Death and the Maiden

A classic European tale. Found in Gypsy Folk Tales as "Death the Sweetheart", its origins are in the Greek legend of Hades and Persephone, changed to fit the amorous ideals of the Romantic era. The story goes thus:

At the edge of a village lived a comely young maiden utterly alone. She had no husband and all of her kinsolk had died. Because of her misfortune, she was considered cursed by death and because of this the other villagers kept great distance from her. They avoided her, and she in turn avoided them.

One dark rainy night, there was a rapping at her door, and she answered. There stood a weary man. "I am a wanderer, and I have been far in the world. Here will I rest. No further can I go." The maiden was relieved to have company, and told him, "Stay here. I will give thee a mattress to sleep on and victuals and drink too." The wanderer accepted and, when he had finished eating, lay upon the mattress. "Now once again I sleep. It is long since last I slept."

"How long?" asked the maiden.

"Dear maiden, I sleep but one week in every thousand years," he explained.

"Thou jestest, surely. Thou art a roguish fellow," she laughed, but her guest was already asleep.

The next morning he arose and he said, "Thou art a pretty young girl. If thou wilt, I will tarry here the whole week." And she quickly agreed, for she already had grown feelings for the goodly wanderer. He stayed a few nights with the maiden sleeping beside him. Then one night she did rouse him. "Dear man! I dreamt such an evil dream! I dreamt thou hadst grown cold and white, and we drove in a beautiful carriage, drawn by six white doves. Thou didst blow on a mighty horn; then dead folk rose up and went with us... and thou wert their king!"

"That was an evil dream," answered the wanderer. "My beloved, I must go, for not a soul has died this long while in all the world. It is time. I must leave, and you must let me go."

But the girl wept. "Go not away! Bide with me."

"I must go," he answered. "God keep thee."

"If you must leave me, dear man, then tell me... Who art thou?"

"Who knows that secret dies" he said. "Thous askest vainly. I tell thee not who I am."

The maiden wept at his sleeve. "I will suffer everything," she cried. "Only do tell me who thou truly art!"

"Good. Then thou will comest with me," he said. "I am Death."

The maiden shuddered and died.