DR. DODIDDILY AND THE DEE DOT'S

WELCOME YOU TO THE WORLD AROUND US.

WHICH IS BASED FOR PROTECTION INSIDE

Gosh how different the Russia of today is to the USSR I used to know a child 70 + years ago.

She is still big and beautiful even though very cold in most part having flown over her quite a few times now.

Wow this is wonderful, I do love making these web sites they are so fulfilling and I hope you all love what I'm doing.

Novorossiysk Governorate of Russian Empire. Its central city was Dnipropetrovsk, which was briefly renamed "Novorossiysk" during the reign of Paul I

Amazing facts and figures, thank you POMAH .

<"1800 Novoros gov" by Роман Днепр - Own work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:1800_Novoros_gov.jpg#/media/File:1800_Novoros_gov.jpg>

Hello! Hello! Hello!

This is another one of my most favourite Russin playlist from You tube.

Brilliant, Winnie the Pooh

Gosh I've got to say it again,  this truely is one of my favourite versions of Pooh Bear ever.

  I love the little songs and Piglet knocks spots off all the others.

Dr. Dodiddily and the Dee Dot's -

ALL TRUE TALES

 THIS TALE COMES FROM RUSSIA AND I FOUND IT IN THE  "SEARCH  LIGHT"  MONTHLY OF 1892 -93.  THE TITLE GRABBED MY ATTENTION RIGHT AWAY AND THEN WHEN I READ IT THROUGH I THOUGHT "WOW THIS IS DEFINITELY INTERESTING."   I JUST HOPE YOU AGREE WITH ME.

THE GRAVE - DIGGER'S DAUGHTER.

By Leopold Von Sacher-Masoch

PART ONE

          A Rattle of musketry came from the direction of the village. The old grave-digger, Boloski wakened by the noise, sat up on his miserable pallet, listened a moment to the sharp, quick reports then called allowed - "Milena ! Milena !"

"Coming father, coming ! she answered, and already her feet showed themselves upon the rungs of the ladder which led from the loft.

"Did you hear them, Milena ?" he cried; "the sounds of the gun shots ? They are fighting in the village." A violent attack of coughing interrupted his words, and another rattling volley. Milena had descended just as she quitted her couch of straw, -- a young girl, tall and vigorous.

"It is true, then !" she said, leaping the last steps -- "it has come at last ?"

"What my child ?" demanded the sick one.

"The Revolution has broken out tonight, which has been expected so long "

"Yes, and a great misfortune it is too," mumbled Boloski, and he crouched again upon his couch. Milena, meanwhile, hurriedly arrayed herself in a wadded petticoat and her father's long boots, Binding a scarlet handkerchief about her abundant locks, she went out to learn what was passing.

          The cemetery was situated upon a hill, surrounded by a low earthen wall, with the hut of the grave-digger standing at its gate. it was an excellent post of observation,  yet Milena did not stop there, but passed on into the darkness, beneath the bare branches of the willows, upon which the ravens were already croaking, and with a single careless glance upon the piles of tombs, with their leaning crosses. Below in the heart of the valley, the village had delivered itself up to the strife and bloodshed, yet here upon the sacred ground all was peace. A large close rose in the middle of the inclosure, to which was attached the figure of the dying Saviour, -- icicles pendant from the thorns which covered his crown and from the nails which pieced his hands and feet.

          Milena listened intently, -- not a murmur for the moment broke the stillness.  She stopped and gazed up at the heavens, the vast blue vault which seemed to her a satin canopy, retained in place by the golden nails which sparkled and scintillated above her, while beyond, on the other side of the forest, rose the red disc of the rising moon.  All at once a gliding, crouching form passed her like a flash, a pair of glowing eyeballs glared into her own.

 "A wolf !" she murmured, and, with an energetic movement, wherein shone all the savage strength of this child of nature, she seized a stone from the neighbouring wall and hurled it forward. A low howl responded to the stroke of her arm, and the hungry beast was gone as it had come - a shadow - through those files of tombs and spectral crosses.

          A fresh crash of musketry sounded in the distance, another and still another. Milena traversed at a run the slope of the road which led to the village, and, at the beginning of the first houses, met a neighbour and a wounded man, the wife, whom she knew well, supporting her husband, whose blood dyed the snow at every step.

"What is the matter ?" demanded Milena.

"The peasants of our village," replied the man, "and of Mikonloff are struggling with the insurgents down by the cafe and the little wood. All goes well, however; the scythes are sharp and do their mowing; the heads fall like grain !"

"So !" said Milena; and she aided the peasant woman to place her husband in his bed and to bind his wounds. Then she retraced her steps to tranquillise her father.

An hour later a loud knocking sounded upon the gate of the cemetery.

"See what it is, Milena," said the grave-digger again; and Milena, obeying the command, opened the wicket obstructed by frost, to find before it a row of sledges encompassed by horsemen, the barrels of their muskets and the blades of their sickles sparkling in the rays of the moon.

"Come, open the gate, old mole ?" shouted a voice from the crowd; "Open the gate and open quickly. We bring you a score of distinguished guests ?"

"But I want no guests," replied Boloski from the interior. "I am ill, as you know well,  I dare not go out in a night like this."

"Ill or no," cried the voice again, "the work must be done.

"Well bury them yourself, then." 

"We cannot - we have not the time."

"In that case," said Milena, brusquely, shutting the wicket end to the discussion, "t'is I who shall bury them for you." And she went out to open the gate for the four loaded sledges, bearing the dead bodies of the insurgents, and to the conquerors, armed with their bloody sickles and gleaming scythes. "Throw them there upon the snow," said she to the mayor of the village, who greeted her as she appeared with a friendly nod; "I'll start the business for you at the rising of the sun."

"No," said the Mayor, "that would not be Christian - the wolves and ravens are already waiting to do their work - they must be buried now. You will receive for the job the usual sum; in addition to that two quarts of brandy, and, for your back, a new **pelisse. Is it a bargain ?"

PART TWO AFTER THIS SMALL VIDEO.

"A bargain," she answered. "I'll begin when you say"; and with arms akimbo and robust fists upon her hips, she regarded the defile of peasants and sledges rapidly discharging their score of dead. Her beautiful face remained impassive;  pity seemed a stranger to those hard features, and yet what charm, what passion in those great black eyes, in that sensitive nose, in that firm, severe mouth!

The mayor counted the money into her hand, put the bottle of brandy on the snow beside her, and the sledges slowly drew on again, the peasants following in their wake as silently as they had come. "But the pelisse ?" demanded Milena.

"Tomorrow, when the work is done." And the mayor also quitted the cemetery, and Milena took up her spade, and with a great swallow of brandy commenced to dig the first trench, crooning as she worked the words of an ancient grave-diggers song.  The sad melody, monotonous and slow as befitted the song of the dead, was accompanied by the dull ringing of the iron upon the frozen ground and the distance howling of the hungry wolves. Another swallow of brandy, another swing of her muscular arms, and so it went on till the trench was done, and Milena, waiting a moment to regain her breath, gazed on the corpses.

"Twas doubtless you," said she to an old man, with long white curls, clad in a rich cloak, trimmed with **zibeline, and in whose girdle sparkled a superb **yataghan," twas doubtless you who led the band. Well this time too, you shall go before !"   And she took him in her arms like a little child, descended into the trench herself and gently laid him on the ground. With the others she was not so ceremonious, an arm a leg, a shoulder - anything, in short, that helped to lift and toss them to their bed in the ditch, served her purpose.

"But God help me !" she cried, suddenly, as before her in the snow lay stretched a bleeding trunk. "God help me if it isn't the Lord of Kamiez, that vile Turk and the oppressor of the poor !" And she struck the face of the head that lay beside the trunk a blow which sent it rolling like a ball to the depths below. Another swallow of brandy, a new body in the hole, then the grave securely closed, Milena was ready to begin the second.

In the meantime, the moon, rising higher and higher in the heavens, wrapped in its wan light the silent graves, the crucifix, the roofs of the now sleeping village, and the and the vast and soundless plain.

     And again, the second trench ready, the grave-digger's daughter approached another group of dead. The face of the first one was covered with blood which had run from a cut in the head. At the same instant she heard a sigh - a long, shuddering breath that came from this body. Milena drew back hastily ; courageous as she was, she felt her hair rise upon her head.; and soon she saw that rigid body begin to stir.

He still lived, then. There was no longer a doubt of it! She caught him in her arms in order to succour him, rubbing with snow the face begrimed with blood and powder, and chafing his frozen hands. In a moment his eyes unclosed.

"Save me, Milena," he moaned, stretching his arms piteously towards her.

She pushed him from her brusquely, thrust him from her and rose to her feet. "Save you!" she said, with a calm more terrible than either rage or the joy of a glutted vengeance - "When it is God that had delivered you ito my hands !  You have betrayed me - you now belong to me !

Pray to your God Valerian, perhaps he will be merciful, but from me expect no pardon !"

"You have forgotten then, Milena, forgotten how I loved you !"

"No, I have forgotten nothing; but you, what have you done with all those vows ? You ! Who in spite of everything, left me for another ! I shall not spare you - be sure of that , Valerian, be sure of that !"

"You will not kill me ? groaned the unhappy one.

"Kill you ? No!" she smiled with a glacial irony which made him shudder. "I shall only do my duty - I shall bury you as I received order !"

"Bury me !" cried Valerian, "Bury me living ?"

"Why not ?" Responded Milena, with a burst of cruel laughter. "I must earn the sheepskin for my back which the mayor promised me."

"Have pity Milena, for God's sake have pity !"

"Did you have pity on me," she answered sternly "you who have vowed me to sorrow and to shame ! This for your beautiful love - behold it."  And she seized him by the shoulders and sought to thrust him in; but he with that frightful death before him had risen to his feet, and a furious struggle began between them.  - a hopeless struggle, too, for soon Valerian renounced all thought of wrestling himself from the embrace of this savage creature. From loss of blood his strength was gone from him - he was but a child in her cruel hands.

 "Mercy Milena, I beseech you - mercy !"

She responded with a disdainful foot-thrust which sent him rolling into the gaping hole. A last time he struggled to his feet, his arms outstretched, and clasping her knees with supplicating gesture. But his prayers only rendered her even more ferocious still. She caught up her spade and struck his hands - their grasp relaxed, she struck  again, a second, a third blow - he fell !

And Milena ?      Well Milena with one hand clenched upon her spade, the other doubled upon her hip, stood there and heard him groaning - stood there and contemplated him with cold, fierce eyes and voluptuous pleasure.

"Now," said she, "now, Valerian, are you mine."

Then she began to crumble the earth between her fingers and to fill the ditch, to fill it and stamp it down, as she had filled and stamped the first, her voice firm and as clear as ever, rising always to the chorus of her sinister song, and always accompanied by the sound of the clods falling one upon the other by the ring of the spade, by the cawing crows circling hungrily above the heap of the unburied dead.

And in the East, the first grey lights of the coming morning slowly spread themselves across the heavens, pale and cold as the smile upon the faces of the frozen dead.

The End.

GOODNESS ME, MAY THIS BE A LESSON TO ALL THOSE YOUNG MEN OUT THERE. NEVER TAKE THE DAUGHTER OF A GRAVE-DIGGER AS YOUR GIRLFRIEND AND THEN JILT HER. YOU CAN NEVER TELL WHAT THE FUTURE MAY HAVE INSTORE FOR YOU. XXX

A few of the strange words in text.

**Zibeline can also refer to either the sable (Martes zibellina) or its pelt, which ... Zibeline can also refer to a heavy silk fabric with a twill weave.

**The yatagan or yataghan (from Turkish yatağan) is a type of Ottoman knife or short sabre used from the mid-16th to late 19th centuries.

**pelisse (p -l s ). n.

1. A long cloak or outer robe, usually of fur or with a fur lining.

2. A woman's loose light cloak, often with openings for the arms

I found this information on line, whilst looking for the author of this story. 

Isaac Asimov, Charles G. Waugh & Martin H. Greenberg (eds.) - Best Horror & Supernatural Of The 19th Century (Beaufort, 1983) The book contains the story of The Grave Digger's Daughter.

Leopold Von Sacher-Masoch - The Gravedigger's Daughter: Following the latest bloodshed in the village, young Milena agrees to bury the casualties for her usual fee plus a bottle of brandy and (of course) a new fur coat. Among the corpses she recognises the local squire, "skinflint, robber of widows and orphans, slave-driver of peasants". She contemptuously lops off his head with her shovel. A far worse fate is in store for young Valerian, who betrayed her with another girl, on account of his not being quite dead when she buries him ...

And now for a few little songs, old and new for the children to sing along to. xxx

History of Matryoshka Nesting Dolls