sent you. When you arrive, give the letter to my lady and let her read it. Tell her I’ll be delayed a bit due to the cloth and other matters, but I’ll try to return home as soon as possible." The young man tucked the letter into his shirt and set off on his journey. He walked and walked, and one day, as he passed by the edge of a forest, he saw a bear climbing into a hollow tree, stealing honey from the bees. Dozens of bees fell dead, leaving their stingers in his fur, but the bear just grumbled and broke the tree, digging deeper into the hollow. Spotting the traveler, one bee flew up to him and spoke in a human voice:

"Kind sir, save us from this misfortune—chase the bear away. Your efforts won’t go unrewarded, and we’ll help you in return. If you ever find yourself in trouble, we’ll get you out of it."

The traveler broke off a thick oak branch, quickly carved a hefty club, and gave the bear a good whack on the head. Seeing that things were going badly, the bear decided it was time to flee—better to live than to feast—and he took off as fast as his legs could carry him.

Exhausted from the fight with the bear and the long journey, the young man lay down in the shade of a tree and was soon overcome by sleep. Among the bees was a magical one, and she knew what had been planned and how it would end. Since the young man had done a good deed for the bee tribe, she decided to repay him by helping him out of his dire predicament. She quietly pulled the letter from the young man’s shirt and replaced it with another: "My lady, when this young man arrives, have him taken to the bathhouse, give him the finest clothes, and arrange a wedding between him and my daughter. Protect him from all harm as you would the apple of your eye." At the bottom was the signature: Mark the Rich, exactly as the nobleman had written.

The young man didn’t sleep long. When he woke up, the bees thanked him for his help, saw him off on his journey, and didn’t mention the letter. After several days of travel, the young man arrived at the nobleman’s estate, showed the servants the letter, and they escorted him to the lady with great respect. Overjoyed, she immediately ordered a feast to be prepared, musicians to be called, and a grand wedding to be arranged. The celebration lasted an entire week, with feasting and merrymaking.

When the wedding festivities died down, a few days later, Mark the Rich returned home in his carriage. Upon hearing the unexpected news, he nearly tore his hair out in rage, almost bursting with fury.

"What have you done?" he shouted at his wife and daughter.

"We did as you instructed in the letter."

"And what did I instruct you to do?"

"See for yourself."

When Mark the Rich saw the letter and his own signature, fear struck him to the core: it seemed fate had truly destined this young man to lay claim to his wealth. Once again, Mark the Rich began to plot how to rid himself of his son-in-law. Finally, an idea came to him: he would send the young man to the afterlife to fetch a ring with the noble family’s seal from his late mother. The next morning, he called his son-in-law to him and said in a quiet but threatening voice:

"I’ve lost my noble seal, and I have no other. No one can make a new one. While I had it, it never occurred to me to make a copy. But fortunately, there’s another such seal."

"Where, father?"

"In the afterlife. My mother, your grandmother, wears a golden ring with our family’s seal on her finger. Go to her and bring back the ring. And remember, if you return empty-handed, your head will be where your feet are now."

The young man took some food and a little money for the journey and set off with faith and hope that he would return with the ring bearing the noble seal. He walked for a long time, covering a good distance, until one day at noon he reached a pond. The closer he got to the pond, the more clearly he heard strange sounds, as if someone were muttering and slurping at nothing.

"Kind sir, come closer," a voice called from the middle of the pond.

The traveler looked and froze in horror. Floating on the water was a man with lips parched from thirst, unable to bend down to drink.
- What happened to you? - asked the young man.

- A terrible curse has fallen upon me. And where are you heading?

- I’m going to the other world to fetch my grandmother’s signet ring.

- Since you’re going there, ask about me too: how long must I suffer like this?

- Alright, if I make it there, I won’t forget about you. Mark the Richman’s son-in-law went on his way. He walked and walked until he came across two barrels. Wine was overflowing from one, while the other was completely empty, its staves dried out. The young man looked and thought: "Who did such a thing, filling one barrel with so much wine that it overflows, while the other dries out in the sun?" He picked up the full barrel, turned it upside down over the empty one, shook it and shook it, but not a single drop of wine poured into the empty barrel.

"Ugh, what kind of nonsense is this?" - thought the young man and continued on his way. He walked and walked tirelessly until he reached a small ravine. The ravine was just a ravine, but at its very bottom lay a priest on his back. The priest was so emaciated that he looked like a mere shadow of a man: his cheekbones protruded, his eyes were sunken, and he kept crying out in a hoarse voice: "Food, food!" Every time he opened his mouth, a terrible snake would slither out, thrash about for a moment, and then return into his mouth. The young man thought about approaching the priest, but venomous snakes blocked his path. Frightened by what he saw, the traveler stepped back and continued on his way. Soon he came to a large meadow, covered in flowers. In the middle of the meadow stood a table laden with all kinds of food and drink, and around the table sat people, all so pale and thin that they hardly looked human. Their hands were tied to huge ladles, but no matter how they twisted and turned, they couldn’t bring the food to their mouths. It was a terrible torment! They gnashed their teeth from hunger, their eyes burned, and though there was plenty of food around, they couldn’t take a single bite! Learning where the young traveler was headed, they begged him:

- Please, when you reach Old Beelzebub, ask him how long we must endure this torment: sitting hungry before a laden table?

- Alright, I won’t forget to ask about you, - promised Mark the Richman’s son-in-law, and he went on his way.

How long he walked, no one knows, but eventually he reached a fortress with high walls, black as pitch. At the iron gates stood a guard with a club on his shoulder and a saber at his side.

- What are you guarding here with such weapons?

- I’ve been standing guard at these gates for hundreds of years, waiting for my relief. And where are you headed?

- I’m going to the other world to search for a golden ring.

- If that’s the case, please, ask there about me too: how much longer must I stand here?

- Alright, I’ll ask.

Soon the young man reached a castle, also black as pitch. It seemed this was the infernal office and the gathering place for devils. He found only an old she-devil there. She was so bored with loneliness that as soon as she saw the young man, she began to wail:

- Oh, woe is me, woe is me! But it seems I still have a bit of luck, since I’ve been able to see a mortal man.

She seated the young man on a bench and began to ask where he was from and what business had brought him from distant lands to this world of sorrow. Learning of his quest, the old she-devil said to him:

- Wait here until midnight, when Old Beelzebub, the chief devil, who has the power to do evil, will appear. I’ll ask him about everything you want to know.

At midnight, Old Beelzebub appeared, dragging his feet from exhaustion: he had caused much suffering to people that day. The old she-devil hid the mortal well, then pretended to be gravely ill, collapsed on the floor, and moaned as if her last hour had come.

- What’s happened to you? - asked Beelzebub as he entered. - Has someone wronged you, or are you ill?

- I’m ill from grief and frustration because you still haven’t brought me Mark the Richman’s ring. I’ve told you so many times, but it goes in one ear and out the other.

- Is it worth grieving over such a trifle? I’d go fetch the ring right now, but it’s far, all the way to the very Pit of Hell. I’ll bring it tomorrow night. It’s good you reminded me, or I’d have forgotten, running around all day like a madman.

- Oh, oh, horned Beelzebub! I’ve been suffering here for centuries, and I still don’t understand how things work in this infernal kingdom.

- What don’t you understand?

- How many times have I been to the Salt Pond in the stone gorge, and you’ve never told me who that man is, sitting day and night in the water, unable to take a single drop into his mouth?

- He was a great rich man on earth.

- And what did he do to deserve such punishment?

- He lived in luxury, rolling in food and wine like butter in sour cream, while he mercilessly beat his faithful servants for no reason, locked them in the cold, and denied them food and drink for days. Now it’s his turn to learn the price of suffering, to taste the fire of thirst.

- And how long will he suffer like this?

- Forever and ever.

- And what about those two barrels on the Yellow Field? Wine overflows from one, while the other dries out in the sun?

- It means there are poor and rich on earth. Some have so much wealth they don’t know what to do with it, while others scrape by from hand to mouth, enduring hardship all their lives.

- And why, when someone tries to pour wine from the full barrel into the empty one, not a single drop comes out?

- Because the well-fed don’t understand the hungry, and no matter how much the poor cry out to the rich for help, they’ll get nothing. A rich man would sooner wring the soul out of a poor man than give him a penny.

- And who is that priest lying in the Wormwood Ravine, neither alive nor dead from hunger, always crying out: "Food, food!"?

- That’s Priest Kalach, who on earth rode on the backs of the poor, skinned the living and the dead, and now he’s experiencing what it was like for those whose bread he snatched from their mouths.
- And why is there a snake sitting in his mouth?

- Because he was foul-mouthed and a liar. On earth, he had not a human tongue but a serpent's, and so he remains now.

- And how long will he suffer like this?

- For all eternity.

- Tell me more, for what sins are people punished in the Hungry Meadow, dying of hunger and thirst while sitting at a table laden with food and drink?

- They are punished because it never occurs to anyone to feed their neighbor, so that their neighbor might feed them in return. Life is only worth something when people help one another.

- And who is that man standing guard at the gates of hell?

- He, too, was once a rich man who committed much evil while living on earth. In three or four days, I will transfer him to another torment, and his place will be taken by Mark the Wealthy.

On the following night, Beelzebub the Ancient brought the ring with Mark the Wealthy's seal. The young man took it and set off on his return journey.

Soon he reached the gates of hell. The guard spotted him from afar and shouted:

- What have you learned about me? How much longer must I stand here?

- In three or four days, Mark the Wealthy will come to take your place. Shortly after, he reached the Hungry Meadow, where the hungry and thirsty awaited him with open mouths.

- Good lad, what did Satan say about our fate?

- Good people, as long as each of you thinks only of your own belly, you will suffer hunger and thirst. Fill your ladles and feed one another, or you will not survive.

From that moment on, they began to feed one another: those who fed others well were also fed well, while those who were lazy in filling their ladles received less. New dishes and drinks appeared endlessly on the tables, and they lived like brothers, forgetting the torments of hunger and thirst.

Meanwhile, the young man continued on his way and soon reached the lake where the boyar was suffering from thirst.

- What news have you brought me?

- Sad news, boyar. I heard that your torment will be eternal, as punishment for the injustices you committed against people on earth.

The young man journeyed on, walking and walking until he finally arrived home. When Mark the Wealthy saw that his son-in-law had returned alive and well, and even brought the ring with the seal, he nearly burst with frustration and fear. Finding no fault, he began to question his son-in-law about where he had been and what he had seen.

- Well, you know how it is on the road—you see and hear all sorts of things. At the gates of hell, I saw a guard with a club on his shoulder and a saber at his side; he’s waiting for you to take his place.

- Me?!

- That's what he said.

- No one in my family has ever been a guard. And of all places—at the gates of hell! I’ll go see for myself, and if this is a lie, if you’re trying to mock me, you won’t escape the noose. Mark the Wealthy prepared for the journey and followed his son-in-law's path. As he approached the gates of hell, the guard shouted from afar:

- Stop, hey, stop! Who are you, and where are you headed?

- I am Mark the Wealthy.

- If so, come here.

Mark approached, and the guard said:

- Here, hold my club, saber, clothes, and boots.

Before Mark could understand what was happening, the guard thrust everything into his hands and vanished. The clothes dressed him, the belts tightened; Mark felt his heels burning and found himself in the boots. In an instant, he was dressed, armed to the teeth, and fixed in place. For many years, he guarded the gates of hell, never resting day or night, and perhaps he still guards them, unless someone else has replaced him.

Meanwhile, the son of Jonah the Poor, having taken possession of all of Mark the Wealthy's property, divided it among his brothers and all the other poor people.

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