Sixty Folk-Tales from Exclusively Slavonic Sources
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Title: Sixty Folk-Tales from Exclusively Slavonic Sources
Compiler: Albert Henry Wratislaw
Release date: April 22, 2015 [eBook #48761]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
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Transcriber's note:
Discrepancies between titles in the Table of Contents and in
the main body of the text are preserved as printed. These are
as follows (Table of Contents title first):
_The Wondrous Lads_ and _The Wonderful Boys_.
_The Miraculous Lock_ and _The Wonder-Working Lock_.
_A Vila as a Friend and the Months as Friends_ and
_The Friendship of a Vila and of the Months_.
SIXTY FOLK-TALES FROM EXCLUSIVELY SLAVONIC SOURCES.
Translated, with Brief Introductions and Notes, by
A. H. WRATISLAW, M.A.,
Sometime Fellow and Tutor of Christ's
College, Cambridge; Late Head Master of
Felsted and Bury St. Edmund's Schools;
Corresponding Member of the Royal
Bohemian Society of Sciences.
London:
Elliot Stock, 62, Paternoster Row, E.C.
1889.
PREFACE.
So much interest has lately been awakened in, and centred round,
Folklore, that it needs no apology to lay before the British reader
additional information upon the subject. Interesting enough in
itself, it has been rendered doubly interesting by the rise and
progress of the new science of Comparative Mythology, which has
already yielded considerable results, and promises to yield results
of still greater magnitude, when all the data requisite for a full
and complete induction have been brought under the ken of the
inquirer. The stories of most European races have been laid under
contribution, but those of the Slavonians have, as yet, been only
partially examined. Circumstances have enabled me to make a
considerable addition to what is as yet known of Slavonic Folklore,
although I cannot make any pretence to having exhausted the mine,
or, rather, the many mines, which the various Slavonic races and
tribes possess, and which still, more or less, await the advent of
competent explorers.
In offering to the public a selection of sixty folklore stories
translated from exclusively Slavonic sources, it is but fitting to
give some account of the work from which I have derived them. In
1865, the late K. J. Erben, the celebrated Archivarius of the old
town of Prague, published a 'Citanka,' or reading-book, intended to
enable Bohemians to commence the study of all the numerous Slavonic
dialects, containing 'one hundred simple national tales and stories,
in their original dialects.' To this he appended a vocabulary, with
explanations of words and forms strange to, or divergent from, the
Bohemian, briefly given in the Bohemian language. This vocabulary is
divided into two parts, one illustrating the tales of those
Slavonians who make use of the Cyrillic characters, and belong to
the Orthodox Greek Church; and the other, those of the Catholic and
Protestant Slavonians, who employ alphabets founded on the Latin
characters of the West of Europe. Pan Erben paid special attention
to the preservation of the simple national forms of speech, as taken
down from the lips of the people; and, besides laying printed
collections under contribution, obtained several previously
unpublished stories.
Beginning with his native tongue, the Bohemian language, he passes
on to the closely-allied Moravian and Hungarian-Slovenish (Slovak)
dialects, and then takes the Upper and Lower Lusatian, the former of
which is related to the old Bohemian, while the latter inclines
rather to the Polish language. He next goes on to the Kashubian, a
rapidly-perishing sub-dialect of Polish, and then to the Polish
tongue itself.
Next comes the White Russian, forming a transition from Polish to
Great Russian, whereas the Little Russian in Galicia, the Ukraine,
and South Russia, is more nearly allied to the Bohemian than to the
White Russian. The ancient Russian language, which was also much
allied to the Old Bohemian, is the basis of the present written
Russian, and presents a transition to the Bulgarian, which, in the
north-west, melts into the Serbian, which again, in its Croatian
branch, near Varazdin, approaches most nearly to the Bohemian. The
Illyrian-Slovenish of Carinthia, though, in locality, least distant
from Bohemia, exhibits forms most removed from the Bohemian
language, just as the Upper Lusatian is less allied to the Bohemian
than is the locally-distant Kashubian.
I took up the book, originally, for the purpose for which it was
compiled, viz., that of obtaining an acquaintance with the main
features of all the Slavonic dialects, but found myself tempted, by
the extreme beauty of some of the stories, to translate the major
portion of them. That I do not present a still larger selection to
the reader is due to the fact that so many of the Great Russian
_skazkas_ have been so admirably translated, edited, and illustrated
by my friend--alas! that I must now term him my late friend--Mr.
W. R. S. Ralston, that I have scarcely considered them as coming
within the sphere of the present work.
For an essay on the singular mythical being, _Kurent_, occurring
only in the Serbian tales from Carniola, and as yet unnoticed in any
work on Slavonic mythology, I am indebted to Professor Gregor Krek,
of Grätz, in Styria. This will be found prefixed to the stories
which it illustrates.
I have also prefixed a short introduction, containing various
matters of interest, to each set of tales, as they follow each
other, according to their different languages, dialects, or
sub-dialects.
The table of contents immediately following will give a general view
of the stories and their respective sources, arranged under the
three heads of: (_a_) The Western Slavonians, (_b_) the Eastern
Slavonians, and (_c_) the Southern Slavonians.
CONTENTS.
(N.B.--_Ch_ as _ch_ in _church_.)
_A.--WESTERN SLAVONIANS._
PAGE
BOHEMIAN STORIES 3
I. Long, Broad and Sharpsight (_Dlouhy, Siroky,
Bystrozyakr_). K. J. Erben 4
II. 'The Three Golden Hairs of Grandfather
Allknow' (_Tri zlaté vlasy Deda-Vsheveda_).
K. J. Erben 16
III. Goldenhair (_Zlatovláska_). K. J. Erben 25
IV. Intelligence and Luck (_Rozum a Stesti_).
K. J. Erben 33
V. The Jezinkas (_Jezinky_). K. J. Erben 36
VI. The Wood-Lady (_Lesní zenka_). Bozena Nemcova 40
VII. George with the Goat (_Jirka s kozú_). K. J.
Erben 46
MORAVIAN STORIES 51
VIII. Godmother Death (_Smrt kmotrenka_). B. M.
Kulda, 'Moravian National Stories,' p. 573 52
IX. The Four Brothers (_Ctvero bratrí_). B. M.
Kulda, 'Moravian National Stories,' p. 758 55
HUNGARIAN-SLOVENISH STORIES 62
X. The Three Lemons (_Tri citroni_). J. Rimavski,
'Slovenish Stories,' i. 37 63
XI. The Sun-Horse (_Slncoví kuon_). J. Rimavski,
'Slovenish Stories,' i. 27 75
XII. The Golden Spinster (_Zlatá priadka_). A. H.
Skultety and P. Dobshinsky, 'Slovenish
Stories,' i. 350 82
XIII. Are You Angry? (_Ci se hnevace?_). A. H.
Skultety and P. Dobshinsky, 'Slovenish
Stories,' i. 279 89
UPPER AND LOWER LUSATIAN STORIES 92
XIV. Right Always Remains Right (_Prawo predco
prawo vostanje_). K. Smoler 92
XV. Little Red Hood (_Cerwjenawka_). H. Kopf,
the 'Luzican,' 1863, p. 42 97
KASHUBIAN STORY 101
XVI. Cudgel, Bestir Yourself! (_Kjiku resze se_).
Dr. Florian Cenova 101
POLISH STORIES 107
XVII. Prince Unexpected (_O Królewiczu Niespodzianku_).
A. J. Glinski, 'Polish Story-Teller,' i. 121 108
XVIII. The Spirit of a Buried Man (_Duch pogrzebanego_).
K. W. Wóycicki, 'Popular Tales' (Klechdy),
ii. 66 121
XIX. The Pale Maiden (_Blada panna_). K. Balinski,
'Tales of the People,' p. 72 125
XX. The Plague-Swarm (_Homen_). K. W. Wóycicki,
'Popular Tales,' i. 130 127
_B.--EASTERN SLAVONIANS._
WHITE RUSSIAN STORIES 131
XXI. The Frost, the Sun, and the Wind (_Moroz,
Solntse i Vyeter_). A. Afanasief, 'National
Russian Stories,' i. 1 132
XXII. Little Rolling-Pea (_Pakatsigaroshak_).
A. Afanasief, 'National Russian Stories,'
iii. 2, 7 132
XXIII. The Wondrous Lads (_Chudetsnye Malchiki_).
A. Afanasief, 'National Russian Stories,'
iii. 25 138
LITTLE RUSSIAN STORIES FROM GALICIA 142
XXIV. God Knows how to Punish Man (_Bôg znae, chim
cholovyeka karati mae_). M. Tyemyak in the
'Vyenok,' ii. 332 143
XXV. The Good Children (_Dobri dyeti_). Ja. Balagur,
in the 'Vyenok,' ii. 338 146
XXVI. The Devil and the Gipsy (_Chort i Tsigan_). Ja.
Balagur, in the 'Vyenok,' ii. 370 150
XXVII. God and the Devil (_Bôg i Chort_). P. A.
Lavrovski 153
LITTLE RUSSIAN STORIES FROM SOUTH RUSSIA 156
XXVIII. The Beautiful Damsel and the Wicked Old Woman
(_O Krasavitsye i o zloi babye_). P. Kulish,
'Memoirs of Southern Russia,' ii. 10 157
XXIX. The Snake and the Princess (_Uzh i Tsarevna_).
P. Kulish, 'Memoirs of Southern Russia,' ii. 14 159
XXX. Transformation into a Nightingale and a Cuckoo
(_Prevrastenye v Solovya i kukushku_). P. Kulish,
'Memoirs of Southern Russia,' ii. 33 160
XXXI. Transmigration of the Soul (_Peresedenye dushi_).
P. Kulish, 'Memoirs about Southern Russia,'
ii. 34 161
XXXII. The Wizard (_Znakhor_). P. Kulish, 'Memoirs of
Southern Russia,' ii. 162
GREAT RUSSIAN STORIES 164
XXXIII. The Lime-Tree (_Lipa_). J. A. Kuljakof, 'Great
Russian Stories,' i. 132 164
XXXIV. Ilya of Murom and Nightingale the Robber (_Ilya
Muromets i Solovei-razboinik_). A. Afanasief,
'National Russian Stories,' i. 53 167
_C.--SOUTHERN SLAVONIANS._
BULGARIAN STORIES 175
XXXV. The Lord God as an Old Man (_Dyedo-Gospod_). G. S.
Rakovski, the 'Pokazalets,' Odessa, 1859, i. 137 176
XXXVI. Bulgarian Hospitality (_Blugarsko Gostopriyemstvo_).
Konstantin Pavlof 179
XXXVII. Cinderella (_Pepelezhka_). Konstantin Pavlof 181
XXXVIII. The Golden Apples and the Nine Peahens (_Zlata
yabluka i devat paunky_). Konstantin Pavlof 186
XXXIX. The Language of Animals (_Gadinski yazyk_).
Konstantin Pavlof 199
SERBIAN STORIES 204
XL. The Lame Fox (_Shantava Lisitsa_). The 'Podunavka,'
1848, Nos. 48, 49 205
XLI. The Sons' Oath to their Dying Father (_Ochina
Zakletva_). Vuk St. Karadsich, 'Serbian
National Tales,' p. 109 217
XLII. The Wonderful Hair (_Chudovata Dlaka_). Vuk St.
Karadsich, 'Serbian National Tales,' p. 154 221
XLIII. The Dragon and the Prince (_Azhdaya i Tsarev
Sin_). Vuk St. Karadsich, 'Serbian National
Tales,' p. 54 224
XLIV. Fate (_Usud_). Vuk St. Karadsich, 'Serbian
National Tales,' p. 89 231
SERBIAN STORIES FROM BOSNIA 239
XLV. The Birdcatcher (_Ptichar_). J. F. Jukih, in the
'Bosnian Friend,' i. 114 239
XLVI. The Two Brothers (_Bratya_). J. F. Jukih, in the
'Bosnian Friend,' i. 171 246
SERBIAN STORIES FROM CARNIOLA 252
XLVII. The Origin of Man (_Odkuda chovyek_). The 'Neven,'
1858, p. 60 254
XLVIII. God's Cock (_Bozhji Kokot_). The 'Neven,' 1858,
p. 61 254
XLIX. Kurent the Preserver (_Kurent Spasitelj_). The
'Neven,' 1858, p. 74 256
L. Kurent and Man (_Kurent i chovyek_). The 'Neven,'
1858, p. 75 257
LI. The Hundred-Leaved Rose (_Ruzha Steperitsa_). The
'Neven,' 1858, p. 105 261
CROATIAN STORIES 265
LII. Kraljevitch Marko (_Kraljevich Marko_). M.
Krachmanov Valjavets, 'National Stories,' p. 64 266
LIII. The Daughter of the King of the Vilas (_Vilinskoga
kralya kcher_). M. Krachmanov Valjavets, 'National
Stories,' p. 273 278
LIV. The Miraculous Lock (_Chudotvorni Lokot_). M.
Krachmanov Valjavets, 'National Stories,' p. 186 284
LV. The She-Wolf (_Vuchitsa_). M. Krachmanov Valjavets,
'National Stories,' p. 240 290
LVI. Milutin (_Milutin_). M. Krachmanov Valjavets,
'National Stories,' p. 131 291
ILLYRIAN-SLOVENISH STORIES 297
LVII. A Vila as a Friend and the Months as Friends (_Vila
priyatlitsa in mestsi priyatli_). The 'Novice,'
1854, No. 6 298
LVIII. The Fisherman's Son (_Ribchev Sin_). The 'Slovenia,'
1848, Nos. 46, 47; L. Pintar 301
LIX. The White Snake (_Bela kacha_). The 'Slovenska
behela' (_Slavonic Bee_), 1850, p. 4 312
LX. The Vila (_Vila_). The 'Novice,' 1853, No. 76 314
WESTERN SLAVONIANS.
_BOHEMIAN STORIES._
These stories are translated from the language of the Slavonic
inhabitants of nearly three-fourths of Bohemia, the 'Czechs,' as the
Poles write the word, or 'Chekhs,' if we adopt the nearest
orthographical approximation to it that the English alphabet allows
us to make. This nation had an early literary development,
commencing before the foundation of the University of Prague
(_Praha_) by the Emperor Charles IV. in 1348. For a long time after
that epoch the Bohemians could justly claim the title of the best
educated nation in Europe. They produced a prose writer--Thomas of
Stitny, whose first original work was published in 1377--whose equal
is not to be found in English literature till the age of Queen
Elizabeth. In the Thirty Years' War (1620) the people and literature
of Bohemia were crushed for more than two centuries, the population
being reduced during that terrible war from over four millions to
eight hundred thousand.
The Bohemian language itself is a very remarkable one. It possesses
both accent and quantity independent of each other, like Latin and
Greek. Thus it is difficult for a foreigner to read aloud or to
speak, for, if he attends carefully to the accent, he is liable to
neglect quantity, and if he attends to quantity, he is likely to
slur over the proper accentuation of words. It, as well as Polish,
employs a sibillated _r_, which in many words is difficult to
pronounce. It also writes semi-vowels, especially _r_, without a
vowel; so that many syllables appear as if there were no vowel in
them. But this it is sufficient to notice once for all, as it causes
no real difficulty in pronunciation.
The fairy-tales relating to the kindly or malevolent superhuman
inhabitants of the woods are peculiar and striking. In No. 5 these
imaginary beings are represented under the latter, and in No. 6
under the former aspect.
_Two_ waters, one of death and the other of life, are found in the
Bohemian stories, just as in the Russian ones--a point wherein the
Slavonic tales regularly differ from those of Western Europe, which
only acknowledge the water of life. As Mr. Ralston remarks ('Songs
of the Russian People,' p. 97): 'When the "dead water" is applied to
the wounds of a corpse, it heals them, but before the dead body can
be brought to life, it is necessary to sprinkle it with the "living
water."'
I.--LONG, BROAD, AND SHARPSIGHT.
There was a king, who was already old, and had but one son. Once
upon a time he called this son to him, and said to him, 'My dear
son! you know that old fruit falls to make room for other fruit. My
head is already ripening, and maybe the sun will soon no longer
shine upon it; but before you bury me, I should like to see your
wife, my future daughter. My son, marry!' The prince said, 'I would
gladly, father, do as you wish; but I have no bride, and don't know
any.' The old king put his hand into his pocket, took out a golden
key and showed it to his son, with the words, 'Go up into the tower,
to the top story, look round there, and then tell me which you
fancy.' The prince went without delay. Nobody within the memory of
man had been up there, or had ever heard what was up there.
When he got up to the last story, he saw in the ceiling a little
iron door like a trap-door. It was closed. He opened it with the
golden key, lifted it, and went up above it. There there was a large
circular room. The ceiling was blue like the sky on a clear night,
and silver stars glittered on it; the floor was a carpet of green
silk, and around in the wall were twelve high windows in golden
frames, and in each window on crystal glass was a damsel painted
with the colours of the rainbow, with a royal crown on her head, in
each window a different one in a different dress, each handsomer
than the other, and it was a wonder that the prince did not let his
eyes dwell upon them. When he had gazed at them with astonishment,
the damsels began to move as if they were alive, looked down upon
him, smiled, and did everything but speak.
Now the prince observed that one of the twelve windows was covered
with a white curtain; he drew the curtain to see what was behind it.
There there was a damsel in a white dress, girt with a silver
girdle, with a crown of pearls on her head; she was the most
beautiful of all, but was sad and pale, as if she had risen from the
grave. The prince stood long before the picture, as if he had made a
discovery, and as he thus gazed, his heart pained him, and he cried,
'This one will I have, and no other.' As he said the words the
damsel bowed her head, blushed like a rose, and that instant all the
pictures disappeared.
When he went down and related to his father what he had seen and
which damsel he had selected, the old king became sad, bethought
himself, and said, 'You have done ill, my son, in uncovering what
was curtained over, and have placed yourself in great danger on
account of those words. That damsel is in the power of a wicked
wizard, and kept captive in an iron castle; of all who have
attempted to set her free, not one has hitherto returned. But what's
done cannot be undone; the plighted word is a law. Go! try your
luck, and return home safe and sound!'
The prince took leave of his father, mounted his horse, and rode
away in search of his bride. It came to pass that he rode through a
vast forest, and through the forest he rode on and on till he lost
the road. And as he was wandering with his horse in thickets and
amongst rocks and morasses, not knowing which way to turn, he heard
somebody shout behind him, 'Hi! stop!' The prince looked round, and
saw a tall man hastening after him. 'Stop and take me with you, and
take me into your service, and you won't regret it!' 'Who are you,'
said the prince, 'and what can you do?' 'My name is Long, and I can
extend myself. Do you see a bird's nest in that pine yonder? I will
bring you the nest down without having to climb up.'
Long then began to extend himself; his body grew rapidly till it was
as tall as the pine; he then reached the nest, and in a moment
contracted himself again and gave it to the prince. 'You know your
business well, but what's the use of birds' nests to me, if you
can't conduct me out of this forest?' 'Ahem! that's an easy matter,'
said Long, and began to extend himself till he was thrice as high as
the highest fir in the forest, looked round, and said: 'Here on this
side we have the nearest way out of the forest.' He then contracted
himself, took the horse by the bridle, and before the prince had any
idea of it, they were beyond the forest. Before them was a long and
wide plain, and beyond the plain tall gray rocks, like the walls of
a large town, and mountains overgrown with forest trees.
'Yonder, sir, goes my comrade!' said Long, and pointed suddenly to
the plain; 'you should take him also into your service; I believe he
would serve you well.' 'Shout to him, and call him hither, that I
may see what he is good for.' 'It is a little too far, sir,' said
Long; 'he would hardly hear me, and it would take a long time before
he came, because he has a great deal to carry. I'll jump after him
instead.' Then Long again extended himself to such a height that his
head plunged into the clouds, made two or three steps, took his
comrade by the arm, and placed him before the prince. He was a
short, thick-set fellow, with a paunch like a sixty-four gallon
cask. 'Who are you?' demanded the prince, 'and what can you do?' 'My
name, sir, is Broad; I can widen myself.' 'Give me a specimen.'
'Ride quick, sir, quick, back into the forest!' cried Broad, as he
began to blow himself out.
The prince didn't understand why he was to ride away; but seeing
that Long made all haste to get into the forest, he spurred his
horse, and rode full gallop after him. It was high time that he did
ride away, or else Broad would have squashed him, horse and all, as
his paunch rapidly grew in all directions; it filled everything
everywhere, just as if a mountain had rolled up. Broad then ceased
to blow himself out, and took himself in again, raising such a wind
that the trees in the forest bowed and bent, and became what he was
at first. 'You've played me a nice trick,' said the prince, 'but I
shan't find such a fellow every day; come with me.'
They proceeded further. When they approached the rocks, they met a
man who had his eyes bandaged with a handkerchief. 'Sir, this is our
third comrade,' said Long, 'you ought to take him also into your
service. I'm sure he won't eat his victuals for naught.' 'Who are
you?' the prince asked him, 'and why are your eyes bandaged? You
don't see your way!' 'No, sir, quite the contrary! It is just
because I see too well that I am obliged to bandage my eyes; I see
with bandaged eyes just as well as others with unbandaged eyes; and
if I unbandage them I look everything through and through, and when
I gaze sharply at anything, it catches fire and bursts into flame,
and what can't burn splits into pieces. For this reason my name is
Sharpsight.' He then turned to a rock opposite, removed the bandage,
and fixed his flaming eyes upon it; the rock began to crackle,
pieces flew on every side, and in a very short time nothing of it
remained but a heap of sand, on which something glittered like fire.
Sharpsight went to fetch it, and brought it to the prince. It was
pure gold.
'Heigho! you're a fellow that money can't purchase!' said the
prince. 'He is a fool who wouldn't make use of your services, and if
you have such good sight, look and tell me whether it is far to the
iron castle, and what is now going on there?' 'If you rode by
yourself, sir,' answered Sharpsight, 'maybe you wouldn't get there
within a year; but with us you'll arrive to-day--they're just
getting supper ready for us.' 'And what is my bride doing?'
'An iron lattice is before her,
In a tower that's high
She doth sit and sigh,
A wizard watch and ward keeps o'er her.'
The prince cried, 'Whoever is well disposed, help me to set her
free!' They all promised to help him. They guided him among the gray
rocks through the breach that Sharpsight had made in them with his
eyes, and further and further on through rocks, through high
mountains and deep forests, and wherever there was any obstacle in
the road, forthwith it was removed by the three comrades. And when
the sun was declining towards the west, the mountains began to
become lower, the forests less dense, and the rocks concealed
themselves amongst the heath; and when it was almost on the point of
setting, the prince saw not far before him an iron castle; and when
it was actually setting, he rode by an iron bridge to the gate, and
as soon as it had set, up rose the iron bridge of itself, the gate
closed with a single movement, and the prince and his companions
were captives in the iron castle.
When they had looked round in the court, the prince put his horse up
in the stable, where everything was ready for it, and then they went
into the castle. In the court, in the stable, in the castle hall,
and in the rooms, they saw in the twilight many richly-dressed
people, gentlemen and servants, but not one of them stirred--they
were all turned to stone. They went through several rooms, and came
into the supper-room. This was brilliantly lighted up, and in the
midst was a table, and on it plenty of good meats and drinks, and
covers were laid for four persons. They waited and waited, thinking
that someone would come; but when nobody came for a long time, they
sat down and ate and drank what the palate fancied.
When they had done eating, they looked about to find where to sleep.
Thereupon the door flew open unexpectedly all at once, and into the
room came the wizard; a bent old man in a long black garb, with a
bald head, a gray beard down to his knees, and three iron hoops
instead of a girdle. By the hand he led a beautiful, very beautiful
damsel, dressed in white; she had a silver girdle round her waist,
and a crown of pearls on her head, but was pale and sad, as if she
had risen from the grave. The prince recognised her at once, sprang
forward, and went to meet her; but before he could utter a word the
wizard addressed him: 'I know for what you have come; you want to
take the princess away. Well, be it so! Take her, if you can keep
her in sight for three nights, so that she doesn't vanish from you.
If she vanishes, you will be turned into stone as well as your three
servants; like all who have come before you.' He then motioned the
princess to a seat and departed.
The prince could not take his eyes off the princess, so beautiful
was she. He began to talk to her, and asked her all manner of
questions, but she neither answered nor smiled, nor looked at anyone
any more than if she had been of marble. He sat down by her, and
determined not to sleep all night long lest she should vanish from
him, and, to make surer, Long extended himself like a strap, and
wound himself round the whole room along the wall; Broad posted
himself in the doorway, swelled himself up, and stopped it up so
tight that not even a mouse could have slipped through; while
Sharpsight placed himself against a pillar in the midst of the room
on the look-out. But after a time they all began to nod, fell
asleep, and slept the whole night, just as if the wizard had thrown
them into the water.
In the morning, when it began to dawn, the prince was the first to
wake, but--as if a knife had been thrust into his heart--the
princess was gone! He forthwith awoke his servants, and asked what
was to be done. 'Never mind, sir,' said Sharpsight, and looked
sharply out through the window, 'I see her already. A hundred miles
hence is a forest, in the midst of the forest an old oak, and on the
top of the oak an acorn, and she is that acorn.' Long immediately
took him on his shoulders, extended himself, and went ten miles at a
step, while Sharpsight showed him the way.
No more time elapsed than would have been wanted to move once round
a cottage before they were back again, and Long delivered the acorn
to the prince. 'Sir, let it fall on the ground.' The prince let it
fall, and that moment the princess stood beside him. And when the
sun began to show itself beyond the mountains, the folding doors
flew open with a crash, and the wizard entered the room and smiled
spitefully; but when he saw the princess he frowned, growled, and
bang! one of the iron hoops which he wore splintered and sprang off
him. He then took the damsel by the hand and led her away.
The whole day after the prince had nothing to do but walk up and
down the castle, and round about the castle, and look at the
wonderful things that were there. It was everywhere as if life had
been lost in a single moment. In one hall he saw a prince, who held
in both hands a brandished sword, as if he intended to cleave
somebody in twain; but the blow never fell: he had been turned into
stone. In one chamber was a knight turned into stone, just as if he
had been fleeing from some one in terror, and, stumbling on the
threshold, had taken a downward direction, but not fallen. Under the
chimney sat a servant, who held in one hand a piece of roast meat,
and with the other lifted a mouthful towards his mouth, which never
reached it; when it was just in front of his mouth, he had also been
turned to stone. Many others he saw there turned to stone, each in
the position in which he was when the wizard said, 'Be turned into
stone.' He likewise saw many fine horses turned to stone, and in the
castle and round the castle all was desolate and dead; there were
trees, but without leaves; there were meadows, but without grass;
there was a river, but it did not flow; nowhere was there even a
singing bird, or a flower, the offspring of the ground, or a white
fish in the water.
Morning, noon, and evening the prince and his companions found good
and abundant entertainment in the castle; the viands came of
themselves, the wine poured itself out. After supper the folding
doors opened again, and the wizard brought in the princess for the
prince to guard. And although they all determined to exert
themselves with all their might not to fall asleep, yet it was of no
use, fall asleep again they did. And when the prince awoke at dawn
and saw the princess had vanished, he jumped up and pulled
Sharpsight by the arm, 'Hey! get up, Sharpsight, do you know where
the princess is?' He rubbed his eyes, looked, and said, 'I see her.
There's a mountain 200 miles off, and in the mountain a rock, and in
the rock a precious stone, and she's that precious stone. If Long
carries me thither, we shall obtain her.'
Long took him at once on his shoulders, extended himself, and went
twenty miles at a step. Sharpsight fixed his flaming eyes on the
mountain, the mountain crumbled, and the rock in it split into a
thousand pieces, and amongst them glittered the precious stone. They
took it up and brought it to the prince, and when he let it fall on
the ground, the princess again stood there. When afterwards the
wizard came and saw her there, his eyes flashed with spite, and
bang! again an iron hoop cracked upon him and flew off. He growled
and led the princess out of the room.
That day all was again as it had been the day before. After supper
the wizard brought the princess in again, looked the prince keenly
in the face, and scornfully uttered the words, 'It will be seen
who's a match for whom; whether you are victorious or I,' and with
that he departed. This day they all exerted themselves still more to
avoid going to sleep. They wouldn't even sit down, they wanted to
walk about all night long, but all in vain; they were bewitched; one
fell asleep after the other as he walked, and the princess vanished
away from them.
In the morning the prince again awoke earliest, and when he didn't
see the princess, woke Sharpsight. 'Hey! get up, Sharpsight! look
where the princess is!' Sharpsight looked out for a long time. 'Oh
sir,' says he, 'she is a long way off, a long way off! Three hundred
miles off is a black sea, and in the midst of the sea a shell on
the bottom, and in the shell is a gold ring, and she's the ring. But
never mind! we shall obtain her, but to-day Long must take Broad
with him as well; we shall want him.' Long took Sharpsight on one
shoulder, and Broad on the other, and went thirty miles at a step.
When they came to the black sea, Sharpsight showed him where he must
reach into the water for the shell. Long extended his hand as far as
he could, but could not reach the bottom.
'Wait, comrades! wait only a little and I'll help you,' said Broad,
and swelled himself out as far as his paunch would stretch; he then
lay down on the shore and drank. In a very short time the water fell
so low that Long easily reached the bottom and took the shell out of
the sea. Out of it he extracted the ring, took his comrades on his
shoulders, and hastened back. But on the way he found it a little
difficult to run with Broad, who had half a sea of water inside him,
so he cast him from his shoulder on to the ground in a wide valley.
Thump he went like a sack let fall from a tower, and in a moment the
whole valley was under water like a vast lake. Broad himself barely
crawled out of it.
Meanwhile the prince was in great trouble in the castle. The dawn
began to display itself over the mountains, and his servants had not
returned; the more brilliantly the rays ascended, the greater was
his anxiety; a deadly perspiration came out upon his forehead. Soon
the sun showed itself in the east like a thin strip of flame--and
then with a loud crash the door flew open, and on the threshold
stood the wizard. He looked round the room, and seeing the princess
was not there, laughed a hateful laugh and entered the room. But
just at that moment, pop! the window flew in pieces, the gold ring
fell on the floor, and in an instant there stood the princess again.
Sharpsight, seeing what was going on in the castle, and in what
danger his master was, told Long. Long made a step, and threw the
ring through the window into the room. The wizard roared with rage,
till the castle quaked, and then bang! went the third iron hoop that
was round his waist, and sprang off him; the wizard turned into a
raven, and flew out and away through the shattered window.
Then, and not till then, did the beautiful damsel speak and thank
the prince for setting her free, and blushed like a rose. In the
castle and round the castle everything became alive again at once.
He who was holding in the hall the outstretched sword, swung it into
the air, which whistled again, and then returned it to its sheath;
he who was stumbling on the threshold, fell on the ground, but
immediately got up again and felt his nose to see whether it was
still entire; he who was sitting under the chimney put the piece of
meat into his mouth and went on eating; and thus everybody completed
what he had begun doing, and at the point where he had left off. In
the stables the horses merrily stamped and snorted, the trees round
the castle became green like periwinkles, the meadows were full of
variegated flowers, high in the air warbled the skylark, and
abundance of small fishes appeared in the clear river. Everywhere
was life, everywhere enjoyment.
Meanwhile a number of gentlemen assembled in the room where the
prince was, and all thanked him for their liberation. But he said,
'You have nothing to thank me for; if it had not been for my trusty
servants Long, Broad, and Sharpsight, I too should have been what
you were.' He then immediately started on his way home to the old
king, his father, with his bride and servants. On the way they met
Broad and took him with them.
The old king wept for joy at the success of his son; he had thought
he would return no more. Soon afterwards there was a grand wedding,
the festivities of which lasted three weeks; all the gentlemen that
the prince had liberated were invited. After the wedding Long,
Broad, and Sharpsight announced to the young king that they were
going again into the world to look for work. The young king tried to
persuade them to stay with him. 'I will give you everything you
want, as long as you live,' said he; 'you needn't work at all.' But
they didn't like such an idle life, took leave of him, went away and
have been ever since knocking about somewhere or other in the world.
* * * * *
This story appears to me to be the perfection of 'Natural Science in
Allegory.' It is not a mere 'Natur-myth,' exhibiting the contests,
victories, and defeats of the forces of Nature. In interpreting it
we must distinguish between the mere machinery and the essential
actors. The king's son does nothing himself, and the whole work is
performed by the three men, whom he takes into his service. I
understand by the king's son Man, who wishes to cultivate the earth,
who is the princess imprisoned by the enchanter, the drought. She is
released by the agency of the three phenomena that usher in the
rainy season, the rainbow (Long), the cloud (Broad), and the
lightning (Sharpsight). Man, by the aid of these three phenomena, is
enabled to cultivate the earth. Such a story could only originate in
a country of periodic rains. The rapid recovery of vegetation and
almost instantaneous reappearance of fish in dried-up brooks in
India are well known. The common story of the Sleeping Beauty is
evidently a fragment from the myth which exhibits figuratively the
speedy wake up of all things when released from the bondage of the
drought.
It is possible also to consider the prince as the sun, who cannot
marry the drought-enslaved earth, until he has taken into his
service and obtained the aid of the same three phenomena. Those who
had previously attempted to set the princess free would then be the
suns immediately preceding the rainy season, which had not had the
aid of Long, Broad, and Sharpsight.
II.--'THE THREE GOLDEN HAIRS OF GRANDFATHER ALLKNOW.'
There was once upon a time a king who delighted in hunting wild
animals in forests. One day he chased a stag to a great distance and
lost his way. He was all alone; night came on, and the king was only
too glad to find a cottage in a clearing. A charcoal-burner lived
there. The king asked him whether he would guide him out of the
forest to the road, promising to pay him well for it. 'I would
gladly go with you,' said the charcoal-burner, 'but, you see, my
wife is expecting; I cannot go away. And whither would you go at
this time of night? Lie down on some hay on the garret floor, and
to-morrow morning I will be your guide.' Soon afterwards a baby boy
was born to the charcoal-burner. The king was lying on the floor and
couldn't sleep. At midnight he observed a kind of light in the
keeping-room below. He peeped through a chink in the boarding and
saw the charcoal-burner asleep, his wife lying in a dead faint, and
three old hags, all in white, standing by the baby, each with a
lighted taper in her hand. The first said: 'My gift to this boy is,
that he shall come into great dangers.' The second said: 'My gift to
him is, that he shall escape from them all and live long.' And the
third said: 'And I give him to wife the baby daughter who has this
day been born to that king who is lying upstairs on the hay.'
Thereupon the hags put out their tapers, and all was still again.
They were the Fates.
The king felt as if a sword had been thrust into his breast. He
didn't sleep till morning, thinking over what to do, and how to do
it, to prevent that coming to pass which he had heard. When day
dawned the child began to cry. The charcoal-burner got up and saw
that his wife had gone to sleep for ever. 'Oh, my poor little
orphan!' whimpered he; 'what shall I do with you now?' 'Give me the
baby,' said the king; 'I'll take care that it shall be well with it,
and will give you so much money that you needn't burn charcoal as
long as you live.' The charcoal-burner was delighted at this, and
the king promised to send for the baby. When he arrived at his
palace they told him, with great joy, that a beautiful baby-daughter
had been born to him on such and such a night. It was the very night
on which he saw the three Fates. The king frowned, called one of his
servants, and told him: 'Go to such a place in the forest; a
charcoal-burner lives there in a cottage. Give him this money, and
he will give you a little child. Take the child and drown it on your
way back. If you don't drown it, you shall drink water yourself.'
The servant went, took the baby and put it into a basket, and when
he came to a narrow foot-bridge, under which flowed a deep and broad
river, he threw the basket and all into the water. 'Good-night,
uninvited son-in-law!' said the king, when the servant told him what
he had done.
The king thought that the baby was drowned, but it wasn't. It
floated in the water in the basket as if it had been its cradle, and
slept as if the river were singing to it, till it floated down to a
fisherman's cottage. The fisherman was sitting by the bank mending
his net. He saw something floating down the river, jumped into his
boat, and went to catch it, and out of the water he drew the baby in
the basket. He carried it to his wife, and said: 'You've always
wanted a little son, and here you have one. The water has brought
him to us.' The fisherman's wife was delighted, and brought up the
child as her own. They named him 'Floatling' (_Plaváczek_), because
he had floated to them on the water.
The river flowed on and years passed on, and from a boy he became a
handsome youth, the like of whom was not to be found far and wide.
One day in the summer it came to pass that the king rode that way
all alone. It was hot, and he was thirsty, and beckoned to the
fisherman to give him a little fresh water. When Floatling brought
it to him, the king looked at him with astonishment. 'You've a fine
lad, fisherman!' said he; 'is he your son?' 'He is and he isn't,'
replied the fisherman; 'just twenty years ago he floated, as a
little baby, down the river in a basket, and we brought him up.' A
mist came before the king's eyes; he became as pale as a whitewashed
wall, perceiving that it was the child he had ordered to be drowned.
But he soon recollected himself, sprang from his horse, and said: 'I
want a messenger to my palace, and have nobody with me: can this
youth go thither for me?' 'Your majesty has but to command and the
lad will go,' said the fisherman. The king sat down and wrote a
letter to his queen: 'Cause this young man whom I send you to be run
through with a sword at once; he is a dangerous enemy of mine. Let
it be done before I return. Such is my will.' He then folded the
letter, fastened and sealed it with his signet.
Floatling started at once with the letter. He had to go through a
great forest, but missed the road and lost his way. He went from
thicket to thicket till it began to grow dark. Then he met an old
hag, who said to him: 'Whither are you going, Floatling?' 'I am
going with a letter to the king's palace, and have lost my way.
Can't you tell me, mother, how to get into the right road?' 'Anyhow,
you won't get there to-day,' said the hag; 'it's dark. Stay the
night with me. You won't be with a stranger. I am your godmother.'
The young man allowed himself to be persuaded, and they hadn't gone
many paces when they saw before them a pretty little house, just as
if it had grown all at once out of the ground. In the night, when
the lad was asleep, the hag took the letter out of his pocket and
put another in its place, in which it was written thus: 'Cause this
young man whom I send you to be married to our daughter at once; he
is my destined son-in-law. Let it be done before I return. Such is
my will.'
When the queen read the letter, she immediately ordered arrangements
to be made for the wedding, and neither she nor the young princess
could gaze enough at the bridegroom, so delighted were they with
him; and Floatling was similarly delighted with his royal bride.
Some days after, the king came home, and when he found what had
happened, he was violently enraged at his queen for what she had
done. 'Anyhow, you ordered me yourself to have him married to our
daughter before you returned,' answered the queen, and gave him the
letter. The king took the letter and looked it through--writing,
seal, paper, everything was his own. He had his son-in-law called,
and questioned him about what had happened on his way to the palace.
Floatling related how he had started and had lost his way in the
forest, and stayed the night with his old godmother. 'What did she
look like?' 'So and so.' The king perceived from his statement that
it was the same person that had, twenty years before, assigned his
daughter to the charcoal-burner's son. He thought and thought, and
then he said: 'What's done can't be altered; still, you can't be my
son-in-law for nothing. If you want to have my daughter, you must
bring me for a dowry three golden hairs of Grandfather Allknow.' He
thought to himself that he should thus be quit of his distasteful
son-in-law.
Floatling took leave of his bride and went--which way, and whither?
I don't know; but, as a Fate was his godmother, it was easy for him
to find the right road. He went far and wide, over hills and dales,
over fords and rivers, till he came to a black sea. There he saw a
boat, and in it a ferryman. 'God bless you, old ferryman!' 'God
grant it, young pilgrim! Whither are you travelling?' 'To
Grandfather Allknow, for three golden hairs.' 'Ho, ho! I have long
been waiting for such a messenger. For twenty years I've been
ferrying here, and nobody's come to set me free. If you promise me
to ask Grandfather Allknow when the end of my work will be, I will
ferry you over.' Floatling promised, and the ferryman ferried him
across.
After this he came to a great city, but it was decayed and sad. In
front of the city he met an old man, who had a staff in his hand,
and could scarcely crawl. 'God bless you, aged grandfather!' 'God
grant it, handsome youth! Whither are you going?' 'To Grandfather
Allknow, for three golden hairs.' 'Ah! ah! we've long been waiting
for some such messenger; I must at once conduct you to our lord the
king.' When they got there the king said: 'I hear that you are going
on an errand to Grandfather Allknow. We had an apple-tree here that
bore youth-producing apples. If anybody ate one, though he were on
the brink of the grave, he got young again, and became like a young
man. But for the last twenty years our apple-tree has produced no
fruit. If you promise me to ask Grandfather Allknow whether there is
any help for us, I will requite you royally.' Floatling promised,
and the king dismissed him graciously.
After that he came again to another great city, which was half
ruined. Not far from the city a son was burying his deceased father,
and tears, like peas, were rolling down his cheek. 'God bless you,
mournful grave-digger!' said Floatling. 'God grant it, good pilgrim!
Whither are you going?' 'I am going to Grandfather Allknow, for
three golden hairs.' 'To Grandfather Allknow? It's a pity you didn't
come sooner! But our king has long been waiting for some such
messenger; I must conduct you to him.' When they got there, the king
said: 'I hear that you are going on an errand to Grandfather
Allknow. We had a well here, out of which sprang living water; if
anybody drank it, even were he at the point of death, he would get
well at once; nay, were he already a corpse, if this water were
sprinkled upon him, he would immediately rise up and walk. But for
the last twenty years the water has ceased to flow. If you promise
me to ask Grandfather Allknow whether there is any help for us, I
will give you a royal reward.' Floatling promised, and the king
dismissed him graciously.
After this he went far and wide through a black forest, and in the
midst of that forest espied a large green meadow, full of beautiful
flowers, and in it a golden palace. This was Grandfather Allknow's
palace; it glittered as if on fire. Floatling went into the palace,
but found nobody there but an old hag sitting and spinning in a
corner. 'Welcome, Floatling!' said she; 'I am delighted to see you
again.' It was his godmother, at whose house he had spent the night
when he was carrying the letter. 'What has brought you here?' 'The
king would not allow me to be his son-in-law for nothing, so he sent
me for three golden hairs of Grandfather Allknow.' The hag smiled,
and said: 'Grandfather Allknow is my son, the bright Sun; in the
morning he is a little lad, at noon a grown man, and in the evening
an old grandfather. I will provide you with the three golden hairs
from his golden head, that I too mayn't be your godmother for
nothing. But, my boy! you can't remain as you are. My son is
certainly a good soul, but when he comes home hungry in the evening,
it might easily happen that he might roast and eat you for his
supper. Yonder is an empty tub; I will cover you over with it.'
Floatling begged her also to question Grandfather Allknow about the
three things concerning which he had promised on the road to bring
answers. 'I will,' said the hag, 'and do you give heed to what he
says.'
All at once a wind arose outside and in flew the Sun, an old
grandfather with a golden head, by the west window into the room. 'A
smell, a smell of human flesh!' says he; 'have you anybody here,
mother?' 'Star of the day! whom could I have here without your
seeing him? But so it is; you're all day long flying over God's
world, and your nose is filled with the scent of human flesh; so
it's no wonder that you still smell it when you come home in the
evening.' The old man said nothing in reply, and sat down to his
supper.
After supper he laid his golden head on the hag's lap and began to
slumber. As soon as she saw that he was sound asleep, she pulled out
a golden hair and threw it on the ground. It rang like a
harp-string. 'What do you want, mother?' said the old man. 'Nothing,
sonny, nothing! I was asleep, and had a marvellous dream.' 'What did
you dream about?' 'I dreamt about a city, where they had a spring of
living water; when anybody was ill and drank of it, he got well
again; and if he died and was sprinkled with this water, he came to
life again. But for the last twenty years the water has ceased to
flow; is there any help that it may flow again?' 'Quite easy;
there's a toad sitting on the spring in the well that won't let the
water flow. Let them kill the toad and clean out the well; the water
will flow as before.' When the old man fell asleep again, the hag
pulled out a second golden hair and threw it on the ground. 'What
ails you again, mother?' 'Nothing, sonny, nothing; I was asleep, and
again had a marvellous dream. I dreamt of a city where they had an
apple-tree which bore youth-restoring apples; when anybody grew old
and ate one he became young again. But for the last twenty years the
apple-tree has borne no fruit; is there any help?' 'Quite easy;
under the tree there lies a snake that exhausts its powers; let them
kill the snake and transplant the apple-tree; it will bear fruit as
before.' The old man then fell asleep again, and the hag pulled out
a third golden hair. 'Why won't you let me sleep, mother?' said the
old man crossly, and wanted to get up. 'Lie still, sonny, lie still!
Don't be angry, I didn't want to wake you. But a heavy sleep fell
upon me, and I had another marvellous dream. I dreamt of a ferryman
on a black sea; for twenty years he has been ferrying across it, and
no one has come to set him free. When will his work have an end?'
'He's the son of a stupid mother. Let him give the oar into another
person's hand and jump ashore himself; the other will be ferryman in
his stead. But let me be quiet now; I must get up early to-morrow
and go to dry the tears which the king's daughter sheds every night
for her husband, the charcoal-burner's son, whom the king has sent
for three golden hairs of mine.'
In the morning a wind again arose outside, and on the lap of its old
mother awoke, instead of the old man, a beautiful golden-haired
child, the divine Sun, who bade farewell to his mother and flew out
by the east window. The hag turned up the tub and said to Floatling:
'There are the three golden hairs for you, and you also know what
Grandfather Allknow has answered to those three things. Go; and
good-bye! You will see me no more; there is no need of it.'
Floatling thanked the hag gratefully, and departed.
When he came to the first city, the king asked him what news he
brought him. 'Good news,' said Floatling. 'Have the well cleaned
out, and kill the toad which sits on the spring, and the water will
flow again as aforetime.' The king had this done without delay, and
when he saw the water bubbling up with a full stream, he presented
Floatling with twelve horses white as swans, and on them as much
gold and silver as they could carry.
When he came to the second city the king asked him again what news
he brought. 'Good news!' said Floatling. 'Have the apple-tree dug
up; you will find a snake under the roots; kill it; then plant the
apple-tree again, and it will bear fruit as aforetime.' The king had
this done at once, and during the night the apple-tree was clothed
with bloom, just as if it had been bestrewn with roses. The king was
delighted, and presented Floatling with twelve horses as black as
ravens, and on them as much riches as they could carry.
Floatling travelled on, and when he came to the black sea, the ferryman
asked him whether he had learnt when he would be liberated. 'I have,'
said Floatling. 'But ferry me over first, and then I will tell you.'
The ferryman objected, but when he saw that there was nothing else to
be done, he ferried him over with his four-and-twenty horses. 'Before
you ferry anybody over again,' said Floatling, 'put the oar into his
hand and jump ashore, and he will be ferryman in your stead.'
The king didn't believe his eyes when Floatling brought him the three
golden hairs of Grandfather Allknow; and his daughter wept, not from
sorrow, but from joy at his return. 'But where did you get these
beautiful horses and this great wealth?' asked the king. 'I earned it,'
said Floatling; and related how he had helped one king again to the
youth-restoring apples, which make young people out of old ones; and
another to the living water, which makes sick people well and dead
people living. 'Youth-restoring apples! living water!' repeated the
king quietly to himself. 'If I ate one I should become young again; and
if I died I should be restored to life by that water.' Without delay
he started on the road for the youth-restoring apples and the living
water--and hasn't returned yet.
Thus the charcoal-burner's son became the king's son-in-law, as the
Fate decreed; and as for the king, maybe he is still ferrying across
the black sea.
* * * * *
This story is a variant of Grimm's 'Giant with the Three Golden
Hairs.' But, whereas in Grimm there is nothing to indicate who the
giant is, or whether he has three golden hairs and three only, in
the Bohemian tale it is plain that 'Grandfather Allknow' is the Sun,
and that the three golden hairs are three sunbeams.
III.--GOLDENHAIR.
There was a king who was so clever that he understood all animals,
and knew what they said to each other. Hear how he learnt it. Once
upon a time there came to him a little old woman, who brought him a
snake in a basket, and told him to have it cooked for him; if he
dined off it, he would understand what any animal in the air, on the
earth, or in the water said. The king liked the idea of
understanding what nobody else understood, paid the old woman well,
and forthwith ordered his servant to cook the fish for dinner.
'But,' said he, 'be sure you don't take a morsel of it even on your
tongue, else you shall pay for it with your head.'
George, the servant, thought it odd that the king forbade him so
energetically to do this. 'In my life I never saw such a fish,' said
he to himself; 'it looks just like a snake! And what sort of cook
would that be who didn't take a taste of what he was cooking?' When
it was cooked, he took a morsel on his tongue, and tasted it.
Thereupon he heard something buzzing round his ears: 'Some for us,
too! some for us, too!' George looked round, and saw nothing but
some flies that were flying about in the kitchen. Again somebody
called with a hissing voice in the street outside: 'Where are you
going? where are you going?' And shriller voices answered: 'To the
miller's barley! to the miller's barley!' George peeped through the
window, and saw a gander and a flock of geese. 'Aha!' said he;
'that's the kind of fish it is.' Now he knew what it was. He hastily
thrust one more morsel into his mouth, and carried the snake to the
king as if nothing had happened.
After dinner the king ordered George to saddle the horses and
accompany him, as he wished to take a ride. The king rode in front
and George behind. As they were riding over a green meadow, George's
horse bounded and began to neigh. 'Ho! ho! brother. I feel so light
that I should like to jump over mountains!' 'As for that,' said the
other, 'I should like to jump about, too, but there's an old man on
my back; if I were to skip, he'd tumble on the ground like a sack
and break his neck.' 'Let him break it--what matter?' said George's
horse; 'instead of an old man you'll carry a young one.' George
laughed heartily at this conversation, but so quietly that the king
knew nothing about it. But the king also understood perfectly well
what the horses were saying to each other, looked round, and seeing
a smile on George's face, asked him what he was laughing at.
'Nothing, your illustrious majesty,' said George in excuse; 'only
something occurred to my mind.' Nevertheless, the old king already
suspected him, neither did he feel confidence in the horses, so he
turned and rode back home.
When they arrived at the palace, the king ordered George to pour him
out a glass of wine. 'But your head for it,' said he, 'if you don't
pour it full, or if you pour it so that it runs over.' George took
the decanter and poured. Just then in flew two birds through the
window; one was chasing the other, and the one that was trying to
get away carried three golden hairs in its beak. 'Give them to me!'
said the first; 'they are mine.' 'I shan't; they're mine; I took
them up.' 'But I saw them fall, when the golden-haired maiden was
combing her hair. At any rate, give me two.' 'Not one!' Hereupon the
other bird made a rush, and seized the golden hairs. As they
struggled for them on the wing, one remained in each bird's beak,
and the third golden hair fell on the ground, where it rang again.
At this moment George looked round at it, and then poured the wine
over. 'You've forfeited your life!' shouted the king; 'but I'll deal
mercifully with you if you obtain the golden-haired maiden, and
bring her me to wife.'
What was George to do? If he wanted to save his life, he must go in
search of the maiden, though he did not know where to look for her.
He saddled his horse, and rode at random. He came to a black forest,
and there, under the forest by the roadside, a bush was burning;
some cowherd had set it on fire. Under the bush was an ant-hill;
sparks were falling on it, and the ants were fleeing in all
directions with their little white eggs. 'Help, George, help!' cried
they mournfully; 'we're being burnt to death, as well as our young
ones in the eggs.' He got down from his horse at once, cut away the
bush, and put out the fire. 'When you are in trouble think of us,
and we'll help you.'
He rode on through the forest, and came to a lofty pine. On the top
of this pine was a raven's nest, and below, on the ground, were two
young ravens crying and complaining: 'Our father and mother have
flown away; we've got to seek food for ourselves, and we poor little
birds can't fly yet. Help us, George, help us! Feed us, or we shall
die of hunger!' George did not stop long to consider, but jumped
down from his horse, and thrust his sword into its side, that the
young ravens might have something to eat. 'When you are in need
think of us, and we'll help you.'
After this, George had to go on on foot. He walked a long, long way
through the forest, and when he at last got out of it, he saw before
him a long and broad sea. On the shore of this sea two fishermen
were quarrelling. They had caught a large golden fish in their net,
and each wanted to have it for himself. 'The net is mine, and mine's
the fish.' The other replied: 'Much good would your net have been,
if it hadn't been for my boat and my help.' 'If we catch such
another fish again, it will be yours.' 'Not so; wait you for the
next, and give me this.' 'I'll set you at one,' said George. 'Sell
me the fish--I'll pay you well for it--and you divide the money
between you, share and share alike.' He gave them all the money that
the king had given him for his journey, leaving nothing at all for
himself. The fishermen were delighted, and George let the fish go
again into the sea. It splashed merrily through the water, dived,
and then, not far from the shore, put out its head: 'When you want
me, George, think of me, and I'll requite you.' It then disappeared.
'Where are you going?' the fishermen asked George. 'I'm going for
the golden-haired maiden to be the bride of the old king, my lord,
and I don't even know where to look for her.' 'We can tell you all
about her,' said the fishermen. 'It's Goldenhair, the king's
daughter, of the Crystal Palace, on the island yonder. Every day at
dawn she combs her golden hair, and the bright gleam therefrom goes
over sky and over sea. If you wish it, we'll take you over to the
island ourselves, as you set us at one again so nicely. But take
care to bring away the right maiden; there are twelve maidens--the
king's daughters--but only one has golden hair.'
When George was on the island, he went into the Crystal Palace to
entreat the king to give the king, his lord, his golden-haired
daughter to wife. 'I will,' said the king, 'but you must earn her;
you must in three days perform three tasks, which I shall impose
upon you, each day one. Meanwhile, you can rest till to-morrow.'
Next day, early, the king said to him: 'My Goldenhair had a necklace
of costly pearls; the necklace broke, and the pearls were scattered
in the long grass in the green meadow. You must collect all these
pearls, without one being wanting.' George went into the meadow; it
was long and broad; he knelt on the grass, and began to seek. He
sought and sought from morn to noon, but never saw a pearl. 'Ah! if
my ants were here, they might help me.' 'Here we are to help you,'
said the ants, running in every direction, but always crowding round
him. 'What do you want?' 'I have to collect pearls in this meadow,
but I don't see one.' 'Only wait a bit, we'll collect them for you.'
Before long they brought him a multitude of pearls out of the grass,
and he had nothing to do but string them on the necklace.
Afterwards, when he was going to fasten up the necklace, one more
ant limped up--it was lame, its foot had been scorched when the fire
was at the ant-hill--and cried out: 'Stop, George, don't fasten it
up; I'm bringing you one more pearl.'
When George brought the pearls to the king, the king counted them
over; not one was wanting. 'You have done your business well,' said
he; 'to-morrow I shall give you another piece of work.' In the
morning George came, and the king said to him: 'My Goldenhair was
bathing in the sea, and lost there a gold ring; you must find and
bring it.' George went to the sea, and walked sorrowfully along the
shore. The sea was clear, but so deep that he couldn't even see the
bottom, much less could he seek and find the ring there. 'Oh that my
golden fish were here; it might be able to help me.' Whereupon
something glittered in the sea, and up swam the golden fish from the
deep to the surface of the water: 'Here I am to help you; what do
you want?' 'I've got to find a gold ring in the sea, and I can't
even see the bottom.' 'I just met a pike which was carrying a gold
ring in its mouth. Only wait a bit, I'll bring it to you.' Ere long
it returned from the deep water, and brought him the pike, ring and
all.
The king commended George for doing his business well, and then next
morning laid upon him the third task: 'If you wish me to give your
king my Goldenhair to wife, you must bring her the waters of death
and of life--she will require them.' George did not know whither to
betake himself for these waters, and went at haphazard hither and
thither, whither his feet carried him, till he came to a black
forest: 'Ah, if my young ravens were here, perhaps they would help
me.' Now there was a rustling over his head, and two young ravens
appeared above him: 'Here we are to help you; what do you wish?'
'I've got to bring the waters of death and of life, and I don't know
where to look for them.' 'Oh, we know them well; only wait a bit,
we'll bring them to you.' After a short time they each brought
George a bottle-gourd full of water; in the one gourd was the water
of life, in the other the water of death. George was delighted with
his good fortune, and hastened to the castle. At the edge of the
forest he saw a cobweb extending from one pine-tree to another; in
the midst of the cobweb sat a large spider sucking a fly. George
took the bottle with the water of death, sprinkled the spider, and
the spider dropped to the ground like a ripe cherry--he was dead. He
then sprinkled the fly with the water of life out of the other
bottle, and the fly began to move, extricated itself from the
cobweb, and off into the air. 'Lucky for you, George, that you've
brought me to life again,' it buzzed round his ears; 'without me
you'd scarcely guess aright which of the twelve is Goldenhair.'
When the king saw that George had completed this matter also, he
said he would give him his golden-haired daughter. 'But,' said he,
'you must select her yourself.' He then led him into a great hall,
in the midst of which was a round table, and round the table sat
twelve beautiful maidens, one like the other; but each had on her
head a long kerchief reaching down to the ground, white as snow, so
that it couldn't be seen what manner of hair any of them had. 'Here
are my daughters,' said the king; 'if you guess which of them is
Goldenhair, you have won her, and can take her away at once; but if
you don't guess right, she is not adjudged to you, you must depart
without her.' George was in the greatest anxiety; he didn't know
what to do. Whereupon something whispered into his ear: 'Buzz! buzz!
go round the table, I'll tell you which is the one.' It was the fly
that George had restored to life with the water of life. 'It isn't
this maiden--nor this--nor this; this is Goldenhair!' 'Give me this
one of your daughters,' cried George; 'I have earned her for my
lord.' 'You have guessed right,' said the king; and the maiden at
once rose from the table, threw off her kerchief, and her golden
hair flowed in streams from her head to the ground, and such a
brightness came from them, even as when the sun rises in the
morning, that George's eyes were dazzled.
Then the king gave his daughter all that was fitting for her
journey, and George took her away to be his lord's bride. The old
king's eyes sparkled, and he jumped for joy, when he saw Goldenhair,
and gave orders at once for preparations to be made for the wedding.
'I intended to have you hanged for your disobedience, that the
ravens might devour you,' said he to George; 'but you have served
me so well, that I shall only have your head cut off with an axe,
and then I shall have you honourably buried.' When George had been
executed, Goldenhair begged the old king to grant her the body of
his dead servant, and the king couldn't deny his golden-haired bride
anything. She then fitted George's head to his body, and sprinkled
him with the water of death, and the body and head grew together so
that no mark of the wound remained. Then she sprinkled him with the
water of life, and George rose up again, as if he had been born
anew, as fresh as a stag, and youth beamed from his countenance.
'Oh, how heavily I have slept!' said George, and rubbed his eyes.
'Yes, indeed, you have slept heavily,' said Goldenhair; 'and if it
hadn't been for me, you wouldn't have waked for ever and ever.' When
the old king saw that George had come to life again, and that he was
younger and handsomer than before, he wanted to be made young again
also. He gave orders at once that his head should be cut off, and
that he should be sprinkled with the water. They cut his head off
and sprinkled him with the water of life, till they'd sprinkled it
all away; but his head wouldn't grow on to the body. Then, and not
till then, did they begin to sprinkle him with the water of death,
and in an instant the head grew on to the body; but the king was
dead all the same, because they had no more of the water of life to
bring him to life again. And since the kingdom couldn't be without a
king, and they'd no one so intelligent as to understand all animals
like George, they made George king and Goldenhair queen.
* * * * *
This story is a variant, and a very beautiful variant, of Grimm's
'White Snake.' The two kinds of water, that of death and that of
life, appear here, showing that it is a true Slavonic, and not a
Teutonic story.
IV.--INTELLIGENCE AND LUCK.
Once upon a time Luck met Intelligence on a garden-seat. 'Make room
for me!' said Luck. Intelligence was then as yet inexperienced, and
didn't know who ought to make room for whom. He said: 'Why should I
make room for you? you're no better than I am.' 'He's the better
man,' answered Luck, 'who performs most. See you there yon peasant's
son who's ploughing in the field? Enter into him, and if he gets on
better through you than through me, I'll always submissively make
way for you, whensoever and wheresoever we meet.' Intelligence
agreed, and entered at once into the ploughboy's head. As soon as
the ploughboy felt that he had intelligence in his head, he began to
think: 'Why must I follow the plough to the day of my death? I can
go somewhere else and make my fortune more easily.' He left off
ploughing, put up the plough, and drove home. 'Daddy,' says he, 'I
don't like this peasant's life; I'd rather learn to be a gardener.'
His father said: 'What ails you, Vanek? have you lost your wits?'
However, he bethought himself, and said: 'Well, if you will, learn,
and God be with you! Your brother will be heir to the cottage after
me.' Vanek lost the cottage, but he didn't care for that, but went
and put himself apprentice to the king's gardener. For every little
that the gardener showed him, Vanek comprehended ever so much more.
Ere long he didn't even obey the gardener's orders as to how he
ought to do anything, but did everything his own way. At first the
gardener was angry, but, seeing everything thus getting on better,
he was content. 'I see that you've more intelligence than I,' said
he, and henceforth let Vanek garden as he thought fit. In no long
space of time Vanek made the garden so beautiful, that the king took
great delight in it, and frequently walked in it with the queen and
with his only daughter.
The princess was a very beautiful damsel, but ever since she was
twelve years old she had ceased speaking, and no one ever heard a
single word from her. The king was much grieved, and caused
proclamation to be made, that whoever should bring it to pass that
she should speak again, should be her husband. Many young kings,
princes and other great lords announced themselves one after the
other, but all went away as they had come; no one succeeded in
causing her to speak. 'Why shouldn't I too try my luck?' thought
Vanek; 'who knows whether I mayn't succeed in bringing her to answer
when I ask her a question?' He at once caused himself to be
announced at the palace, and the king and his councillors conducted
him into the room where the princess was. The king's daughter had a
pretty little dog, and was very fond of him because he was so
clever, understanding everything that she wanted. When Vanek went
into the room with the king and his councillors, he made as if he
didn't even see the princess, but turned to the dog and said: 'I
have heard, doggie, that you are very clever, and I come to you for
advice. We are three companions in travel, a sculptor, a tailor and
myself. Once upon a time we were going through a forest and were
obliged to pass the night in it. To be safe from wolves, we made a
fire, and agreed to keep watch one after the other. The sculptor
kept watch first, and for amusement to kill time took a log and
carved a damsel out of it. When it was finished he woke the tailor
to keep watch in his turn. The tailor, seeing the wooden damsel,
asked what it meant. "As you see," said the sculptor, "I was weary,
and didn't know what to do with myself, so I carved a damsel out of
a log; if you find time hang heavy on your hands, you can dress
her." The tailor at once took out his scissors, needle and thread,
cut out the clothes, stitched away, and when they were ready,
dressed the damsel in them. He then called me to come and keep
watch. I, too, asked him what the meaning of all this was. "As you
see," said the tailor, "the sculptor found time hang heavy on his
hands and carved a damsel out of a log, and I for the same reason
clothed her; and if you find time hanging on your hands, you can
teach her to speak." And by morning dawn I had actually taught her
to speak. But in the morning when my companions woke up, each wanted
to possess the damsel. The sculptor said, "I made her;" the tailor,
"I clothed her." I, too, maintained my right. Tell me, therefore,
doggie, to which of us the damsel belongs?' The dog said nothing,
but instead of the dog the princess replied: 'To whom can she belong
but to yourself? What's the good of the sculptor's damsel without
life? What's the good of the tailor's dressing without speech? You
gave her the best gift, life and speech, and therefore she by right
belongs to you.' 'You have passed your own sentence,' said Vanek; 'I
have given you speech again and a new life, and you therefore by
right belong to me.' Then said one of the king's councillors: 'His
Royal Grace will give you a plenteous reward for succeeding in
unloosing his daughter's tongue; but you cannot have her to wife, as
you are of mean lineage.' The king said: 'You are of mean lineage; I
will give you a plenteous reward instead of our daughter.' But Vanek
wouldn't hear of any other reward, and said: 'The king promised
without any exception, that whoever caused his daughter to speak
again should be her husband. A king's word is a law; and if the king
wants others to observe his laws, he must first keep them himself.
Therefore the king _must_ give me his daughter.' 'Seize and bind
him!' shouted the councillor. 'Whoever says the king _must_ do
anything, offers an insult to his Majesty, and is worthy of death.
May it please your Majesty to order this malefactor to be executed
with the sword?' The king said: 'Let him be executed.' Vanek was
immediately bound and led to execution. When they came to the place
of execution Luck was there waiting for him, and said secretly to
Intelligence, 'See how this man has got on through you, till he has
to lose his head! Make way, and let me take your place!' As soon as
Luck entered Vanek, the executioner's sword broke against the
scaffold, just as if someone had snapped it; and before they brought
him another, up rode a trumpeter on horseback from the city,
galloping as swift as a bird, trumpeted merrily, and waved a white
flag, and after him came the royal carriage for Vanek. This is what
had happened: The princess had told her father at home that Vanek
had but spoken the truth, and the king's word ought not to be
broken. If Vanek were of mean lineage the king could easily make him
a prince. The king said: 'You're right; let him be a prince!' The
royal carriage was immediately sent for Vanek, and the councillor
who had irritated the king against him was executed in his stead.
Afterwards, when Vanek and the princess were going together in a
carriage from the wedding, Intelligence happened to be somewhere on
the road, and seeing that he couldn't help meeting Luck, bent his
head and slipped on one side, just as if cold water had been thrown
upon him. And from that time forth it is said that Intelligence has
always given a wide berth to Luck whenever he has had to meet him.
V.--THE JEZINKAS.
There was a poor orphan lad who had neither father nor mother, and
was compelled to go out to service to get his living. He travelled a
long way without being able to obtain an engagement, till one day he
came to a hovel all by itself under a wood. On the threshold sat an
old man, who had dark caverns in his head instead of eyes. The
goats were bleating in the stall, and the old man said: 'I wish I
could take you, poor goats, to pasture, but I can't, I am blind; and
I have nobody to send with you.' 'Daddy, send me,' answered the lad;
'I will pasture your goats, and also be glad to wait upon you.' 'Who
are you? and what is your name?' The lad told him all, and that they
called him Johnny. 'Well, Johnny, I will take you; but drive out the
goats for me to pasture first of all. But don't lead them to yon
hill in the forest; the Jezinkas will come to you, will put you to
sleep, and will then tear out your eyes, as they have mine.' 'Never
fear, Daddy,' answered Johnny; 'the Jezinkas won't tear out _my_
eyes.' He then let the goats out of the stall, and drove them to
pasture. The first and second day he pastured them under the forest,
but the third day he said to himself: 'Why should I be afraid of the
Jezinkas? I'll drive them where there is better pasture.' He then
broke off three green shoots of bramble, put them into his hat, and
drove the goats straight on to the hill in the forest. There the
goats wandered about for pasture, and Johnny sat down on a stone in
the cool. He had not sat long, when all of a sudden, how it came
about he knew not, a beautiful damsel stood before him, all dressed
in white, with her hair--raven-black--prettily dressed and flowing
down her back, and eyes like sloes. 'God bless you, young goatherd!'
said she. 'See what apples grow in our garden! Here's one for you;
I'll give it you, that you may know how good they are.' She offered
him a beautiful rosy apple. But Johnny knew that if he took the
apple and ate it he would fall asleep, and she would afterwards tear
out his eyes, so he said: 'I am much obliged to you, beautiful
damsel! My master has an apple-tree in his garden, on which still
handsomer apples grow; I have eaten my fill of them.' 'Well, if
you'd rather not, I won't compel you,' said the damsel, and went
away. After a while came another, still prettier, damsel, with a
beautiful red rose in her hand, and said: 'God bless you, young
goatherd! See what a beautiful rose I've just plucked off the hedge.
It smells so nice; smell it yourself.' 'I am much obliged to you,
beautiful damsel. My master has still handsomer roses in his garden;
I have smelt my fill of them.' 'Well, then, if you won't, let it
alone!' said the damsel, quite enraged, turned round, and retired.
After a while, a third damsel, the youngest and prettiest of them
all, came up. 'God bless you, young goatherd!' 'Thank you, beautiful
damsel!' 'Indeed, you're a fine lad,' said the damsel, 'but you'd be
still handsomer if you had your hair nicely combed and dressed.
Come, I'll comb it for you.' Johnny said nothing, but when the
damsel came up to him to comb his hair, he took his hat from his
head, drew out a bramble-shoot, and pop! struck her on both hands.
The damsel screamed 'Help, help!' began to weep, but was unable to
move from the place. Johnny cared naught for her weeping, and bound
her hands together with the bramble. Then up ran the other two
damsels, and, seeing their sister a captive, began to beg Johnny to
unbind her and let her go. 'Unbind her yourselves,' said Johnny.
'Alas! we can't, we have tender hands, we should prick ourselves.'
But when they saw that the lad would not do as they wished, they
went to their sister and wanted to unfasten the bramble. Thereupon
Johnny leapt up, and pop! pop! struck them too with a spray, and
then bound both their hands together. 'See, I've got you, you wicked
Jezinkas! Why did you tear out my master's eyes?' After this, he
went home to his master, and said, 'Come, daddy, I've found somebody
who will give you your eyes again.' When they came to the hill, he
said to the first Jezinka, 'Now tell me where the old man's eyes
are. If you don't tell me, I shall throw you at once into the
water.' The Jezinka made excuse that she didn't know, and Johnny was
going to throw her into the river, which flowed hard by under the
hill. 'Don't, Johnny, don't!' entreated the Jezinka, 'and I'll give
you the old man's eyes.' She conducted him into a cavern, where was
a great heap of eyes, large and small, black, red, blue and green,
and took two out of the heap. But when Johnny placed them in the old
man's sockets, the poor man began to cry: 'Alas, alas! these are not
my eyes. I see nothing but owls.' Johnny became exasperated, seized
the Jezinka, and threw her into the water. He then said to the
second: 'Tell me, you, where the old man's eyes are.' She, too,
began to make excuses that she didn't know; but when the lad
threatened to throw her, too, into the water, she led him again to
the cavern, and took out two other eyes. But the old man cried
again: 'Alas! these are not my eyes. I see nothing but wolves.' The
same was done to the second Jezinka as to the first; the water
closed over her. 'Tell me, you, where the old man's eyes are,' said
Johnny to the third and youngest Jezinka. She, too, led him to the
heap in the cavern, and took out two eyes for him. But when they
were inserted, the old man cried out again that they were not his
eyes. 'I see nothing but pike.' Johnny saw that she, too, was
cheating him, and was going to drown her as well; but the Jezinka
besought him with tears: 'Don't, Johnny, don't! I will give you the
old man's proper eyes.' She took them from under the whole heap. And
when Johnny inserted them into the old man's sockets, he cried out
joyfully: 'These, these are my eyes! Praise be to God! now I see
well again!' Afterwards Johnny and the old man lived together
happily; Johnny pastured the goats, and the old man made cheeses at
home, and they ate them together; but the Jezinka never showed
herself again on that hill.
VI.--THE WOOD-LADY.
Betty was a little girl; her mother was a widow, and had no more of
her property left than a dilapidated cottage and two she-goats; but
Betty was, nevertheless, always cheerful. From spring to autumn she
pastured the goats in the birch-wood. Whenever she went from home,
her mother always gave her in a basket a slice of bread and a
spindle, with the injunction, 'Let it be full.' As she had no
distaff, she used to twine the flax round her head. Betty took the
basket, and skipped off singing merrily after the goats to the
birch-wood. When she got there, the goats went after pasture, and
Betty sat under a tree, drew the fibres from her head with her left
hand, and let down the spindle with her right so that it just hummed
over the ground, and therewith she sang till the wood echoed; the
goats meanwhile pastured. When the sun indicated mid-day, she put
aside her spindle, called the goats, and after giving them each a
morsel of bread that they mightn't stray from her, bounded into the
wood for a few strawberries or any other woodland fruit that might
happen to be just then in season, that she might have dessert to her
bread. When she had finished her meal, she sprang up, folded her
hands, danced and sang. The sun smiled on her through the green
foliage, and the goats, enjoying themselves among the grass,
thought: 'What a merry shepherdess we have!' After her dance, she
spun again industriously, and at even, when she drove the goats
home, her mother never scolded her for bringing back her spindle
empty.
Once, when according to custom, exactly at mid-day, after her scanty
dinner, she was getting ready for a dance, all of a sudden--where
she came, there she came--a very beautiful maiden stood before her.
She had on a white dress as fine as gossamer, golden-coloured hair
flowed from her head to her waist, and on her head she wore a
garland of woodland flowers. Betty was struck dumb with
astonishment. The maiden smiled at her, and said in an attractive
voice, 'Betty, are you fond of dancing?' When the maiden spoke so
prettily to her, Betty's terror quitted her, and she answered, 'Oh,
I should like to dance all day long!' 'Come, then, let's dance
together. I'll teach you!' So spoke the maiden, tucked her dress up
on one side, took Betty by the waist, and began to dance with her.
As they circled, such delightful music sounded over their heads,
that Betty's heart skipped within her. The musicians sat on the
branches of the birches in black, ash-coloured, brown, and
variegated coats. It was a company of choice musicians that had come
together at the beck of the beautiful maiden--nightingales, larks,
linnets, goldfinches, greenfinches, thrushes, blackbirds, and a very
skilful mocking-bird. Betty's cheek flamed, her eyes glittered, she
forgot her task and her goats, and only gazed at her partner, who
twirled before and round her with the most charming movements, and
so lightly that the grass didn't even bend beneath her delicate
foot. They danced from noon till eve, and Betty's feet were neither
wearied nor painful. Then the beautiful maiden stopped, the music
ceased, and as she came so she disappeared. Betty looked about her;
the sun was setting behind the wood. She clapped her hands on the
top of her head, and, feeling the unspun flax, remembered that her
spindle, which was lying on the grass, was by no means full. She
took the flax down from her head, and put it with the spindle into
her basket, called the goats, and drove them home. She did not sing
on the way, but bitterly reproached herself for letting the
beautiful maiden delude her, and determined that if the maiden
should come to her again, she would never listen to her any more.
The goats, hearing no merry song behind them, looked round to see
whether their own shepherdess was really following them. Her mother,
too, wondered, and asked her daughter whether she was ill, as she
didn't sing. 'No, mother dear, I'm not ill; but my throat is dry
from very singing, and therefore I don't sing,' said Betty in
excuse, and went to put away the spindle and the unspun flax.
Knowing that her mother was not in the habit of reeling up the yarn
at once, she intended to make up the next day what she had neglected
to do the first day, and therefore did not say a word to her mother
about the beautiful maiden.
The next day Betty again drove the goats as usual to the birch-wood,
and sang to herself again merrily. On arriving at the birch-wood the
goats began to pasture, and she sat under the tree and began to spin
industriously, singing to herself all the time, for work comes
better from the hand while one sings. The sun indicated mid-day.
Betty gave each of the goats a morsel of bread, went off for
strawberries, and after returning began to eat her dinner and
chatter with the goats. 'Ah, my little goats, I mustn't dance
to-day,' sighed she, when after dinner she collected the crumbs from
her lap in her hand and placed them on a stone that the birds might
take them away. 'And why mustn't you?' spoke a pleasing voice, and
the beautiful maiden stood beside her, as if she had dropped from
the clouds. Betty was still more frightened than the first time, and
closed her eyes that she might not even see the maiden; but when the
maiden repeated the question, she answered modestly: 'Excuse me,
beautiful lady, I can't dance with you, because I should again fail
to perform my task of spinning, and my mother would scold me.
To-day, before the sun sets, I must make up what I left undone
yesterday.' 'Only come and dance; before the sun sets help will be
found for you,' said the maiden, tucked up her dress, took Betty
round the waist, the musicians sitting on the birch branches struck
up, and the two dancers began to whirl. The beautiful maiden danced
still more enchantingly. Betty couldn't take her eyes off her, and
forgot the goats and her task. At last the dancer stopped, the music
ceased, the sun was on the verge of setting. Betty clapped her hand
on the top of her head, where the unspun flax was twined, and began
to cry. The beautiful maiden put her hand on her head, took off the
flax, twined it round the stem of a slender birch, seized the
spindle, and began to spin. The spindle just swung over the surface
of the ground, grew fuller before her eyes, and before the sun set
behind the wood all the yarn was spun, as well as that which Betty
had not finished the day before. While giving the full spool into
the girl's hand the beautiful maiden said: 'Reel, and grumble
not--remember my words, "Reel, and grumble not!"' After these words
she vanished, as if the ground had sunk in beneath her. Betty was
content, and thought on her way, 'If she is so good and kind, I will
dance with her again if she comes again.' She sang again that the
goats might step on merrily. But her mother gave her no cheerful
welcome. Wishing in the course of the day to reel the yarn, she saw
that the spindle was not full, and was therefore out of humour.
'What were you doing yesterday that you didn't finish your task?'
asked her mother reprovingly. 'Pardon, mother; I danced a little too
long,' said Betty humbly, and, showing her mother the spindle,
added: 'To-day it is more than full to make up for it.' Her mother
said no more, but went to milk the goats, and Betty put the spindle
away. She wished to tell her mother of her adventure, but bethought
herself again, 'No, not unless she comes again, and then I will ask
her what kind of person she is, and will tell my mother.' So she
made up her mind and held her tongue.
The third morning, as usual, she drove the goats to the birch-wood.
The goats began to pasture; Betty sat under the tree, and began to
sing and spin. The sun indicated mid-day. Betty laid her spindle on
the grass, gave each of the goats a morsel of bread, collected
strawberries, ate her dinner, and while giving the crumbs to the
birds, said: 'My little goats, I will dance to you to-day!' She
jumped up, folded her hands, and was just going to try whether she
could manage to dance as prettily as the beautiful maiden, when all
at once she herself stood before her. 'Let's go together, together!'
said she to Betty, seized her round the waist, and at the same
moment the music struck up over their heads, and the maidens circled
round with flying step. Betty forgot her spindle and her goats, saw
nothing but the beautiful maiden, whose body bent in every direction
like a willow-wand, and thought of nothing but the delightful music,
in tune with which her feet bounded of their own accord. They danced
from mid-day till even. Then the maiden stopped, and the music
ceased. Betty looked round; the sun was behind the wood. With tears
she clasped her hands on the top of her head, and turning in search
of the half-empty spindle, lamented about what her mother would say
to her. 'Give me your basket,' said the beautiful maiden. 'I will
make up to you for what you have left undone to-day.' Betty handed
her the basket, and the maiden disappeared for a moment, and
afterwards handed Betty the basket again, saying, 'Not now; look at
it at home,' and was gone, as if the wind had blown her away. Betty
was afraid to peep into the basket immediately, but half-way home
she couldn't restrain herself. The basket was as light as if there
was just nothing in it. She couldn't help looking to see whether the
maiden hadn't tricked her. And how frightened she was when she saw
that the basket was full--of birch leaves! Then, and not till then,
did she begin to weep and lament that she had been so credulous. In
anger she threw out two handfuls of leaves, and was going to shake
the basket out; but then she bethought herself, 'I will use them as
litter for the goats,' and left some leaves in the basket. She was
almost afraid to go home. The goats again could hardly recognise
their shepherdess. Her mother was waiting for her on the threshold,
full of anxiety. 'For Heaven's sake, girl! what sort of spool did
you bring me home yesterday?' were her first words. 'Why?' asked
Betty anxiously. 'When you went out in the morning, I went to reel;
I reeled and reeled, and the spool still remained full. One skein,
two, three skeins; the spool still full. "What evil spirit has spun
it?" said I in a temper; and that instant the yarn vanished from the
spindle, as if it were spirited away. Tell me what the meaning of
this is!' Then Betty confessed, and began to tell about the
beautiful maiden. 'That was a wood-lady!' cried her mother in
astonishment; 'about mid-day and midnight the wood-ladies hold their
dances. Lucky that you are not a boy, or you wouldn't have come out
of her arms alive. She would have danced with you as long as there
was breath in your body, or have tickled you to death. But they have
compassion on girls, and often give them rich presents. It's a pity
that you didn't tell me; if I hadn't spoken in a temper, I might
have had a room full of yarn.' Then Betty bethought herself of the
basket, and it occurred to her that perhaps, after all, there might
have been something under those leaves. She took out the spindle and
unspun flax from the top, and looked once more, and, 'See, mother!'
she cried out. Her mother looked and clapped her hands. The
birch-leaves were turned into gold! 'She ordered me: "Don't look
now, but at home!" but I did not obey.' 'Lucky that you didn't empty
out the whole basket,' thought her mother.
The next morning she went herself to look at the place where Betty
had thrown out the two handfuls of leaves, but on the road there lay
nothing but fresh birch-leaves. But the riches that Betty had
brought home were large enough. Her mother bought a small estate;
they had many cattle. Betty had handsome clothes, and was not
obliged to pasture goats; but whatever she had, however cheerful and
happy she was, nothing ever gave her so great delight as the dance
with the wood-lady. She often went to the birch-wood; she was
attracted there. She hoped for the good fortune of seeing the
beautiful maiden; but she never set eyes on her more.
VII.--GEORGE WITH THE GOAT.
There was a king who had a daughter who never could be induced to
laugh; she was always sad. So the king proclaimed that she should be
given to anyone who could cause her to laugh. There was also a
shepherd who had a son named George. He said: 'Daddy! I, too, will
go to see whether I can make her laugh. I want nothing from you but
the goat.' His father said, 'Well, go.' The goat was of such a
nature that, when her master wished, she detained everybody, and
that person was obliged to stay by her.
So he took the goat and went, and met a man who had a foot on his
shoulder. George said: 'Why have you a foot on your shoulder?' He
replied: 'If I take it off, I leap a hundred miles.' 'Whither are
you going?' 'I am going in search of service, to see if anyone will
take me.' 'Well, come with us.'
They went on, and again met a man who had a bandage on his eyes.
'Why have you a bandage on your eyes?' He answered, 'If I remove the
bandage, I see a hundred miles.' 'Whither are you going?' 'I am
going in search of service, if you will take me?' 'Yes, I'll take
you. Come also with me.'
They went on a bit further, and met another fellow, who had a
bottle under his arm, and, instead of a stopper, held his thumb in
it. 'Why do you hold your thumb there?' 'If I pull it out, I squirt
a hundred miles, and besprinkle everything that I choose. If you
like, take me also into your service; it may be to your advantage
and ours too.' George replied: 'Well, come too!'
Afterwards they came to the town where the king lived, and bought a
silken riband for the goat. They came to an inn, and orders had
already been given there beforehand, that when such people came,
they were to give them what they liked to eat and drink--the king
would pay for all. So they tied the goat with that very riband and
placed it in the innkeeper's room to be taken care of, and he put it
in the side room where his daughters slept. The innkeeper had three
maiden daughters, who were not yet asleep. So Manka said: 'Oh! if I,
too, could have such a riband! I will go and unfasten it from that
goat.' The second, Dodla, said: 'Don't; he'll find it out in the
morning.' But she went notwithstanding. And when Manka did not
return for a long time, the third, Kate, said: 'Go, fetch her.' So
Dodla went, and gave Manka a pat on the back. 'Come, leave it
alone!' And now she too was unable to withdraw herself from her. So
Kate said: 'Come, don't unfasten it!' Kate went and gave Dodla a pat
on the petticoat; and now she, too, couldn't get away, but was
obliged to stay by her.
In the morning George made haste and went for the goat, and led the
whole set away--Kate, Dodla, and Manka. The innkeeper was still
asleep. They went through the village, and the judge looked out of a
window and said, 'Fie, Kate! what's this? what's this?' He went and
took her by the hand, wishing to pull her away, but remained also by
her. After this, a cowherd drove some cows through a narrow street,
and the bull came rushing round; he stuck fast, and George led him,
too, in the procession.
Thus they afterwards came in front of the castle, and the servants
came out of doors; and when they saw such things, they went and told
the king. 'O sire, we have such a spectacle here; we have already
had all manner of masquerades, but this has never been here yet.' So
they immediately led the king's daughter to the square in front of
the castle, and she looked and laughed till the castle shook.
Now they asked him what sort of person he was. He said that he was a
shepherd's son, and was named George. They said that it could not be
done; for he was of mean lineage, and they could not give him the
damsel; but he must accomplish something more for them. He said,
'What?' They replied that there was a spring yonder, a hundred miles
off; if he brought a goblet of water from it in a minute, then he
should obtain the damsel. So George said to the man who had the foot
on his shoulder: 'You said that if you took the foot down, you could
jump a hundred miles.' He replied: 'I'll easily do that.' He took
the foot down, jumped, and was there. But after this there was only
a very little time to spare, and by then he ought to have been back.
So George said to the second: 'You said that if you removed the
bandage from your eyes, you could see a hundred miles. Peep and see
what is going on.' 'Ah, sir! Goodness gracious! he's fallen asleep!'
'That will be a bad job,' said George; 'the time will be up. You,
third man, you said if you pulled your thumb out, you could squirt a
hundred miles; be quick and squirt thither, that he may get up. And
you, look whether he is moving, or what.' 'Oh, sir! he's getting up
now; he's knocking the dust off; he's drawing the water.' He then
gave a jump, and was there exactly in time.
After this they said that he must perform one task more; that
yonder, in a rock, was a wild beast, a unicorn, of such a nature
that he destroyed a great many of their people; if he cleared him
out of the world he should obtain the damsel. So he took his people
and went into the forest. They came to a firwood. There were three
wild beasts, and three lairs had been formed by wallowing as they
lay. Two did nothing; but the third destroyed people. So they took
some stones and some pine-cones in their pockets, and climbed up
into a tree; and when the beasts lay down, they dropped a stone down
upon that one which was the unicorn. He said to the next: 'Be quiet;
don't butt me.' It said: 'I'm not doing anything to you.' Again they
let a stone fall from above upon the unicorn. 'Be quiet! you've
already done it to me twice.' 'Indeed, I'm doing nothing to you.' So
they attacked each other and fought together. The unicorn wanted to
pierce the second beast through; but it jumped out of the way, and
he rushed so violently after it, that he struck his horn into a
tree, and couldn't pull it out quickly. So they sprang speedily down
from the fir, and the other two beasts ran away and escaped, but
they cut off the head of the third, the unicorn, took it up, and
carried it to the castle.
Now those in the castle saw that George had again accomplished that
task. 'What, prithee, shall we do? Perhaps we must after all give
him the damsel!' 'No, sire,' said one of the attendants, 'that
cannot be; he is too lowborn to obtain a king's daughter! On the
contrary, we must clear him out of the world.' So the king ordered
them to note his words, what he should say. There was a hired female
servant there, and she said to him: 'George, it will be evil for you
to-day; they're going to clear you out of the world.' He answered:
'Oh, I'm not afraid. When I was only just twelve years old, I killed
twelve of them at one blow!' But this was the fact: when his mother
was baking a flat-cake, a dozen flies settled upon her, and he
killed them all at a single blow.
When they heard this, they said: 'Nothing else will do but we must
shoot him.' So they drew up the soldiers, and said they would hold a
review in his honour, for they would celebrate the wedding in the
square before the castle. Then they conducted him thither, and the
soldiers were already going to let fly at him. But George said to
the man who held his thumb in the bottle in place of a stopper: 'You
said, if you pulled your thumb out, you could besprinkle everything.
Pull it out--quick!' 'Oh, sir, I'll easily perform that.' So he
pulled out his thumb and gave them all such a sprinkling, that they
were all blind, and not one could see.
So, when they perceived that nothing else was to be done, they told
him to go, for they would give him the damsel. Then they gave him a
handsome royal robe, and the wedding took place. I, too, was at the
wedding; they had music there, sang, ate, and drank; there was meat,
there were cheesecakes, and baskets full of everything, and buckets
full of strong waters. To-day I went, yesterday I came; I found an
egg among the tree-stumps; I knocked it against somebody's head, and
gave him a bald place, and he's got it still.
* * * * *
This story is related to Grimm's tale of the 'Golden Goose,' but it
is much more rationally constructed, and much more interesting. The
man who jumps one hundred miles appears to be the rainbow, the man
with bandaged eyes the lightning, and the man with the bottle the
cloud. The interpretation will be very similar to that of No. 1, but
the allegory is by no means so clear or so well constructed. As to
the nonsense at the end, it is a specimen of the manner in which the
narrators of stories frequently finish them in all Slavonic
languages.
_MORAVIAN STORIES._
Moravia is so named from the river Morava (in German the river
March), of which, and its affluents, it is the basin. It falls into
the Danube a little above Presburg. In very early times Moravia
appears to have been more civilized and powerful than Bohemia; but
later, Bohemia became a considerable kingdom, and Moravia a
dependency of, and eventually a margravate under the Bohemian crown.
The Moravian stories differ but little in character from those of
Bohemia. The country, unlike Bohemia, abounds in dialects, although
the literary language is the Bohemian. On the east the Moravian
melts into the Silesian, or 'Water-Polish.'
No. 8, 'Godmother Death,' is an interesting variant of the Teutonic
'Godfather Death,' which is given by Grimm. The reason why Death is
represented as a Godmother, rather than a Godfather, in the Moravian
story, is, that Death (_Smrt_) is feminine in all Slavonic dialects.
The story constructed on this basis is more graceful and fuller of
incident than the Teutonic tale, in which Death is masculine.
No. 9 is another story falling under the head of 'Natural Science in
Allegory,' which is clearer and simpler in construction and
interpretation than any variant of it that I am acquainted with.
VIII.--GODMOTHER DEATH.
There was a man, very poor in this world's goods, whose wife
presented him with a baby boy. No one was willing to stand sponsor,
because he was so very poor. The father said to himself: 'Dear Lord,
I am so poor that no one is willing to be at my service in this
matter; I'll take the baby, I'll go, and I'll ask the first person I
meet to act as sponsor, and if I don't meet anybody, perhaps the
sexton will help me.' He went and met Death, but didn't know what
manner of person she was; she was a handsome woman, like any other
woman. He asked her to be godmother. She didn't make any excuse, and
immediately saluted him as parent of her godchild, took the baby in
her arms, and carried him to church. The little lad was properly
christened. When they came out of church, the child's father took
the godmother to an inn, and wanted to give her a little treat as
godmother. But she said to him, 'Gossip,[1] leave this alone, and
come with me to my abode.' She took him with her to her apartment,
which was very handsomely furnished. Afterwards she conducted him
into great vaults, and through these vaults they went right into the
under-world in the dark. There tapers were burning of three
sizes--small, large, and middle-sized; and those which were not yet
alight were very large. The godmother said to the godchild's father:
'Look, Gossip, here I have the duration of everybody's life.' The
child's father gazed thereat, found there a tiny taper close to the
very ground, and asked her: 'But, Gossip, I pray you, whose is this
little taper close to the ground?' She said to him: 'That is yours!
When any taper whatsoever burns down, I must go for that man.' He
said to her: 'Gossip, I pray you, give me somewhat additional.' She
said to him: 'Gossip, I cannot do that!' Afterwards she went and
lighted a large new taper for the baby boy whom they had had
christened. Meanwhile, while the godmother was not looking, the
child's father took for himself a large new taper, lit it, and
placed it where his tiny taper was burning down.
[1] The Slavonians are rich in terms, both masculine and
feminine, expressing the various relationships between
godparents and godchildren and their parents. We have only one
form, 'gossip,' which thus has to do duty for both the godmother
and the father of the godchild.
The godmother looked round at him and said: 'Gossip, you ought not
to have done that to me; but if you have given yourself additional
lifetime, you have done so and possess it. Let us go hence, and
we'll go to your wife.'
She took a present, and went with the child's father and the child
to the mother. She arrived, and placed the boy on his mother's bed,
and asked her how she was, and whether she had any pain anywhere.
The mother confided her griefs to her, and the father sent for some
beer, and wanted to entertain her in his cottage, as godmother, in
order to gratify her and show his gratitude. They drank and feasted
together. Afterwards the godmother said to her godchild's father:
'Gossip, you are so poor that no one but myself would be at your
service in this matter; but never mind, you shall bear me in memory!
I will go to the houses of various respectable people and make them
ill, and you shall physic and cure them. I will tell you all the
remedies. I possess them all, and everybody will be glad to
recompense you well, only observe this: When I stand at anyone's
feet, you can be of assistance to every such person; but if I stand
at anybody's head, don't attempt to aid him.' It came to pass. The
child's father went from patient to patient, where the godmother
caused illness, and benefited every one. All at once he became a
distinguished physician. A prince was dying--nay, he had breathed
his last--nevertheless, they sent for the physician. He came, he
began to anoint him with salves and give him his powders, and did
him good. When he had restored him to health, they paid him well,
without asking how much they were indebted. Again, a count was
dying. They sent for the physician again. The physician came. Death
was standing behind the bed at his head. The physician cried: 'It's
a bad case, but we'll have a try.' He summoned the servants, and
ordered them to turn the bed round with the patient's feet towards
Death, and began to anoint him with salves and administer powders
into his mouth, and did him good. The count paid him in return as
much as he could carry away, without ever asking how much he was
indebted; he was only too glad that he had restored him to health.
When Death met the physician, she said to him: 'Gossip, if this
occurs to you again, don't play me that trick any more. True, you
have done him good, but only for a while; I must, none the less,
take him off whither he is due.' The child's father went on in this
way for some years; he was now very old. But at last he was wearied
out, and asked Death herself to take him. Death was unable to take
him, because he had given himself a long additional taper; she was
obliged to wait till it burned out. One day he drove to a certain
patient to restore him to health, and did so. Afterwards Death
revealed herself to him, and rode with him in his carriage. She
began to tickle and play with him, and tap him with a green twig
under the throat; he threw himself into her lap, and went off into
the last sleep. Death laid him in the carriage, and took herself
off. They found the physician lying dead in his carriage, and
conveyed him home. The whole town and all the villages lamented:
'That physician is much to be regretted. What a good doctor he was!
He was of great assistance; there will never be his like again!' His
son remained after him, but had not the same skill.
The son went one day into church, and his godmother met him. She
asked him: 'My dear son, how are you?' He said to her: 'Not all
alike; so long as I have what my dad saved up for me, it is well
with me, but after that the Lord God knows how it will be with me.'
His godmother said: 'Well, my son, fear nought. I am your
christening mamma; I helped your father to what he had, and will
give you, too, a livelihood. You shall go to a physician as a pupil,
and you shall be more skilful than he, only behave nicely.' After
this she anointed him with salve over the ears, and conducted him to
a physician. The physician didn't know what manner of lady it was,
and what sort of son she brought him for instruction. The lady
enjoined her son to behave nicely, and requested the physician to
instruct him well, and bring him into a good position. Then she took
leave of him and departed. The physician and the lad went together
to gather herbs, and each herb cried out to the pupil what remedial
virtue it had, and the pupil gathered it. The physician also
gathered herbs, but knew not, with regard to any herb, what remedial
virtue it possessed. The pupil's herbs were beneficial in every
disease. The physician said to the pupil: 'You are cleverer than I,
for I diagnose no one that comes to me; but you know herbs counter
to every disease. Do you know what? Let us join partnership. I will
give my doctor's diploma up to you, and will be your assistant, and
am willing to be with you till death.' The lad was successful in
doctoring and curing till his taper burned out in limbo.
IX.--THE FOUR BROTHERS.
There was, once upon a time, a huntsman who had four sons, and these
sons wanted to go to gain experience in the world. When they were
all over sixteen years old, they said to their father: 'We are going
into the world, father; we pray you give us money for our journey.'
The father gave them 100 florins and a horse apiece. They mounted
their horses and rode to the mountains. On a mountain were four
roads, and between them stood a beech-tree. At this beech-tree they
halted, and the eldest said to the rest, 'Brothers, let us separate
here, and go each by a different road to seek his fortune in the
world. Let us each stick his knife into this beech-tree, and in a
year and a day let us all meet together here. These knives will be
tokens for us; if any one of the knives is rusty, the one of us to
whom it belongs will be dead; and he whose knife is free from rust
will be alive and well.' They separated, and went each his way, and
when they came to suitable places they each learned a handicraft.
The eldest learned to be a cobbler, the second to be a thief, the
third to be an astrologer, and the fourth to be a huntsman. When the
year and day arrived, they started on their return. The eldest came
first to the beech-tree, pulled out his own knife and looked at the
other knives. Seeing that they were all free from rust, he rejoiced,
and said, 'Praise be to God! we are all alive and well.' He went
home. When he came to his father, his father asked him, 'What manner
of handicraft have you learnt?' The son replied, 'Daddy, it's no use
telling you stories; I'm a cobbler.' The father said, 'Well, you've
learned a nice gainful handicraft.' The son answered, 'But, daddy,
I'm not a cobbler like other cobblers, but I'm this kind of cobbler:
if anything is worn out, I only say, "Let it be mended up," and it
is so at once.' The father had a coat worn out at the elbows, and
told him to cobble it up. The son gave the command, 'Let it be
mended up,' and in a moment the coat was mended up as if it were
brand new, nor was it possible to know that it had been mended at
all. Upon this the father said nothing more. The next day the second
son came to the beech. He pulled out his own knife, and looked at
the remaining two; the third was already gone. Seeing that they
were both free from rust, he rejoiced, and said, 'Praise be to God!
we are all alive and well; our eldest brother is at home already.'
He also went home. When he came to his father, his father asked him,
'What manner of handicraft have you learned?' The son replied, 'Dear
daddy, it's no use telling stories to you; I'm a thief.' The father
said, 'Oh, you've learned a nice gainful trade! Shame on you!' The
son said to him, 'But, daddy, I'm not a thief like a thief, but I'm
such a thief that, if I think of anything, be it where it may, I
have it with me at once.' Just then a hare came running on the
hillside; it could be seen through the window; the father told him
to fetch the hare. The son immediately said, 'Let yon hare be here,'
and it was with them at once. After this the father said no more.
The third day the third son came to the beech, pulled out his own
knife and looked at the other knife, two not being there. Seeing
that it was clear of rust, he said, 'Praise be to God! we are all
alive and well; my two elder brothers are at home already.' He also
went home. When he came to his father, his father asked him what
manner of handicraft he had learned. The son replied, 'Dear daddy,
it's no use to tell you stories; I'm an astrologer.' His father said
to him that it was a nice pretty handicraft. The son answered, 'But,
daddy, I am this kind of astrologer: if I look at the sky, I see at
once where anything is in the whole earth.' On the fourth day the
youngest son came to the beech and pulled out his knife, the other
three being there no longer. He was glad, and said, 'My brothers are
already all at home.' He also went home. When he came to his father,
the father asked him what manner of handicraft he had learned. The
son answered that he was a huntsman. The father said, 'Anyhow, you
have not despised my craft; for that you're a good lad.' The son
said, 'But, dear daddy, I'm not such a huntsman as you are, but one
of this kind; if there is an unusually fine head of game, I say,
"Let it be shot," and immediately shot it is.' There was a hare
darting along the hillside; it was visible through the window. The
father said, 'Shoot it!' The youngest son spoke the word, and the
hare lay dead. The father said, 'I don't see whether it is lying
dead.' The astrologer looked at the sky, and said, 'Yes, daddy, it's
lying there behind the bushes.' The father said, 'Yes, it's lying
there, but how are we to get it?' The brother who was a thief said,
'Let it be here,' and immediately there it was. But it had come
through thorny bushes, and was all torn. The father said, 'The whole
skin is torn; who'll buy it of us?' The brother who was a cobbler
said, 'Let it be mended up,' and immediately mended up it was. The
father said, 'Well, you'll all four maintain yourselves by your
handicrafts.'
They lived for some time at home with their father, and maintained
themselves well. Then a king lost the princess, his daughter, and
made proclamation that whoever should find her, to that person he
would give his daughter and the kingdom as well. The brothers said
to one another, 'Let us go thither.' The father didn't give them
leave to go, but go they did, and gave out that they were the people
who would find the lost princess. The king immediately sent a
carriage for them. When they came to the king, they said that they
understood he had made proclamation that his daughter was lost, and
that he would give her and the kingdom as well to whoever should
find her. The king said that this was very truth, and immediately
asked them to tell him where his daughter was. The astrologer
replied that he could not tell him just then, but when evening came
he would perceive in the sky where she was. About eight or nine
o'clock they went out and gazed at the sky. The astrologer said that
she had been taken captive by a dragon; that the dragon had seized
her as she was out walking, and was keeping her on an island beyond
the Red Sea; that she was obliged to fondle him for two hours every
day, and that the dragon then had his head placed on her lap. When
day came, they assembled and drove in the carriage to the Red Sea.
Then they got into a boat and rowed to the island where the princess
was. When they arrived at the island, the princess was out walking,
and the dragon wasn't at home; but the princess made signs to them
that they were in evil case, for the dragon was just flying home.
The thief-brother called out with speed, 'Let the princess be here!'
She was with them in the boat at once, but cried out that they were
in evil case, and would all perish. They rowed speedily away in the
boat, but the dragon, full of wrath, roared and growled and rose in
the air above them. The astrologer said to the huntsman, 'Brother,
shoot him.' The huntsman-brother said, 'Let him be shot.' The dragon
was shot, but fell on the boat and broke a hole in it, so that the
water came in. They threw the dragon into the sea, and the
huntsman-brother gave the word to the cobbler-brother, 'Mend the
leak.' The cobbler-brother mended the leak, so that not a drop of
water came into the boat to them. Thus they arrived safely with the
princess at the sea-shore, landed on the beach, took their seats in
the carriage with the princess, and drove off. But as they drove
along in the carriage, they disputed to which of them the princess
and the kingdom belonged. The astrologer said, 'The princess is
mine. If it hadn't been for me, we shouldn't have known where the
princess was.' The thief said, 'The princess is mine. If it hadn't
been for me, we shouldn't have got the princess into the boat.' The
huntsman said that the princess was his; if it hadn't been for him,
they wouldn't have shot the dragon. The cobbler shouted that the
princess was his; if it hadn't been for him, they would all have
been drowned and have perished. When they came to the palace to the
king, they asked him to decide to whom the princess belonged. The
king said, 'Dear brothers, I will judge you righteously. It is true
that you have all deserved her, but you cannot all obtain her.
According to my promise, the astrologer-brother must obtain her, for
I made proclamation that whoever should _find_ the lost princess
should obtain her and the kingdom with her; the astrologer found
her, and told us where she was. But, that none of you may be
unfairly dealt with, each shall receive a district of his own, and
ye shall each be kings in your own districts.' They were all
content. The astrologer, as soon as the wedding was over, sent home
for his father. The father came, and was delighted that his sons had
become monarchs each in his district. In the spring he lived with
the cobbler, in the summer with the thief, in the autumn with the
huntsman, and in winter with the astrologer, and enjoyed himself
everywhere till death.
* * * * *
I think that this story is connected with the Ceres and Proserpine
cycle, only the daughter is lost by a father instead of a mother. It
will be seen, also, that at the conclusion of the story the order of
the brothers is not the same as in the story itself. And I think the
error is in the story, and that the astrologer ought to have been
the youngest brother instead of the huntsman. The brothers are the
four seasons of the year, which in ancient times began with spring,
the cobbler, who mends up all things, and makes them new again; next
comes summer, the thief, who gathers the products of the earth;
third comes autumn, the huntsman, when the wild animals that have
increased and multiplied during the year are destroyed and reduced
within limits; last comes winter, the astrologer, when ploughing,
sowing, and other agricultural operations that govern the whole year
go on by calculation. Thus the princess herself, the earth or its
fertility, is assigned to the representative of winter, while the
other seasons are lords each in his own district.
This Moravian tale will bear an advantageous comparison with Grimm's
tale of the 'Four Accomplished Brothers,' in which neither of the
brothers is allowed to obtain the princess.
_HUNGARIAN-SLOVENISH STORIES._
The Slovenes or Slovaks of North Hungary speak a great number of
dialects, their literary language being, however, the Bohemian. They
seem to be the _débris_ of a much larger nation or assemblage of
nations, which was forced out of the plains of Pannonia into the
mountains by the invasion of the Magyar or Hungarian horsemen, who,
according to the Russian chronicler Nestor, marched past Kief in
A.D. 898, on their way to establish themselves in their present
abode.
Their stories are not very dissimilar to the Bohemian tales,
although they do not resemble them so closely as the Moravian
stories do. No. 10 is one of the tales that especially attracted my
attention, and caused me to entertain the idea of translating a
considerable selection out of the hundred given by Erben. No. 11
contains incidents which occur again in the White Russian story (No.
22), and in the great Russian tale of 'Ivan Popyalof,' given by
Ralston, though in other respects the stories are very different.
No. 12 is a superior variant of the German 'Rumpelstilskin' given by
Grimm, and No. 13 is a specimen of an entirely different kind of
story, illustrating 'The biter bitten.'
X.--THE THREE LEMONS.
There was once upon a time an old king who had an only son. This son
he one day summoned before him, and spoke to him thus: 'My son, you
see that my head has become white; ere long I shall close my eyes,
and I do not yet know in what condition I shall leave you. Take a
wife, my son! Let me bless you in good time, before I close my
eyes.' The son made no reply, but became lost in thought; he would
gladly with all his heart have fulfilled his father's wish, but
there was no damsel in whom his heart could take delight.
Once upon a time, when he was sitting in the garden, and just
considering what to do, all of a sudden an old woman appeared before
him--where she came, there she came. 'Go to the glass hill, pluck
the three lemons, and you will have a wife in whom your heart will
take delight,' said she, and as she had appeared so she disappeared.
Like a bright flash did these words dart through the prince's soul.
At that moment he determined, come what might, to seek the glass
hill and pluck the three lemons. He made known his determination to
his father, and his father gave him for the journey a horse, arms
and armour, and his fatherly blessing.
Through forest-covered mountains, through desert plains, went our
prince on his pilgrimage, for a very, very great distance; but there
was nothing to be seen, nothing to be heard of the glass hill and
the three lemons. Once, quite wearied out with his long journey, he
threw himself down under the cool shade of a broad lime-tree. As he
threw himself down, his father's sword, which he wore at his side,
clanged against the ground, and a dozen ravens began croaking at the
top of the tree. Frightened by the clang of the sword, they rose on
their wings, and flew into the air above the lofty tree. 'Hem! till
now I haven't seen a living creature for a long while,' said the
prince to himself, springing from the ground. 'I will go in the
direction in which the ravens have flown; maybe some hope will
disclose itself to me.'
He went on--he went on anew for three whole days and three nights,
till at last a lofty castle displayed itself to him at a distance.
'Praise be to God! I shall now at any rate come to human beings,'
cried he, and proceeded further.
The castle was of pure lead; round it flew the twelve ravens, and in
front of it stood an old woman--it was Jezibaba[2]--leaning on a
long leaden staff. 'Ah, my son! whither have you come? Here there is
neither bird nor insect to be seen, much less a human being,' said
Jezibaba to the prince. 'Flee, if life is dear to you; for, if my
son comes, he will devour you.' 'Ah! not so, old mother, not so!'
entreated the prince. 'I have come to you for counsel as to whether
you cannot let me have some information about the glass hill and the
three lemons.' 'I have never heard of the glass hill; but stay! when
my son comes home, maybe he will be able to let you have the
information. But I will now conceal you somewhat; you will hide
yourself under the besom, and wait there concealed till I call you.'
[2] Jezibaba is said to represent winter.
The mountains echoed, the castle quaked, and Jezibaba whispered to
the prince that her son was coming. 'Foh! foh! there is a smell of
human flesh; I am going to eat it!' shouted Jezibaba's son, while
still in the doorway, and thumped on the ground with a huge leaden
club, so that the whole castle quaked. 'Ah, not so, my son, not so!'
said Jezibaba, soothing him. 'There has come a handsome youth who
wants to consult you about something.' 'Well, if he wants to consult
me, let him come here.' 'Yes, indeed, my son, he shall come, but
only on condition that you promise to do nothing to him.' 'Well,
I'll do nothing to him, only let him come.'
The prince was trembling like an aspen under the besom, for he saw
before him through the twigs an ogre, up to whose knees he didn't
reach. Happily his life was safeguarded, when Jezibaba bade him come
out from under the besom. 'Well, you beetle, why are you afraid?'
shouted the giant. 'Whence are you? What do you want?' 'What do I
want?' replied the prince. 'I've long been wandering in these
mountains, and can't find that which I am seeking. Now I've come to
ask you whether you can't give me information about the glass hill
and the three lemons.' Jezibaba's son wrinkled his brow, but, after
a while, said in a somewhat gentler voice: 'There's nothing to be
seen here of the glass hill; but go to my brother in the silver
castle, maybe he'll be able to tell you something. But stay, I won't
let you go away hungry. Mother, here with the dumplings!' Old
Jezibaba set a large dish upon the table, and her gigantic son sat
down to it. 'Come and eat!' shouted he to the prince. The prince
took the first dumpling and began to eat, but two of his teeth
broke, for they were dumplings of lead. 'Well, why don't you eat?
maybe you don't like them?' inquired Jezibaba's son. 'Yes, they are
good; but I don't want any just now.' 'Well, if you don't want any
just now, pocket some, and go your way.' The good prince--would he,
nould he--was obliged to put some of the leaden dumplings into his
pocket. He then took leave and proceeded further.
On he went and on he went for three whole days and three nights, and
the further he went, the deeper he wandered into a thickly wooded
and gloomy range of mountains. Before him it was desolate, behind
him it was desolate; there wasn't a single living creature to be
seen. All wearied from his long journey, he threw himself on the
ground. The clang of his silver-mounted sword spread far and wide.
Above him four and twenty ravens, frightened by the clash of his
sword, began to croak, and, rising on their wings, flew into the
air. 'A good sign!' cried the prince. 'I will go in the direction in
which the birds have flown.'
And on he went in that direction, on he went as fast as his feet
could carry him, till all at once a lofty castle displayed itself to
him! He was still far from the castle, and already its walls were
glistening in his eyes, for the castle was of pure silver. In front
of the castle stood an old woman bent with age, leaning on a long
silver staff, and this was Jezibaba. 'Ah, my son! How is it that you
have come here? Here there is neither bird nor insect, much less a
human being!' cried Jezibaba to the prince; 'if life is dear to you,
flee away, for if my son comes, he will devour you!' 'Nay, old
mother, he will hardly eat me. I bring him a greeting from his
brother in the leaden castle.' 'Well, if you bring a greeting from
the leaden castle, then come into the parlour, my son, and tell me
what you are seeking.' 'What I am seeking, old mother? For ever so
long a time I've been seeking the glass hill and the three lemons,
and cannot find them; now I've come to inquire whether you can't
give me information about them.' 'I know nothing about the glass
hill; but stay! when my son comes, maybe he will be able to give you
the information. Hide yourself under the bed, and don't make
yourself known unless I call you.'
The mountains echoed with a mighty voice, the castle quaked, and the
prince knew that Jezibaba's son was coming home. 'Foh! foh! there's
a smell of human flesh; I'm going to eat it!' roared a horrible ogre
already in the doorway, and thumped upon the ground with a silver
club, so that the whole castle quaked. 'Ah! not so, my son, not so;
but a handsome youth has come and has brought you a greeting from
your brother in the leaden castle.' 'Well, if he's been at my
brother's, and if he has done nothing to him, let him have no fear
of me either; let him come out.' The prince sprang out from under
the bed, and went up to him, looking beside him as if he had placed
himself under a very tall pine. 'Well, beetle, have you been at my
brother's?' 'Indeed, I have; and here I've still the dumplings,
which he gave me for the journey.' 'Well, I believe you; now tell me
what it is you want.' 'What I want? I am come to ask you whether you
can't give me information about the glass hill or the three lemons.'
'Hem! I've heard formerly about it, but I don't know how to direct
you. Meanwhile, do you know what? Go to my brother in the golden
castle, he will direct you. But stay, I won't let you go away
hungry. Mother, here with the dumplings!' Jezibaba brought the
dumplings on a large silver dish, and set them on the table. 'Eat!'
shouted her son. The prince, seeing that they were silver dumplings,
said that he didn't want to eat just then, but would take some for
his journey, if he would give him them. 'Take as many as you like,
and greet my brother and aunt.' The prince took the dumplings,
thanked him courteously, and proceeded further.
Three days had already passed since he quitted the silver castle,
wandering continuously through densely wooded mountains, not knowing
which way to go, whether to the right hand or to the left. All
wearied out, he threw himself down under a wide-spreading beech, to
take a little breath. His silver-mounted sword clanged on the
ground, and the sound spread far and wide. 'Krr, krr, krr!' croaked
a flock of ravens over the traveller, scared by the clash of his
sword, and flew into the air. 'Praise be to God! the golden castle
won't be far off now,' cried the prince, and proceeded, encouraged,
onwards in the direction in which the ravens showed him the road.
Scarcely had he come out of the valley on to a small hill, when he
saw a beautiful and wide meadow, and in the midst of the meadow
stood a golden castle, just as if he were gazing at the sun; and
before the gate of the castle stood an old bent Jezibaba, leaning on
a golden staff. 'Ah! my son! what do you seek for here?' cried she
to the prince. 'Here there is neither bird nor insect to be seen,
much less a human being! If your life is dear to you, flee, for if
my son comes, he will devour you!' 'Nay, old mother, he'll hardly
eat me,' replied he. 'I bring him a greeting from his brother in the
silver castle.' 'Well, if you bring him a greeting from the silver
castle, come into the parlour and tell me what has brought you to
us.' 'What has brought me to you, old mother? I have long been
wandering in this mountain range, and haven't been able to find out
where are the glass hill and the three lemons. I was directed to
you, because haply you might be able to give me information about
it.' 'Where is the glass hill? I cannot tell you that; but stay!
when my son comes, he will counsel you which way you must go, and
what you must do. Hide yourself under the table, and stay there till
I call you.'
The mountains echoed, the castle quaked, and Jezibaba's son stepped
into the parlour. 'Foh! foh! there's a smell of human flesh; I'm
going to eat it!' shouted he, while still in the doorway, and
thumped with a golden club upon the ground, so that the whole castle
quaked. 'Gently, my son, gently!' said Jezibaba, soothing him;
'there is a handsome youth come, who brings you a greeting from your
brother in the silver castle. If you will do nothing to him, I will
call him at once.' 'Well, if my brother has done nothing to him,
neither will I do anything to him.' The prince came out from under
the table and placed himself beside him, looking, in comparison, as
if he had placed himself beside a lofty tower, and showed him the
silver dumplings in token that he had really been at the silver
castle. 'Well, tell me, you beetle, what you want!' shouted the
monstrous ogre; 'if I can counsel you, counsel you I will; don't
fear!' Then the prince explained to him the aim of his long journey,
and begged him to advise him which way to go to the glass hill, and
what he must do to obtain the three lemons. 'Do you see that black
knoll that looms yonder?' said he, pointing with his golden club;
'that is the glass hill; on the top of the hill stands a tree, and
on the tree hang three lemons, whose scent spreads seven miles
round. You will go up the glass hill, kneel under the tree, and hold
up your hands; if the lemons are destined for you, they will fall
off into your hands of themselves; but, if they are not destined for
you, you will not pluck them, whatever you do. When you are on your
return, and are hungry or thirsty, cut one of the lemons into
halves, and you will eat and drink your fill. And now go, and God be
with you! But stay, I won't let you go hungry. Mother, here with the
dumplings!' Jezibaba set a large golden dish on the table. 'Eat!'
said her son to the prince, 'or, if you don't want to do so now, put
some into your pocket; you will eat them on the road.' The prince
had no desire to eat, but put some into his pocket, saying that he
would eat them on the road. He then thanked him courteously for his
hospitality and counsel, and proceeded further.
Swiftly he paced from hill into dale, from dale on to a fresh hill,
and never stopped till he was beneath the glass hill itself. There
he stopped, as if turned to a stone. The hill was high and smooth;
there wasn't a single crack in it. On the top spread the branches of
a wondrous tree, and on the tree swung three lemons, whose scent was
so powerful that the prince almost fainted. 'God help me! Now, as it
shall be, so it will be. Now that I'm once here, I will at any rate
make the attempt,' thought he to himself, and began to climb up the
smooth glass; but scarcely had he ascended a few fathoms when his
foot slipped, and he himself, pop! down the hill, so that he didn't
know where he was, or what he was, till he found himself on the
ground at the bottom. Wearied out, he began to throw away the
dumplings, thinking that their weight was a hindrance to him. He
threw away the first, and lo! the dumpling fixed itself on the glass
hill. He threw a second and a third, and saw before him three steps,
on which he could stand with safety. The prince was overjoyed. He
kept throwing the dumplings before him, and in every case steps
formed themselves from them for him. First he threw the leaden ones,
then the silver, and then the golden ones. By the steps thus
constructed he ascended higher and higher till he happily attained
the topmost ridge of the glass hill. Here he knelt down under the
tree and held up his hands. And lo! the three beautiful lemons flew
down of themselves into the palms of his hands. The tree
disappeared, the glass hill crashed and vanished, and when the
prince came to himself, there was no tree, no hill, but a wide plain
lay extended before him.
He commenced his return homeward with delight. He neither ate nor
drank, nor saw nor heard, for very joy. But when the third day came,
a vacuum began to make itself felt in his stomach. He was so hungry
that he would gladly have then and there betaken himself to the
leaden dumplings if his pocket hadn't been empty. His pocket was
empty, and all around was just as bare as the palm of his hand. Then
he took a lemon out of his pocket and cut it into halves; and what
came to pass? Out of the lemon sprang a beautiful damsel, who made a
reverence before him, and cried out: 'Have you made ready for me to
eat? Have you made ready for me to drink? Have you made pretty
dresses ready for me?' 'I have nothing, beautiful creature, for you
to eat, nothing for you to drink, nothing for you to put on,' said
the prince, in a sorrowful voice, and the beautiful damsel clapped
her white hands thrice before him, made a reverence and vanished.
'Aha! now I know what sort of lemons these are,' said the prince;
'stay! I won't cut them up so lightly.' From the cut one he ate and
drank to his satisfaction, and thus refreshed, proceeded onwards.
But on the third day a hunger three times worse than the preceding,
assailed him. 'God help me!' said he; 'I have still one remaining
over. I'll cut it up.' He then took out the second lemon, cut it in
halves, and lo! a damsel still more beautiful than the preceding one
placed herself before him. 'Have you made ready for me to eat? Have
you made ready for me to drink? Have you made pretty dresses ready
for me?' 'I have not, dear soul! I have not!' and the beautiful
damsel clapped her hands thrice before him, made a reverence, and
vanished.
Now he had only one lemon remaining; he took it in his hand and
said: 'I will not cut you open save in my father's house,' and
therewith proceeded onwards. On the third day he saw, after long
absence, his native town. He didn't know himself how he got there,
when he found himself at once in his father's castle. Tears of joy
bedewed his old father's cheeks: 'Welcome, my son! welcome a hundred
times!' he cried, and fell upon his neck. The prince related how it
had gone with him on his journey, and the members of the household
how anxiously they had waited for him.
On the next day a grand entertainment was prepared; lords and ladies
were invited from all quarters; and beautiful dresses, embroidered
with gold and studded with pearls were got ready. The lords and
ladies assembled, took their seats at the tables, and waited
expectantly to see what would happen. Then the prince took out the
last lemon, cut it in halves, and out of the lemon sprang a lady
thrice as beautiful as had been the preceding ones. 'Have you made
ready for me to eat? Have you made ready for me to drink? Have you
got pretty dresses ready for me?' 'I have, my dear soul, got
everything ready for you,' answered the prince, and presented the
handsome dresses to her. The beautiful damsel put on the beautiful
clothes, and all rejoiced at her extraordinary beauty. Ere long the
betrothal took place, and after the betrothal a magnificent wedding.
Now was fulfilled the old king's wish; he blessed his son, resigned
the kingdom into his hands, and ere long died.
The first thing that occurred to the new king after his father's
death was a war, which a neighbouring king excited against him. Now
he was constrained for the first time to part from his hard-earned
wife. Lest, therefore, anything should happen to her in his absence,
he caused a throne to be erected for her in a garden beside a lake,
which no one could ascend, save the person to whom she let down a
silken cord, and drew that person up to her.
Not far from the royal castle lived an old woman, the same that had
given the prince the counsel about the three lemons. She had a
servant, a gipsy, whom she was in the habit of sending to the lake
for water. She knew very well that the young king had obtained a
wife, and it annoyed her excessively that he had not invited her to
the wedding, nay, had not even thanked her for her good advice. One
day she sent her maidservant to the lake for water. She went, drew
water, and saw a beautiful image in the water. Under the impression
that this was her own reflection, she banged her pitcher on the
ground, so that it flew into a thousand pieces. 'Are you worthy,'
said she, 'that so beautiful a person as myself should carry water
for an old witch like you?' As she uttered this she looked up, and
lo! it wasn't her own reflection that she saw in the water, but that
of the beautiful queen. Ashamed, she picked up the pieces and
returned home. The old woman, who knew beforehand what had occurred,
went out to meet her with a fresh pitcher, and asked her servant,
for appearance' sake, what had happened to her. The servant related
all as it had occurred. 'Well, that's nothing!' said the old woman.
'But, do you know what? Go you once more to the lake, and ask the
lady to let down the silken cord and draw you up, promising to comb
and dress her hair. If she draws you up, you will comb her hair, and
when she falls asleep, stick this pin into her head. Then dress
yourself in her clothes and sit there as queen.'
It wasn't necessary to use much persuasion to the gipsy; she took
the pin, took the pitcher, and returned to the lake. She drew water
and looked at the beautiful queen. 'Dear me! how beautiful you are!
Ah! you are beautiful!' she screamed, and looked with coaxing
gestures into her eyes. 'Yes,' said she; 'but you would be a hundred
times more beautiful if you would let me comb and dress your hair;
in truth, I would so twine those golden locks that your lord could
not help being delighted.' And thus she jabbered, thus she coaxed,
till the queen let down the silken cord and drew her up.
The nasty gipsy combed, separated, and plaited the golden hair till
the beautiful queen fell sound asleep. Then the gipsy drew out the
pin, and stuck it into the sleeping queen's head. At that moment a
beautiful white dove flew off the golden throne, and not a vestige
remained of the lovely queen save her handsome clothes, in which the
gipsy speedily dressed herself, took her seat in the place where the
queen sat before, and gazed into the lake; but the beautiful
reflection displayed itself no more in the lake, for even in the
queen's clothes the gipsy nevertheless remained a gipsy.
The young king was successful in overcoming his enemies, and made
peace with them. Scarcely had he returned to the town, when he went
to the garden to seek his delight, and to see whether anything had
happened to her. But who shall express his astonishment and horror,
when, instead of his beautiful queen, he beheld a sorry gipsy. 'Ah,
my dear, my very dear one, how you have altered!' sighed he, and
tears bedewed his cheeks. 'I have altered, my beloved! I have
altered; for anxiety for you has tortured me,' answered the gipsy,
and wanted to fall upon his neck; but the king turned away from her
and departed in anger. From that time forth he had no settled abode,
no rest; he knew neither day nor night; but merely mourned over the
lost beauty of his wife, and nothing could comfort him.
Thus agitated and melancholy, he was walking one day in the garden.
Here, as he moved about at haphazard, a beautiful white dove flew on
to his hand from a high tree, and looked with mournful gaze into his
bloodshot eyes. 'Ah, my dove! why are you so sad? Has your mate been
transformed like my beautiful wife?' said the young king, talking to
it and caressingly stroking its head and back. But feeling a kind of
protuberance on its head, he blew the feathers apart, and behold!
the head of a pin! Touched with compassion, the king extracted the
pin; that instant the beautiful mourning dove was changed into his
beautiful wife. She narrated to him all that had happened to her,
and how it had happened; how the gipsy had deluded her, and how she
had stuck the pin into her head. The king immediately caused the
gipsy and the old woman to be apprehended and burnt without further
ado.
From that time forth nothing interfered with his happiness, neither
the might of his enemies nor the spite of wicked people. He lived
with his beautiful wife in peace and love; he reigned prosperously,
and is reigning yet, if he be yet alive.
XI.--THE SUN-HORSE.
There was once upon a time a country, sad and gloomy as the grave,
on which God's sun never shone. But there was a king there, and this
king possessed a horse with a sun on his forehead; and this
sun-horse of his the king caused to be led up and down the dark
country, from one end to the other, that the people might be able to
exist there; and light came from him on all sides wherever he was
led, just as in the most beautiful day.
All at once the sun-horse disappeared. A darkness worse than that of
night prevailed over the whole country, and nothing could disperse
it. Unheard-of terror spread among the subjects; frightful misery
began to afflict them, for they could neither manufacture anything
nor earn anything, and such confusion arose among them that
everything was turned topsy-turvy. The king, therefore, in order to
liberate his realm and prevent universal destruction, made ready to
seek the sun-horse with his whole army.
Through thick darkness he made his way as best he could to the
frontier of his realm. Over dense mountains thousands of ages old
God's light began now to break from another country, as if the sun
were rising in the morning out of thick fogs. On such a mountain the
king came with his army to a poor lonely cottage. He went in to
inquire where he was, what it was, and how to get further. At a
table sat a peasant, diligently reading in an open book. When the
king bowed to him he raised his eyes, thanked him, and stood up. His
whole person announced that he was not a man like another man, but a
seer.
'I was just reading about you,' said he to the king, 'how that you
are going to seek the sun-horse. Journey no further, for you will
not obtain him; but rely on me: I will find him for you.' 'I promise
you, good man, I will recompense you royally,' replied the king,
'if you bring him here to me.' 'I require no recompense; return home
with your army--you're wanted there; only leave me one servant.'
The next day the seer set out with the servant. The way was far and
long, for they passed through six countries, and had still further
to go, till in the seventh country they stopped at the royal palace.
In this seventh country ruled three own brothers, who had to wife
three own sisters, whose mother was a witch. When they stopped in
front of the palace, the seer said to his servant: 'Do you hear? you
stay here, and I will go in to ascertain whether the kings are at
home; for the horse with the sun is in their possession--the
youngest rides upon him.' Therewith he transformed himself into a
green bird, and, flying on the gable of the eldest queen's roof,
flew up and down and pecked at it until she opened the window and
let him into her chamber. And when she let him in he perched on her
white hand, and the queen was as delighted with him as a little
child. 'Ah, what a dear creature you are!' said she, as she played
with him; 'if my husband were at home he would indeed be delighted
with you; but he won't come till evening; he has gone to visit the
third part of his country.'
All at once the old witch came into the room, and, seeing the bird,
screamed to her daughter, 'Wring the accursed bird's neck, for it's
making you bleed!' 'Well, what if it should make me bleed? it's such
a dear; it's such an innocent dear!' answered the daughter. But the
witch said: 'Dear innocent mischief! here with him! let me wring his
neck!' and dashed at it. But the bird cunningly transformed itself
into a man, and, pop! out through the door, and they didn't know
whither he had betaken himself.
Afterwards he again transformed himself into a green bird, flew on
the gable of the middle sister, and pecked at it till she opened
the window for him. And when she let him in he flew on to her white
hand, and fluttered from one hand to the other. 'Oh, what a dear
creature you are!' cried the queen, smiling; 'my husband would
indeed be delighted with you if he were at home; but he won't come
till to-morrow evening; he has gone to visit two thirds of his
kingdom.'
Thereupon the witch burst into the room. 'Wring the accursed bird's
neck! wring its neck, for it's making you bleed!' cried she as soon
as she espied it. 'Well, what if it should make me bleed? it's such
a dear, such an innocent dear!' replied the daughter. But the witch
said: 'Dear innocent mischief! here with it! let me wring its neck!'
and was already trying to seize it. But at that moment the green
bird changed itself into a man, ran out through the door, and
disappeared, as it were, in the clap of a hand, so that they didn't
know whither he had gone.
A little while afterwards he changed himself again into a green bird
and flew on the gable of the youngest queen's roof, and flew up and
down, and pecked at it until she opened the window to him. And when
she had let him in he flew straight on to her white hand, and made
himself so agreeable to her that she played with him with the
delight of a child. 'Ah, what a dear creature you are!' said the
queen; 'if my husband were at home he would certainly be delighted
with you, but he won't come till the day after to-morrow at even; he
has gone to visit all three parts of his kingdom.'
At that moment the old witch came into the room. 'Wring, wring the
accursed bird's neck!' screamed she in the doorway, 'for it is
making you bleed.' 'Well, what if it should make me bleed, mother?
it is so beautiful, so innocent,' answered the daughter. The witch
said, 'Beautiful innocent mischief! here with him! let me wring his
neck!' But at that moment the bird changed itself into a man, and
pop! out through the door, so that none of them saw him more.
Now the seer knew where the kings were, and when they would arrive.
He went to his servant and ordered him to follow him out of the
town. On they went with rapid step till they came to a bridge, over
which the kings were obliged to pass.
Under this bridge they stayed waiting till the evening. When at even
the sun was sinking behind the mountains, the clatter of a horse was
heard near the bridge. It was the eldest king returning home. Close
to the bridge his horse stumbled over a log of wood, which the seer
had thrown across the bridge. 'Ha! what scoundrel was that who threw
this log across the road?' exclaimed the king in anger. Thereat the
seer sprang out from under the bridge and rushed upon the king for
'daring to call him a scoundrel,' and, drawing his sword, attacked
him. The king, too, drew his sword to defend himself, but after a
short combat fell dead from his horse. The seer bound the dead king
on the horse, and gave the horse a lash with the whip to make him
carry his dead master home. He then withdrew under the bridge, and
they waited there till the next evening.
When day a second time declined towards evening, the middle king
came to the bridge, and, seeing the ground sprinkled with blood,
cried out, 'Somebody's been killed here! Who has dared to perpetrate
such a crime in my kingdom?' At these words the seer sprang out from
under the bridge and rushed upon the king with drawn sword,
exclaiming, 'How dare you insult me? Defend yourself as best you
can!' The king did defend himself, but after a brief struggle
yielded up his life under the sword of the seer. The seer again
fastened his corpse upon the horse, and gave the horse a lash with
the whip to make him carry his dead master home. They then withdrew
under the bridge and waited till the third evening came.
The third evening, at the very setting of the sun, up darted the
youngest king on the sun-horse, darted up with speed, for he was
somewhat late; but when he saw the red blood in front of the bridge,
he stopped, and gazing at it exclaimed, 'It is an unheard-of villain
who has dared to murder a man in my kingdom!' Scarcely had these
words issued from his mouth when the seer placed himself before him
with drawn sword, sternly bidding him defend himself, 'for he had
wounded his honour.' 'I don't know how,' answered the king, 'unless
it is you that are the villain.' But as his adversary attacked him
with a sword, he, too, drew his, and defended himself manfully.
It had been mere play to the seer to overcome the first two kings,
but it was not so with this one. Long time they fought, and broke
their swords, yet victory didn't show itself either on the one side
or on the other. 'We shall effect nothing with swords,' said the
seer, 'but do you know what? Let us turn ourselves into wheels and
start down from the hill; the wheel which breaks shall be the
conquered.' 'Good!' said the king; 'I'll be a cart-wheel, and you
shall be a lighter wheel.' 'Not so,' cunningly said the seer; 'you
shall be the lighter wheel, and I will be the cart-wheel;' and the
king agreed to it. Then they went up the hill, turned themselves
into wheels, and started downwards. The cart-wheel flew to pieces,
and bang! right into the lighter wheel, so that it all smashed up.
Immediately the seer arose out of the cart-wheel and joyfully
exclaimed, 'There you are, the victory is mine!' 'Not a bit of it,
sir brother!' cried the king, placing himself in front of the seer;
'you have only broken my fingers. But do you know what? Let us make
ourselves into flames, and the flame which burns up the other shall
be the victor. I will make myself into a red flame, and do you make
yourself into a bluish one.' 'Not so!' interrupted the seer; 'you
make yourself into a bluish flame, and I will make myself into a red
one.' The king agreed to this also. They went into the road to the
bridge, and, changing themselves into flames, began to burn each
other unmercifully. Long did they burn each other, but nothing came
of it. Thereupon, by coincidence, up came an old beggar with a long
gray beard, a bald head, a large scrip at his side, leaning upon a
thick staff. 'Old father!' said the bluish flame, 'bring some water
and quench this red flame; I'll give you a penny for it.' The red
flame cunningly exclaimed, 'Old father! I'll give you a shilling if
you'll pour the water on this bluish flame.' The old beggar liked
the shilling better than the penny, brought water and quenched the
bluish flame. Then it was all over with the king. The red flame
turned itself into a man, took the sun-horse by the bridle, mounted
on his back, called the servant, thanked the beggar for the service
he had rendered, and went off.
In the royal palaces there was deep grief at the murder of the two
kings; the entire palaces were draped with black cloth, and the
people crowded into them from all quarters to gaze at the cut and
slashed bodies of the two elder brothers, whose horses had brought
them home. The old witch, exasperated at the death of her
sons-in-law, devised a plan of vengeance on their murderer, the
seer. She seated herself with speed on an iron rake, took her three
daughters under her arms, and pop! off with them into the air.
The seer and his servant had already got through a good part of
their journey, and were then crossing desert mountains, a treeless
waste. Here a terrible hunger seized the servant, and there wasn't
even a wild plum to assuage it. All of a sudden they came to an
apple-tree. Apples were hanging on it; the branches were all but
breaking under their weight; their scent was beautiful; they were
delightfully ruddy, so that they almost offered themselves to be
eaten. 'Praise be to God!' cried the delighted servant; 'I shall eat
one of those apples with an excellent appetite.' 'Don't attempt to
gather one of them!' cried the seer to him; 'wait, I'll gather some
for you myself.' But instead of plucking an apple, he drew his sword
and thrust it mightily into the apple-tree; red blood spouted out of
it. 'There,' said he, 'you would have come to harm if you had eaten
any of those apples, for the apple-tree was the eldest queen, whose
mother placed her there to put us out of this world.'
After a time they came to a spring; water clear as crystal bubbled
up in it, all but running over the brim and thus attracting
wayfarers. 'Ah!' said the servant, 'if we can't get anything better,
let us at any rate have a drink of this good water.' 'Don't venture
to drink of it!' shouted the seer; 'but stay, I'll get you some of
it.' Yet he didn't get him any water, but thrust his drawn sword
into the midst of it; it was immediately discoloured with blood,
which began to flow from it in mighty waves. 'That is the middle
queen, whose mother placed her here to put us out of this world,'
said the seer, and the servant thanked him for his warning, and went
on, would he, nould he, in hunger and thirst, whithersoever the seer
led him.
After a time they came to a rose-bush, which was red with delightful
roses, and filled the air round about with their scent. 'Oh, what
beautiful roses!' said the servant; 'I never saw such beauties in
all my life. I'll go and gather a few of them; I will at any rate
comfort myself with them if I can't assuage my hunger and thirst.'
'Don't venture to gather one of them!' cried the seer; 'I will
gather them for you.' With that he cut into the bush with his sword;
red blood spurted out, as if he had cut the vein of a human being.
'That is the youngest queen,' said the seer to his servant, 'whom
her mother, the witch, placed here with the intention of taking
vengeance upon us for the death of her sons-in-law.' They then went
on.
When they crossed the frontier of the dark realm, flashes flew in
all directions from the horse's forehead, and everything came to
life again, beautiful regions rejoiced and blossomed with the
flowers of spring. The king didn't know how to thank the seer
sufficiently, and offered him the half of his kingdom as a reward,
but he declined it. 'You are king,' said he; 'rule over the whole
realm, and I will return to my cottage in peace.' He took leave and
departed.
XII.--THE GOLDEN SPINSTER.
Far away somewhere beyond the Red Sea, there was a certain young
lord. When he had grown up in body and mind, he bethought himself
that indeed it would not be a bad thing to look round him in the
world and seek out a nice wife for himself, and a good mistress for
his household. Well, as he determined, so he did. He went out into
the world, but could not find such a one as he would have liked. At
last he went somehow into the house of a widow, who had three
daughters, all maidens. The two elder were as active as wasps for
work, but the youngest, who was named Hanka, was like a leaden bird
for everything that wanted doing. When the young lord came to them
at spinning time he was astounded. 'How is it,' thought he, 'that
Hanka can be sleeping in the chimney-corner, while the other
spinsters are hard at work at their tasks?' He said to their mother:
'But, old lady, tell me, why don't you make that one, too, take a
distaff? She is quite a grown-up girl, and would amuse herself by
work.' 'Ah! young sir,' replied the mother, 'I would allow her to
spin with all my heart; I would fill her distaff myself; but what
then? She is such a spinster, that by herself she would by morning
spin up not only all our spinning materials, but all the thatch from
the roof, and that into golden threads; nay, at last she would
betake herself to my gray hairs; I am obliged, therefore, to give
her a holiday.' 'If this be so,' said the delighted suitor, 'and if
it is God's will, you can give her to me to wife. You see, I have a
nice establishment--flax, hemp, whole heaps of the finer and
commoner kinds of tow; she could spin away to her heart's content.'
At such language the old woman did not take long for consideration,
and Hanka woke from her slumbers. They brought the bridegroom
expectant a handsome olive-coloured handkerchief out of the
clothes-chest, adorned him with periwinkles, and performed the
marriage ceremony that very evening. The other spinsters were
somewhat mortified at Hanka's good fortune, but finally were content
at it, hoping that they, too, would get rings on their fingers,[3]
now that the idle hand, as they nicknamed Hanka, had obtained a
husband. The next day our young bridegroom ordered his horses to be
harnessed, and when all was ready, placed the tearful bride beside
him in a handsome carriage, gave his hand to his mother-in-law,
called out 'Farewell!' to the bride's sisters, and they left the
village at a gallop.
[3] Literally, 'Would come under the garland.'
For better or worse! Poor Hanka sat by her youthful husband mournful
and tearful, just as if the chickens had eaten up all her bread. He
talked to her enough, but Hanka was as mute as a fish. 'What's the
matter with you?' said he. 'Don't be frightened. At my house,
indeed, there will be no going to sleep for you. I shall give you
all that your heart desires. You will have flax, hemp, fine and
coarse tow enough for the whole winter, and I have got in a store
of apples for spittle.' But our Hanka became more sorrowful the
further they went. Thus they arrived in the evening at the young
lord's castle, got down from the carriage, and, after supper, the
future lady was conducted into a large room, in which, from top to
bottom, lay nothing but spinning materials. 'Well,' said he, 'here
you have distaff, spindle, and spindle-ring, and rosy apples and a
few peas for spittle--spin away! If you spin all this, by morning,
into golden threads, we shall be man and wife at once; if not, I
shall cause you to be put to death without further ado.' Thereupon
the young lord went out and left the spinster to spin. When Hanka
was left alone, she didn't seat herself under the distaff, for she
didn't even know how to twirl the threads, but began sorrowfully to
exclaim: 'Oh God! God! here I am come out to vile disgrace! Why did
not my mother teach me to work and spin like my two sisters? I might
then have reposed in peace at home; but, as it is, sinful creature
that I am, I must perish miserably.' As she was thus expressing her
feelings, the wall suddenly opened, and a little mannikin stood
before the terrified Hanka, with a red cap on his head and an apron
girt round his waist; before him he pushed a little golden
hand-cart. 'Why have you your eyes so tearful?' inquired he of
Hanka. 'What has happened to you?' 'As if, sinful soul that I am, I
should not weep,' said she; 'only think, they have ordered me to
spin all these spinning materials into golden threads by morning,
and if I don't do so, they will have me put to death without any
ceremony. Oh God! God! what shall I do, forlorn in this strange
world?' 'If that is all,' said the mannikin, 'don't be frightened. I
will teach you to spin golden threads cleverly; but only on this
condition, that I find you this time next year in this very place.
Then, if you do not guess my honourable name, you will become my
wife, and I shall convey you away in this cart. But, if you guess
it, I shall leave you in peace. But this I tell you: if you choose
to hide yourself anywhere this time next year, and if you fly ever
so far beneath the sky, I shall find you, and will wring your neck.
Well, have you agreed to this?' It was not, sooth to say, very
satisfactory to Hanka; but what could the poor thing do? At length
she bethought herself: 'Let it be left to God, whether I perish this
way or that! I agree.' The mannikin, on hearing this, made three
circuits round her with his golden cart, seated himself under the
distaff, and repeating:
'Thus, Haniczka, thus!
Thus, Haniczka, thus!
Thus, Haniczka, thus!'
taught and instructed her to spin golden threads. After this, as he
came, so he departed, and the wall closed up of itself behind him.
Our damsel, from that time forth a real golden spinster, sat under
the distaff, and seeing how the spinning materials decreased and the
golden threads increased, spun and spun away, and by morning had not
only spun up all, but had had a good sleep into the bargain. In the
morning, as soon as the young lord awoke, he dressed himself and
went to visit the golden spinster. When he entered the room he was
all but blinded by the glitter, and wouldn't even believe his eyes,
that it was all gold. But when he had satisfied himself that so it
was, he began to embrace the golden spinster, and declared her his
true and lawful wife. Thus they lived in the fear of God, and if our
young lord had previously loved his Haniczka for the golden
spinning, he then loved her a thousand times more for the beautiful
son that she in the meantime bore him.
But what? There's no footpath without an end, neither could the joy
of our wedded pair endure for ever. Day passed after day, till
finally the appointed time approached within a span. Now our Hanka
began to be more sorrowful from moment to moment; her eyes were as
red as if they were baked, and she did nothing but creep like a
shadow from room to room. And, indeed, it was a serious thing for a
young mother to have to lose all at once her good husband and her
beautiful son! Hitherto her poor husband knew nought about anything,
and comforted his wife as well as he could; but she would not be
comforted. When she bethought herself what a nasty dwarf she was
going to obtain instead of her shapely husband, she all but dashed
herself against the walls from excessive agony. At last she managed
to overcome herself, and revealed everything to her husband as it
had occurred to her on that first night. He became, from horror, as
pale as a whitewashed wall, and caused proclamation to be made
throughout the whole district that, if anyone knew of such a dwarf,
and should make known his real name, he would give him a piece of
gold as large as his head. 'Ah! what a windfall such a piece of gold
as that would be!' whispered neighbour to neighbour, and they
dispersed on all sides, examined all corners, all but looked into
the mouseholes, searched and searched as for a needle, but, after
all, couldn't find anything out. Nobody knew and nobody had seen the
dwarf, and as for his name, no living soul could guess it. Under
such circumstances the last day arrived; nothing had been seen or
heard of the mannikin, and our Hanka, with her boy at her breast,
was wringing her hands at the prospect of losing her husband. Her
unhappy husband, whose eyes were almost exhausted from weeping, in
order, at any rate, to escape from beholding the agony of his wife,
took his gun on his shoulder, fastened his faithful hounds in a
leash, and went out hunting. After hunting time--it was about the
hour of afternoon luncheon--it began to lighten on all sides and in
all directions, rain poured so that it would have been a shame to
turn a dog out into the roads, and in this tempest all our young
lord's servants sought shelter where they could, and got so lost
that he remained with only one on a densely wooded unknown hill, and
that as soaked and dripping as a rat. Where were they to seek
shelter before the ever-increasing storm? where to dry themselves?
where to obtain harbour for the night? The unlucky pair, master and
servant, looked round on all sides to see whether they couldn't espy
a shepherd's hut or a cattle-shed; but where nothing is, there is
nothing. Finally, when they had almost strained their eyes out of
the sockets, they saw where, out of the hole of the side shaft of a
mine, puffs of smoke were rolling, as from a limekiln. 'Go, lad,'
said the young lord to the servant, 'look whence this smoke issues;
there must be people there. Ask them whether they will give us
lodging for the night.' The servant went off and returned in a jiffy
with the intelligence that neither door, nor shed, nor people were
there. 'Fie, you're only a duffer!' said the lord to his servant
with chattering teeth. 'I'll go myself; you, for a punishment, shall
drip and freeze.' Well, the noble lord took the job in hand, but
neither could he espy anything, save that in one place smoke kept
continually issuing out of the side shaft. At last in disgust he
said: 'Whatever devil on devil may bring, know I must whence all
this smoke comes.' So he went to the hole itself, knelt beside it
and peeped in. As he was thus peeping, he espied, somewhere under
ground, where food was cooking in a kitchen, and covers were laid
for two on a stone table. Round this table ran a little mannikin in
a red cap with a golden hand-cart before him, and from time to time,
after making the circuit, he sang:
'I've manufactured a golden spinster for the young lord,
She will try to guess my name to night;
If she guesses my name aright, I shall leave her;
If she guesses it not, I shall take her:
My name is Martynko Klyngas.'
And again he ran like mad round the table and shouted:
'I'm preparing nine dishes for supper,
I'll place her in a silken bed;
If she guesses,' etc.
The young lord wanted nothing more; he ran as fast as his legs could
carry him to his servant, and, as it now cleared up a little, they
were fortunate enough to find a path, by which they hastened home.
He found his wife at home in agony, in misery, streaming with tears;
for she thought she would not be able even to take leave of her
husband, as he was so long away. 'Don't afflict yourself, my wife,'
were the young lord's first words when he entered the room. 'I know
what you require; his name is Martynko Klyngas.' And then he,
without delay, recounted to her everything, where he had gone and
what had happened to him. Hanka could scarcely keep on her feet for
joy, embraced and kissed her husband, and betook herself joyfully
into the room, in which she had spent the first night, to finish
spinning the golden threads. At midnight the wall opened, and the
mannikin with the red cap came in, as he had done that time last
year, and running round her with the golden cart shouted with the
utmost power of his lungs:
'If you guess my name, I leave you;
If you guess it not, I take you;
Only guess, guess away!'
'I'll have a try to guess,' said Hanka; 'your name is Martynko
Klyngas.' As soon as she had uttered this, the little dwarf seized
his cart, threw his cap on the ground, and departed as he had come;
the wall closed, and Hanka breathed in peace. From that time forth
she spun no more gold, and, indeed, neither was it necessary for her
so to do for they were rich enough. She and her husband lived
happily together, their boy grew like a young tree by the water's
side; and they bought a cow, and on the cow a bell, and here's an
end to the tale I tell.
* * * * *
[This story may be compared with 'Rumpelstiltskin' in Grimm. The
principle is the same; but, I think, the variation in the details is
much in favour of the Slavonic tale.]
XIII.--ARE YOU ANGRY?
Where it was, there it was, a certain village there was, in which
lived a father with three sons. One of them was silly, and always
sat in the chimney corner,[4] but the other two were considered
clever. One of these went out to service in a village not far off.
His mother put on his back a wallet full of cakes baked under the
ashes. He went into a house and made an engagement with the master
upon the terms that whichever got angry first was to have his nose
cut off. The servant went to thresh. He was not called by his master
either to breakfast or to dinner. His master asked him: 'Well,
Mishek, are you angry?' 'What have I to be angry for?' Evening came,
and supper was cooked; again they did not ask Mishek. His master
asked him: 'Well, Mishek, are you angry?' 'What have I to be angry
for?' He wasn't angry, for the cakes from home still held out. But
during the second and third day the wallet was emptied, and again he
wasn't summoned to dinner. His master asked him: 'Mishek, are you
not angry?' 'Wouldn't even the devil be angry, when you are thus
killing me with hunger?' Then his master pulled out a knife and cut
off Mishek's nose. He hastened home noseless, and complained to his
father and brothers of his wicked master. 'You simpleton!' said the
next brother, Pavko. 'Stay, I'll go! Hey, mother, bake some cakes
under the ashes!' Pavko started off and went straight to the same
village and to the same house, and made an engagement with the same
master, on the terms that whichever was the first to become angry
was to have his nose cut off. They set him, too, to thresh for three
days, but neither on the first, nor on the second, nor on the third
day, did they call him to take a meal. 'Pavko, are you not angry?'
'Wouldn't even devils be angry with you? My belly has already grown
to my backbone.' Thereupon his master pulled out a knife and cut off
Pavko's nose. Pavko went home noseless, and said to his elder
brother: 'That's a cruel house of entertainment; the devil's got my
nose.' Then Adam, the youngest, shouted from the chimney-corner:
'You are idiots! I'll go, and you'll see that I shall make a good
job of it.' He went with cakes baked under the ashes in his wallet,
and hit right upon the same village in which his brothers had been,
and engaged himself with the same master upon the terms that
whichever got angry first should have his nose cut off. But Adam
knew how to proceed intelligently. When his master didn't call him
to dinner, he went to the public-house with what he had threshed and
pawned it all. His master came and didn't see a grain of corn. Adam
then asked him: 'Master, are you angry?' 'Why should I be angry?'
This occurred several times, and his master always said that he
wasn't angry, for fear of losing his nose. Once there came a day on
which the master and mistress were obliged to be from home, and they
ordered Adam by their return to kill the first sheep that looked at
him when he entered the stable, to dress it and boil it in a
caldron, putting parsley with it. Adam went into the stable with
great banging and noise, so that all the sheep looked at him at
once, whereupon he slaughtered them all. One he dressed and put in
the caldron, but instead of parsley he threw in a dog called by that
name. His master and mistress came and asked Adam whether he had
done everything properly? He said: 'I've slaughtered the sheep and
thrown Parsley into the caldron till I saw his feet. Now, master,
are you angry?' 'What have I to be angry about?' he replied, for he
preferred keeping his nose. On Christmas Eve, when they had to go to
church, it was very dark. Adam's master said to him: 'It would be a
good thing if somebody would light us as far as the church.' 'Go!
go! I'll light you.' He took fire and set the roof on fire, till the
whole house was in flames. The master hurried up, and Adam said to
him: 'Master, are you angry?' 'Why should I be angry?' said he; for
his nose was dearer to him than his house. But what was he to do
without a house, without everything? They went into the world,
master, mistress, and servant. They wanted to put him to death; and
planned together, that when he was asleep his master should throw
him into the water. But Adam was up to this; he didn't lie down on
the side nearest the water, but got up in the night and threw his
mistress, who was on that side, into the water. His master woke, and
saw that his wife was gone; and began to cry out. But Adam asked
him: 'Well, master, are you angry?' 'Wouldn't even the devil be
angry, now that you've done me out of everything?' Adam took a knife
and cut off his master's nose. He then took to his heels, went home,
and said to his brothers: 'Now you see, you wiseacres, that I've
earned the nose.'
[4] Literally, 'Behind the stove.'
_UPPER AND LOWER LUSATIAN STORIES._
The Upper Lusatian language is spoken in a district which may be
marked by the towns of Löbau, Bautzen, and Muskau, while the Lower
Lusatians dwell round the towns of Spremberg and Kottbus. Of the
Upper Lusatians the larger portion live in Saxony and the smaller in
Prussian territory; the Lower Lusatians are all Prussian subjects.
The Upper Lusatian story illustrates, in folklore style, a moral
principle of great value. The Lower Lusatian tale is a variant of
our own 'Little Red Ridinghood.' But it completes the story in such
a manner as to explain the allegorical meaning of the narrative in
the sense in which I am inclined to interpret it, as will be shown
at the conclusion of the story.
But the Slavonic remnant in Lusatia is so surrounded by German
territory, that most of its folklore has already been pressed into
the service of the Germans.
A remarkable point in the Lusatian language is the completeness of
the dual number in both nouns, adjectives, and verbs.
XIV.--RIGHT ALWAYS REMAINS RIGHT.
There was once upon a time a huntsman, who had a son, who was also a
huntsman. He sent his son into a foreign land, to look about him
and learn something additional. Here he went into a tavern, where he
found a stranger, with whom he entered into conversation. They told
each other all the news, till they also began to talk about right
and wrong. The stranger asserted that the greatest wrong could be
made right for money. But the huntsman opined that right always
remained right, and offered to bet three hundred dollars upon it, if
the stranger would do the same.[5] The stranger was content
therewith, and they agreed to ask three advocates the question at
once. They went to the first advocate, and he said that it was
possible to make wrong right for money. They then went to another.
He also asserted that wrong could be made right for money. Finally,
they went to a third. He also told them that wrong could be made
right for money. They then went back again, and as they had been
going about the whole day, it wasn't till late in the evening that
they got to their tavern. The stranger then asked the huntsman
whether he still disbelieved that the greatest wrong could be made
right for money, and the huntsman replied that he should soon be
obliged to believe it on the assertion of the three advocates,
although he was very unwilling to do so. The stranger was willing to
grant him his life if he consented to pay three hundred dollars; but
as they were talking about it, in came a man who overpersuaded the
stranger that he must needs abide by what they had previously agreed
upon. He did not, however, do this, but only, with a red-hot iron,
took his eyesight from him, and told him at the same time, that he
would then and then only believe that right remained right in the
world, when the huntsman regained his sight.
[5] This surely ought, from what transpires later in the story,
to have run thus: 'To stake his life against three hundred
dollars to be staked by the stranger.'
The huntsman entreated the host of the tavern to put him on the
right road to the town. He put him on the road to the gallows, and
went his way. When the huntsman had gone a little further, there was
the end of the road, and he heard it strike eleven. He couldn't go
any further, and remained lying where he was in hope that perhaps
somebody would come there in the morning. After a short time he
heard a clatter, and soon somebody came up; nor was it long before a
second and a third arrived. These were three evil spirits, who
quitted their bodies in the night time, and perpetrated all manner
of villainy in the world. They began to talk together, and one said:
'To-day it is a year and a day since we were here together and
related the good deeds that we had done during the year before. A
year has again elapsed, and it is therefore time that we should
ascertain which of us has done the best action during the past
year.' The first spoke, and said: 'I have deprived the inhabitants
of the city of Ramul of their water supply; they can only be helped
if somebody finds out what it is that stops up the spring.' 'What's
that?' said the second; and the first replied: 'I have placed a
great toad on the spring out of which the water at other times
flowed; if that be removed, the water will spring up again as
before.' The second said: 'I have caused the beauty of the princess
of Sarahawsky to disappear, and herself to fade away to skin and
bones; she cannot be helped until the silver nail, which hangs above
her bed, be pulled out.' The third said: 'Yesterday I caused a
person to be deprived of his eyesight with a red hot iron; he can
only be helped by washing his eyes with the water that is in the
well not far from this gallows.' It then struck twelve in the town,
and the three disappeared at once, but the huntsman remembered all
that he had heard, and rejoiced that it was in his power to regain
his eyesight.
Early on the morrow he heard somebody passing by, and begged him to
send him people from the town, to tell where the healing spring was.
Then all manner of people came to him, but no one could show him the
spring, save at length one old woman. He caused himself to be led
thither, and as soon as he had washed his eyes in it, he immediately
obtained his eyesight again.
He now asked the way to the city of Ramul, and went thither. As soon
as he arrived, he told the town council that he would restore them
their water. But plenty of people had been there already, and the
city had spent a great deal of money upon them, yet no one had
effected aught, so, as it had been all in vain, they intended to
have nothing more to do with the matter. Well, he said that he would
do it all for nothing, only they must give him some labourers to
help him. It was done. When they had dug as far as the place where
the pipes, through which the water used to flow, were laid into the
spring, he sent all the workmen away and dug a little further
himself, and behold! a toad, like a boiler, was sitting on the
spring. He removed it, and immediately the water began to flow, and
ere long all the fountains were filled with water. The citizens got
up a grand banquet in his honour, and paid him a large sum of money
for what he had done.
He then went on and came to Sarahawsky. Then in a short time he
learnt that the princess was ill, just as he had heard, and that no
physician was able to help her; moreover that the king had promised
that the person who could cure her malady should obtain her to wife.
He therefore equipped himself very handsomely, went to the king's
palace, and there declared that he had come from a far country, and
would cure the princess. The king replied to him that he had scarce
any hope left, but would nevertheless make the experiment with him.
The huntsman said that he would fetch his medicine. He went out and
bought all manner of sweet comfits, and then went to the princess.
He gave her a first dose, and looked about to see in what part of
her bed's head the silver nail was sticking. Early on the second day
he came again, gave her again some of his medicine, took the
opportunity of laying hold of the nail, and pulled it till it began
to move. In the afternoon the princess felt that she was better. The
third day he came again, and while the princess was taking the
medicine, pulled again at the bed's head, pulled the nail clean out,
and put it secretly into his pocket. At noon the princess was so far
recovered, that she wanted to have her dinner, and the king invited
the huntsman to a grand banquet. They settled when the wedding was
to take place, but the huntsman considered that he must first go
home.
And when he had got home, he went again to the tavern where he had
lost the sight of his eyes, and the stranger was there also. They
began to tell each other all the news, and the huntsman related what
he had heard under the gallows; how he had discovered the water, and
finally how he had regained the sight of his eyes, and said that the
stranger must now believe that in the world right always remained
right. The stranger marvelled exceedingly, and said that he would
believe it.
After this the huntsman went on and came to his princess, and they
had a grand wedding festival, which lasted a whole week. The
stranger bethought himself that he, too, would go under the gallows;
peradventure he might also hear some such things as the huntsman had
heard, and might in consequence also obtain a princess to wife. And
when the year had elapsed, he also went there. He heard it strike
one, and in a short time he heard a clatter; then up came somebody
again, and it wasn't long before a second and third arrived. They
began to talk together, and one said: 'It cannot but be, that some
one overheard us last year, and through that everything that we
have done is ruined. Let us, therefore, make a careful search before
we again recount to each other what we have done.' They immediately
began to search, and found the stranger. They tore him into three
pieces and hung them up on the three corners of the gallows.
When the old king died they took the huntsman for king, and if he
has not died, he is reigning still at the present day, and firmly
believes that in his realm right will always remain right.
XV.--LITTLE RED HOOD.
Once upon a time, there was a little darling damsel, whom everybody
loved that looked upon her, but her old granny loved her best of
all, and didn't know what to give the dear child for love. Once she
made her a hood of red samite, and since that became her so well,
and she, too, would wear nothing else on her head, people gave her
the name of 'Red Hood.' Once her mother said to Red Hood, 'Go; here
is a slice of cake and a bottle of wine; carry them to old granny.
She is ill and weak, and they will refresh her. But be pretty
behaved, and don't peep about in all corners when you come into her
room, and don't forget to say "Good-day." Walk, too, prettily, and
don't go out of the road, otherwise you will fall and break the
bottle, and then poor granny will have nothing.' Red Hood said, 'I
will observe everything well that you have told me,' and gave her
mother her hand upon it.
But granny lived out in a forest, half an hour's walk from the
village. When Red Hood went into the forest, she met a wolf. But she
did not know what a wicked beast he was, and was not afraid of him.
'God help you, Red Hood!' said he. 'God bless you, wolf!' replied
she. 'Whither so early, Red Hood?' 'To granny.' 'What have you
there under your mantle?' 'Cake and wine. We baked yesterday; old
granny must have a good meal for once, and strengthen herself
therewith.' 'Where does your granny live, Red Hood?' 'A good quarter
of an hour's walk further in the forest, under yon three large oaks.
There stands her house; further beneath are the nut-trees, which you
will see there,' said Red Hood. The wolf thought within himself,
'This nice young damsel is a rich morsel. She will taste better than
the old woman; but you must trick her cleverly, that you may catch
both.' For a time he went by Red Hood's side. Then said he, 'Red
Hood! just look! there are such pretty flowers here! Why don't you
look round at them all? Methinks you don't even hear how
delightfully the birds are singing! You are as dull as if you were
going to school, and yet it is so cheerful in the forest!' Little
Red Hood lifted up her eyes, and when she saw how the sun's rays
glistened through the tops of the trees, and every place was full of
flowers, she bethought herself, 'If I bring with me a sweet smelling
nosegay to granny, it will cheer her. It is still so early, that I
shall come to her in plenty of time,' and therewith she skipped into
the forest and looked for flowers. And when she had plucked one, she
fancied that another further off was nicer, and ran there, and went
always deeper and deeper into the forest. But the wolf went by the
straight road to old granny's, and knocked at the door. 'Who's
there?' 'Little Red Hood, who has brought cake and wine. Open!'
'Only press the latch,' cried granny; 'I am so weak that I cannot
stand.' The wolf pressed the latch, walked in, and went without
saying a word straight to granny's bed and ate her up. Then he took
her clothes, dressed himself in them, put her cap on his head, lay
down in her bed and drew the curtains.
Meanwhile little Red Hood was running after flowers, and when she
had so many that she could not carry any more, she bethought her of
her granny, and started on the way to her. It seemed strange to her
that the door was wide open, and when she entered the room
everything seemed to her so peculiar, that she thought, 'Ah! my God!
how strange I feel to-day, and yet at other times I am so glad to be
with granny!' She said, 'Good-day!' but received no answer.
Thereupon she went to the bed and undrew the curtains. There lay
granny, with her cap drawn down to her eyes, and looking so queer!
'Ah, granny! why have you such long ears?' 'The better to hear you.'
'Ah, granny! why have you such large eyes?' 'The better to see you.'
'Ah, granny! why have you such large hands?' 'The better to take
hold of you.' 'But, granny! why have you such a terribly large
mouth?' 'The better to eat you up!' And therewith the wolf sprang
out of bed at once on poor little Red Hood, and ate her up.
When the wolf had satisfied his appetite, he lay down again in the
bed, and began to snore tremendously. A huntsman came past, and
bethought himself, 'How can an old woman snore like that? I'll just
have a look to see what it is.' He went into the room, and looked
into the bed; there lay the wolf. 'Have I found you now, old
rascal?' said he. 'I've long been looking for you.' He was just
going to take aim with his gun, when he bethought himself, 'Perhaps
the wolf has only swallowed granny, and she may yet be released;'
therefore he did not shoot, but took a knife and began to cut open
the sleeping wolf's maw. When he had made several cuts, he saw a red
hood gleam, and after one or two more cuts out skipped Red Hood, and
cried, 'Oh, how frightened I have been; it was so dark in the wolf's
maw!' Afterwards out came old granny, still alive, but scarcely able
to breathe. But Red Hood made haste and fetched large stones, with
which they filled the wolf's maw, and when he woke he wanted to jump
up and run away, but the stones were so heavy that he fell on the
ground and beat himself to death. Now, they were all three merry.
The huntsman took off the wolf's skin; granny ate the cake and drank
the wine which little Red Hood had brought, and became strong and
well again; and little Red Hood thought to herself, 'As long as I
live, I won't go out of the road into the forest, when mother has
forbidden me.'
* * * * *
[Little Red Hood, like many folklore tales, is a singular mixture of
myth and morality. In Cox's 'Comparative Mythology,' vol. ii., p.
831, note, Little Redcap, or Little Red Riding Hood, is interpreted
as 'the evening with her scarlet robe of twilight,' who is swallowed
up by the wolf of darkness, the Fenris of the Edda. It appears to me
that this explanation may suit the colour of her cap or hood, but is
at variance with the other incidents of the story. I am inclined to
look upon the tale as a lunar legend, although the moon is only
actually red during one portion of the year, at the harvest moon in
the autumn. Red Hood is represented as wandering, like Io, who is
undoubtedly the moon, through trees, the clouds, and flowers, the
stars, before she reaches the place where she is intercepted by the
wolf. An eclipse to untutored minds would naturally suggest the
notion that some evil beast was endeavouring to devour the moon, who
is afterwards rescued by the sun, the archer of the heavens, whose
bow and arrow are by a common anachronism represented in the story
by a gun. Though the moon is masculine in Slavonic, as in German,
yet she is a lady, 'my lady Luna,' in the Croatian legend No. 53,
below. In the Norse mythology, when Loki is let loose at the end of
the world, he is to 'hurry in the form of a wolf to swallow the
moon' (Cox ii., p. 200). The present masculine Slavonic word for
moon, which is also that for month, 'mesic,' or 'mesec,' is a
secondary formation, the original word having perished. In Greek and
Latin the moon is always feminine.]
_KASHUBIAN STORY._
The Kashubians inhabit a small district in the North-east of
Pomerania, 'the province upon the sea,' from _po_, upon, and _more_,
the sea. The limits of the district may be roughly marked by the
towns of Leba, Lauenburg and Bütow or Bytom.
The story contains many of the circumstances of the German story of
'The Table, the Ass and the Stick' in Grimm's collection. The
Kashubian tales again would naturally be pressed into the service of
the surrounding Germans. Bitter complaints have been made by
Slavonic literati, that their Folklore tales have been appropriated
by the Germans. Of course there is a vast amount of common ground in
Folklore, and incidents belonging to one tale will sometimes start
up at a distance in another apparently entirely unconnected with it.
But I believe that there is considerable ground for the complaint.
XVI.--CUDGEL, BESTIR YOURSELF!
A cobbler was busying himself on Saturday with mending old shoes,
that he might be able to go to church on Sunday. He worked till late
in the evening, and, having finished his work, early in the morning
dressed himself, and took his book to service. In church he heard
this doctrine, that if any one dedicates his property to the church,
God will recompense him a hundredfold in another form. And as he was
poor, he therefore determined to sell his cottage and goods and take
the whole price to the priest at the church. He went home and told
his wife of his intentions; and in a few days the money was in the
hands of the parson.[6] But day passed after day, and nothing was to
be seen of a recompense. At last, when hunger sorely tried the
cobbler, he dressed himself like an old beggar and went to seek for
the Lord God. After wandering a couple of days he met with an old
shepherd, who was pasturing a large flock of lambs. And as he was
very hungry, he made up his mind to go up to the old shepherd, and
ask him to give him a little to eat out of his dinner-basket.[7]
During the meal he related all that he had done, and how it was then
going with him. The old shepherd compassionated the poor cobbler,
and gave him a lamb, which scattered ducats at every call: 'Lamb,
shake yourself!' but gave it him under the condition, that in one
village, through which he was obliged to pass, he was not to enter
the house of his old gossip. He laid the lamb on his shoulder with
great joy, thanked the old man for it, and started with speed on his
way home to rejoice his wife and children. When he got behind the
hill, he began to distrust the words of the old shepherd, for he
could not get it into his head that an ordinary lamb would scatter
ducats. Wishing, therefore, to assure himself of their truth, he
placed the lamb on the ground and uttered the old man's words:
'Lamb, shake yourself!' and when at the self-same moment he espied
ducats round the lamb's feet, he considered himself the most
fortunate man in the whole world. Without delay he put the lamb on
his back, and went on towards
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