{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_48761/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_48761","id":"gutenberg_48761","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48761","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Slavs -- Folklore","Tales -- Europe, Eastern"],"text":"Note: Images of the original pages are available through\n      Internet Archive. See\n      https://archive.org/details/cu31924029889833\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\n      Discrepancies between titles in the Table of Contents and in\n      the main body of the text are preserved as printed. These are\n      as follows (Table of Contents title first):\n\n            _The Wondrous Lads_ and _The Wonderful Boys_.\n\n            _The Miraculous Lock_ and _The Wonder-Working Lock_.\n\n            _A Vila as a Friend and the Months as Friends_ and\n            _The Friendship of a Vila and of the Months_.\n\n\n\n\n\nSIXTY FOLK-TALES FROM EXCLUSIVELY SLAVONIC SOURCES.\n\nTranslated, with Brief Introductions and Notes, by\n\nA. H. WRATISLAW, M.A.,\n\nSometime Fellow and Tutor of Christ's\nCollege, Cambridge; Late Head Master of\nFelsted and Bury St. Edmund's Schools;\nCorresponding Member of the Royal\nBohemian Society of Sciences.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLondon:\nElliot Stock, 62, Paternoster Row, E.C.\n1889.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nSo much interest has lately been awakened in, and centred round,\nFolklore, that it needs no apology to lay before the British reader\nadditional information upon the subject. Interesting enough in\nitself, it has been rendered doubly interesting by the rise and\nprogress of the new science of Comparative Mythology, which has\nalready yielded considerable results, and promises to yield results\nof still greater magnitude, when all the data requisite for a full\nand complete induction have been brought under the ken of the\ninquirer. The stories of most European races have been laid under\ncontribution, but those of the Slavonians have, as yet, been only\npartially examined. Circumstances have enabled me to make a\nconsiderable addition to what is as yet known of Slavonic Folklore,\nalthough I cannot make any pretence to having exhausted the mine,\nor, rather, the many mines, which the various Slavonic races and\ntribes possess, and which still, more or less, await the advent of\ncompetent explorers.\n\nIn offering to the public a selection of sixty folklore stories\ntranslated from exclusively Slavonic sources, it is but fitting to\ngive some account of the work from which I have derived them. In\n1865, the late K. J. Erben, the celebrated Archivarius of the old\ntown of Prague, published a 'Citanka,' or reading-book, intended to\nenable Bohemians to commence the study of all the numerous Slavonic\ndialects, containing 'one hundred simple national tales and stories,\nin their original dialects.' To this he appended a vocabulary, with\nexplanations of words and forms strange to, or divergent from, the\nBohemian, briefly given in the Bohemian language. This vocabulary is\ndivided into two parts, one illustrating the tales of those\nSlavonians who make use of the Cyrillic characters, and belong to\nthe Orthodox Greek Church; and the other, those of the Catholic and\nProtestant Slavonians, who employ alphabets founded on the Latin\ncharacters of the West of Europe. Pan Erben paid special attention\nto the preservation of the simple national forms of speech, as taken\ndown from the lips of the people; and, besides laying printed\ncollections under contribution, obtained several previously\nunpublished stories.\n\nBeginning with his native tongue, the Bohemian language, he passes\non to the closely-allied Moravian and Hungarian-Slovenish (Slovak)\ndialects, and then takes the Upper and Lower Lusatian, the former of\nwhich is related to the old Bohemian, while the latter inclines\nrather to the Polish language. He next goes on to the Kashubian, a\nrapidly-perishing sub-dialect of Polish, and then to the Polish\ntongue itself.\n\nNext comes the White Russian, forming a transition from Polish to\nGreat Russian, whereas the Little Russian in Galicia, the Ukraine,\nand South Russia, is more nearly allied to the Bohemian than to the\nWhite Russian. The ancient Russian language, which was also much\nallied to the Old Bohemian, is the basis of the present written\nRussian, and presents a transition to the Bulgarian, which, in the\nnorth-west, melts into the Serbian, which again, in its Croatian\nbranch, near Varazdin, approaches most nearly to the Bohemian. The\nIllyrian-Slovenish of Carinthia, though, in locality, least distant\nfrom Bohemia, exhibits forms most removed from the Bohemian\nlanguage, just as the Upper Lusatian is less allied to the Bohemian\nthan is the locally-distant Kashubian.\n\nI took up the book, originally, for the purpose for which it was\ncompiled, viz., that of obtaining an acquaintance with the main\nfeatures of all the Slavonic dialects, but found myself tempted, by\nthe extreme beauty of some of the stories, to translate the major\nportion of them. That I do not present a still larger selection to\nthe reader is due to the fact that so many of the Great Russian\n_skazkas_ have been so admirably translated, edited, and illustrated\nby my friend--alas! that I must now term him my late friend--Mr.\nW. R. S. Ralston, that I have scarcely considered them as coming\nwithin the sphere of the present work.\n\nFor an essay on the singular mythical being, _Kurent_, occurring\nonly in the Serbian tales from Carniola, and as yet unnoticed in any\nwork on Slavonic mythology, I am indebted to Professor Gregor Krek,\nof Gr\u00e4tz, in Styria. This will be found prefixed to the stories\nwhich it illustrates.\n\nI have also prefixed a short introduction, containing various\nmatters of interest, to each set of tales, as they follow each\nother, according to their different languages, dialects, or\nsub-dialects.\n\nThe table of contents immediately following will give a general view\nof the stories and their respective sources, arranged under the\nthree heads of: (_a_) The Western Slavonians, (_b_) the Eastern\nSlavonians, and (_c_) the Southern Slavonians.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n(N.B.--_Ch_ as _ch_ in _church_.)\n\n\n  _A.--WESTERN SLAVONIANS._\n\n                                                                  PAGE\n\n  BOHEMIAN STORIES                                                   3\n\n          I. Long, Broad and Sharpsight (_Dlouhy, Siroky,\n               Bystrozyakr_). K. J. Erben                            4\n\n         II. 'The Three Golden Hairs of Grandfather\n               Allknow' (_Tri zlat\u00e9 vlasy Deda-Vsheveda_).\n               K. J. Erben                                          16\n\n        III. Goldenhair (_Zlatovl\u00e1ska_). K. J. Erben                25\n\n         IV. Intelligence and Luck (_Rozum a Stesti_).\n               K. J. Erben                                          33\n\n          V. The Jezinkas (_Jezinky_). K. J. Erben                  36\n\n         VI. The Wood-Lady (_Lesn\u00ed zenka_). Bozena Nemcova          40\n\n        VII. George with the Goat (_Jirka s koz\u00fa_). K. J.\n               Erben                                                46\n\n  MORAVIAN STORIES                                                  51\n\n       VIII. Godmother Death (_Smrt kmotrenka_). B. M.\n               Kulda, 'Moravian National Stories,' p. 573           52\n\n         IX. The Four Brothers (_Ctvero bratr\u00ed_). B. M.\n               Kulda, 'Moravian National Stories,' p. 758           55\n\n  HUNGARIAN-SLOVENISH STORIES                                       62\n\n          X. The Three Lemons (_Tri citroni_). J. Rimavski,\n               'Slovenish Stories,' i. 37                           63\n\n         XI. The Sun-Horse (_Slncov\u00ed kuon_). J. Rimavski,\n               'Slovenish Stories,' i. 27                           75\n\n        XII. The Golden Spinster (_Zlat\u00e1 priadka_). A. H.\n               Skultety and P. Dobshinsky, 'Slovenish\n               Stories,' i. 350                                     82\n\n       XIII. Are You Angry? (_Ci se hnevace?_). A. H.\n               Skultety and P. Dobshinsky, 'Slovenish\n               Stories,' i. 279                                     89\n\n  UPPER AND LOWER LUSATIAN STORIES                                  92\n\n        XIV. Right Always Remains Right (_Prawo predco\n               prawo vostanje_). K. Smoler                          92\n\n         XV. Little Red Hood (_Cerwjenawka_). H. Kopf,\n               the 'Luzican,' 1863, p. 42                           97\n\n  KASHUBIAN STORY                                                  101\n\n        XVI. Cudgel, Bestir Yourself! (_Kjiku resze se_).\n               Dr. Florian Cenova                                  101\n\n  POLISH STORIES                                                   107\n\n       XVII. Prince Unexpected (_O Kr\u00f3lewiczu Niespodzianku_).\n               A. J. Glinski, 'Polish Story-Teller,' i. 121        108\n\n      XVIII. The Spirit of a Buried Man (_Duch pogrzebanego_).\n               K. W. W\u00f3ycicki, 'Popular Tales' (Klechdy),\n               ii. 66                                              121\n\n        XIX. The Pale Maiden (_Blada panna_). K. Balinski,\n               'Tales of the People,' p. 72                        125\n\n         XX. The Plague-Swarm (_Homen_). K. W. W\u00f3ycicki,\n               'Popular Tales,' i. 130                             127\n\n\n  _B.--EASTERN SLAVONIANS._\n\n  WHITE RUSSIAN STORIES                                            131\n\n        XXI. The Frost, the Sun, and the Wind (_Moroz,\n               Solntse i Vyeter_). A. Afanasief, 'National\n               Russian Stories,' i. 1                              132\n\n       XXII. Little Rolling-Pea (_Pakatsigaroshak_).\n               A. Afanasief, 'National Russian Stories,'\n               iii. 2, 7                                           132\n\n      XXIII. The Wondrous Lads (_Chudetsnye Malchiki_).\n               A. Afanasief, 'National Russian Stories,'\n               iii. 25                                             138\n\n  LITTLE RUSSIAN STORIES FROM GALICIA                              142\n\n       XXIV. God Knows how to Punish Man (_B\u00f4g znae, chim\n               cholovyeka karati mae_). M. Tyemyak in the\n               'Vyenok,' ii. 332                                   143\n\n        XXV. The Good Children (_Dobri dyeti_). Ja. Balagur,\n               in the 'Vyenok,' ii. 338                            146\n\n       XXVI. The Devil and the Gipsy (_Chort i Tsigan_). Ja.\n               Balagur, in the 'Vyenok,' ii. 370                   150\n\n      XXVII. God and the Devil (_B\u00f4g i Chort_). P. A.\n               Lavrovski                                           153\n\n  LITTLE RUSSIAN STORIES FROM SOUTH RUSSIA                         156\n\n     XXVIII. The Beautiful Damsel and the Wicked Old Woman\n               (_O Krasavitsye i o zloi babye_). P. Kulish,\n               'Memoirs of Southern Russia,' ii. 10                157\n\n       XXIX. The Snake and the Princess (_Uzh i Tsarevna_).\n               P. Kulish, 'Memoirs of Southern Russia,' ii. 14     159\n\n        XXX. Transformation into a Nightingale and a Cuckoo\n               (_Prevrastenye v Solovya i kukushku_). P. Kulish,\n               'Memoirs of Southern Russia,' ii. 33                160\n\n       XXXI. Transmigration of the Soul (_Peresedenye dushi_).\n               P. Kulish, 'Memoirs about Southern Russia,'\n               ii. 34                                              161\n\n      XXXII. The Wizard (_Znakhor_). P. Kulish, 'Memoirs of\n             Southern Russia,' ii.                                 162\n\n  GREAT RUSSIAN STORIES                                            164\n\n     XXXIII. The Lime-Tree (_Lipa_). J. A. Kuljakof, 'Great\n               Russian Stories,' i. 132                            164\n\n      XXXIV. Ilya of Murom and Nightingale the Robber (_Ilya\n               Muromets i Solovei-razboinik_). A. Afanasief,\n               'National Russian Stories,' i. 53                   167\n\n\n  _C.--SOUTHERN SLAVONIANS._\n\n  BULGARIAN STORIES                                                175\n\n       XXXV. The Lord God as an Old Man (_Dyedo-Gospod_). G. S.\n               Rakovski, the 'Pokazalets,' Odessa, 1859, i. 137    176\n\n      XXXVI. Bulgarian Hospitality (_Blugarsko Gostopriyemstvo_).\n               Konstantin Pavlof                                   179\n\n     XXXVII. Cinderella (_Pepelezhka_). Konstantin Pavlof          181\n\n    XXXVIII. The Golden Apples and the Nine Peahens (_Zlata\n               yabluka i devat paunky_). Konstantin Pavlof         186\n\n      XXXIX. The Language of Animals (_Gadinski yazyk_).\n               Konstantin Pavlof                                   199\n\n  SERBIAN STORIES                                                  204\n\n         XL. The Lame Fox (_Shantava Lisitsa_). The 'Podunavka,'\n               1848, Nos. 48, 49                                   205\n\n        XLI. The Sons' Oath to their Dying Father (_Ochina\n               Zakletva_). Vuk St. Karadsich, 'Serbian\n               National Tales,' p. 109                             217\n\n       XLII. The Wonderful Hair (_Chudovata Dlaka_). Vuk St.\n               Karadsich, 'Serbian National Tales,' p. 154         221\n\n      XLIII. The Dragon and the Prince (_Azhdaya i Tsarev\n               Sin_). Vuk St. Karadsich, 'Serbian National\n               Tales,' p. 54                                       224\n\n       XLIV. Fate (_Usud_). Vuk St. Karadsich, 'Serbian\n               National Tales,' p. 89                              231\n\n  SERBIAN STORIES FROM BOSNIA                                      239\n\n        XLV. The Birdcatcher (_Ptichar_). J. F. Jukih, in the\n               'Bosnian Friend,' i. 114                            239\n\n       XLVI. The Two Brothers (_Bratya_). J. F. Jukih, in the\n               'Bosnian Friend,' i. 171                            246\n\n  SERBIAN STORIES FROM CARNIOLA                                    252\n\n      XLVII. The Origin of Man (_Odkuda chovyek_). The 'Neven,'\n               1858, p. 60                                         254\n\n     XLVIII. God's Cock (_Bozhji Kokot_). The 'Neven,' 1858,\n               p. 61                                               254\n\n       XLIX. Kurent the Preserver (_Kurent Spasitelj_). The\n            'Neven,' 1858, p. 74                                   256\n\n          L. Kurent and Man (_Kurent i chovyek_). The 'Neven,'\n               1858, p. 75                                         257\n\n         LI. The Hundred-Leaved Rose (_Ruzha Steperitsa_). The\n               'Neven,' 1858, p. 105                               261\n\n  CROATIAN STORIES                                                 265\n\n        LII. Kraljevitch Marko (_Kraljevich Marko_). M.\n               Krachmanov Valjavets, 'National Stories,' p. 64     266\n\n       LIII. The Daughter of the King of the Vilas (_Vilinskoga\n               kralya kcher_). M. Krachmanov Valjavets, 'National\n               Stories,' p. 273                                    278\n\n        LIV. The Miraculous Lock (_Chudotvorni Lokot_). M.\n               Krachmanov Valjavets, 'National Stories,' p. 186    284\n\n         LV. The She-Wolf (_Vuchitsa_). M. Krachmanov Valjavets,\n               'National Stories,' p. 240                          290\n\n        LVI. Milutin (_Milutin_). M. Krachmanov Valjavets,\n               'National Stories,' p. 131                          291\n\n  ILLYRIAN-SLOVENISH STORIES                                       297\n\n       LVII. A Vila as a Friend and the Months as Friends (_Vila\n               priyatlitsa in mestsi priyatli_). The 'Novice,'\n               1854, No. 6                                         298\n\n      LVIII. The Fisherman's Son (_Ribchev Sin_). The 'Slovenia,'\n               1848, Nos. 46, 47; L. Pintar                        301\n\n        LIX. The White Snake (_Bela kacha_). The 'Slovenska\n               behela' (_Slavonic Bee_), 1850, p. 4                312\n\n         LX. The Vila (_Vila_). The 'Novice,' 1853, No. 76         314\n\n\n\n\nWESTERN SLAVONIANS.\n\n\n\n\n_BOHEMIAN STORIES._\n\n\nThese stories are translated from the language of the Slavonic\ninhabitants of nearly three-fourths of Bohemia, the 'Czechs,' as the\nPoles write the word, or 'Chekhs,' if we adopt the nearest\northographical approximation to it that the English alphabet allows\nus to make. This nation had an early literary development,\ncommencing before the foundation of the University of Prague\n(_Praha_) by the Emperor Charles IV. in 1348. For a long time after\nthat epoch the Bohemians could justly claim the title of the best\neducated nation in Europe. They produced a prose writer--Thomas of\nStitny, whose first original work was published in 1377--whose equal\nis not to be found in English literature till the age of Queen\nElizabeth. In the Thirty Years' War (1620) the people and literature\nof Bohemia were crushed for more than two centuries, the population\nbeing reduced during that terrible war from over four millions to\neight hundred thousand.\n\nThe Bohemian language itself is a very remarkable one. It possesses\nboth accent and quantity independent of each other, like Latin and\nGreek. Thus it is difficult for a foreigner to read aloud or to\nspeak, for, if he attends carefully to the accent, he is liable to\nneglect quantity, and if he attends to quantity, he is likely to\nslur over the proper accentuation of words. It, as well as Polish,\nemploys a sibillated _r_, which in many words is difficult to\npronounce. It also writes semi-vowels, especially _r_, without a\nvowel; so that many syllables appear as if there were no vowel in\nthem. But this it is sufficient to notice once for all, as it causes\nno real difficulty in pronunciation.\n\nThe fairy-tales relating to the kindly or malevolent superhuman\ninhabitants of the woods are peculiar and striking. In No. 5 these\nimaginary beings are represented under the latter, and in No. 6\nunder the former aspect.\n\n_Two_ waters, one of death and the other of life, are found in the\nBohemian stories, just as in the Russian ones--a point wherein the\nSlavonic tales regularly differ from those of Western Europe, which\nonly acknowledge the water of life. As Mr. Ralston remarks ('Songs\nof the Russian People,' p. 97): 'When the \"dead water\" is applied to\nthe wounds of a corpse, it heals them, but before the dead body can\nbe brought to life, it is necessary to sprinkle it with the \"living\nwater.\"'\n\n\n\n\nI.--LONG, BROAD, AND SHARPSIGHT.\n\n\nThere was a king, who was already old, and had but one son. Once\nupon a time he called this son to him, and said to him, 'My dear\nson! you know that old fruit falls to make room for other fruit. My\nhead is already ripening, and maybe the sun will soon no longer\nshine upon it; but before you bury me, I should like to see your\nwife, my future daughter. My son, marry!' The prince said, 'I would\ngladly, father, do as you wish; but I have no bride, and don't know\nany.' The old king put his hand into his pocket, took out a golden\nkey and showed it to his son, with the words, 'Go up into the tower,\nto the top story, look round there, and then tell me which you\nfancy.' The prince went without delay. Nobody within the memory of\nman had been up there, or had ever heard what was up there.\n\nWhen he got up to the last story, he saw in the ceiling a little\niron door like a trap-door. It was closed. He opened it with the\ngolden key, lifted it, and went up above it. There there was a large\ncircular room. The ceiling was blue like the sky on a clear night,\nand silver stars glittered on it; the floor was a carpet of green\nsilk, and around in the wall were twelve high windows in golden\nframes, and in each window on crystal glass was a damsel painted\nwith the colours of the rainbow, with a royal crown on her head, in\neach window a different one in a different dress, each handsomer\nthan the other, and it was a wonder that the prince did not let his\neyes dwell upon them. When he had gazed at them with astonishment,\nthe damsels began to move as if they were alive, looked down upon\nhim, smiled, and did everything but speak.\n\nNow the prince observed that one of the twelve windows was covered\nwith a white curtain; he drew the curtain to see what was behind it.\nThere there was a damsel in a white dress, girt with a silver\ngirdle, with a crown of pearls on her head; she was the most\nbeautiful of all, but was sad and pale, as if she had risen from the\ngrave. The prince stood long before the picture, as if he had made a\ndiscovery, and as he thus gazed, his heart pained him, and he cried,\n'This one will I have, and no other.' As he said the words the\ndamsel bowed her head, blushed like a rose, and that instant all the\npictures disappeared.\n\nWhen he went down and related to his father what he had seen and\nwhich damsel he had selected, the old king became sad, bethought\nhimself, and said, 'You have done ill, my son, in uncovering what\nwas curtained over, and have placed yourself in great danger on\naccount of those words. That damsel is in the power of a wicked\nwizard, and kept captive in an iron castle; of all who have\nattempted to set her free, not one has hitherto returned. But what's\ndone cannot be undone; the plighted word is a law. Go! try your\nluck, and return home safe and sound!'\n\nThe prince took leave of his father, mounted his horse, and rode\naway in search of his bride. It came to pass that he rode through a\nvast forest, and through the forest he rode on and on till he lost\nthe road. And as he was wandering with his horse in thickets and\namongst rocks and morasses, not knowing which way to turn, he heard\nsomebody shout behind him, 'Hi! stop!' The prince looked round, and\nsaw a tall man hastening after him. 'Stop and take me with you, and\ntake me into your service, and you won't regret it!' 'Who are you,'\nsaid the prince, 'and what can you do?' 'My name is Long, and I can\nextend myself. Do you see a bird's nest in that pine yonder? I will\nbring you the nest down without having to climb up.'\n\nLong then began to extend himself; his body grew rapidly till it was\nas tall as the pine; he then reached the nest, and in a moment\ncontracted himself again and gave it to the prince. 'You know your\nbusiness well, but what's the use of birds' nests to me, if you\ncan't conduct me out of this forest?' 'Ahem! that's an easy matter,'\nsaid Long, and began to extend himself till he was thrice as high as\nthe highest fir in the forest, looked round, and said: 'Here on this\nside we have the nearest way out of the forest.' He then contracted\nhimself, took the horse by the bridle, and before the prince had any\nidea of it, they were beyond the forest. Before them was a long and\nwide plain, and beyond the plain tall gray rocks, like the walls of\na large town, and mountains overgrown with forest trees.\n\n'Yonder, sir, goes my comrade!' said Long, and pointed suddenly to\nthe plain; 'you should take him also into your service; I believe he\nwould serve you well.' 'Shout to him, and call him hither, that I\nmay see what he is good for.' 'It is a little too far, sir,' said\nLong; 'he would hardly hear me, and it would take a long time before\nhe came, because he has a great deal to carry. I'll jump after him\ninstead.' Then Long again extended himself to such a height that his\nhead plunged into the clouds, made two or three steps, took his\ncomrade by the arm, and placed him before the prince. He was a\nshort, thick-set fellow, with a paunch like a sixty-four gallon\ncask. 'Who are you?' demanded the prince, 'and what can you do?' 'My\nname, sir, is Broad; I can widen myself.' 'Give me a specimen.'\n'Ride quick, sir, quick, back into the forest!' cried Broad, as he\nbegan to blow himself out.\n\nThe prince didn't understand why he was to ride away; but seeing\nthat Long made all haste to get into the forest, he spurred his\nhorse, and rode full gallop after him. It was high time that he did\nride away, or else Broad would have squashed him, horse and all, as\nhis paunch rapidly grew in all directions; it filled everything\neverywhere, just as if a mountain had rolled up. Broad then ceased\nto blow himself out, and took himself in again, raising such a wind\nthat the trees in the forest bowed and bent, and became what he was\nat first. 'You've played me a nice trick,' said the prince, 'but I\nshan't find such a fellow every day; come with me.'\n\nThey proceeded further. When they approached the rocks, they met a\nman who had his eyes bandaged with a handkerchief. 'Sir, this is our\nthird comrade,' said Long, 'you ought to take him also into your\nservice. I'm sure he won't eat his victuals for naught.' 'Who are\nyou?' the prince asked him, 'and why are your eyes bandaged? You\ndon't see your way!' 'No, sir, quite the contrary! It is just\nbecause I see too well that I am obliged to bandage my eyes; I see\nwith bandaged eyes just as well as others with unbandaged eyes; and\nif I unbandage them I look everything through and through, and when\nI gaze sharply at anything, it catches fire and bursts into flame,\nand what can't burn splits into pieces. For this reason my name is\nSharpsight.' He then turned to a rock opposite, removed the bandage,\nand fixed his flaming eyes upon it; the rock began to crackle,\npieces flew on every side, and in a very short time nothing of it\nremained but a heap of sand, on which something glittered like fire.\nSharpsight went to fetch it, and brought it to the prince. It was\npure gold.\n\n'Heigho! you're a fellow that money can't purchase!' said the\nprince. 'He is a fool who wouldn't make use of your services, and if\nyou have such good sight, look and tell me whether it is far to the\niron castle, and what is now going on there?' 'If you rode by\nyourself, sir,' answered Sharpsight, 'maybe you wouldn't get there\nwithin a year; but with us you'll arrive to-day--they're just\ngetting supper ready for us.' 'And what is my bride doing?'\n\n    'An iron lattice is before her,\n      In a tower that's high\n      She doth sit and sigh,\n    A wizard watch and ward keeps o'er her.'\n\nThe prince cried, 'Whoever is well disposed, help me to set her\nfree!' They all promised to help him. They guided him among the gray\nrocks through the breach that Sharpsight had made in them with his\neyes, and further and further on through rocks, through high\nmountains and deep forests, and wherever there was any obstacle in\nthe road, forthwith it was removed by the three comrades. And when\nthe sun was declining towards the west, the mountains began to\nbecome lower, the forests less dense, and the rocks concealed\nthemselves amongst the heath; and when it was almost on the point of\nsetting, the prince saw not far before him an iron castle; and when\nit was actually setting, he rode by an iron bridge to the gate, and\nas soon as it had set, up rose the iron bridge of itself, the gate\nclosed with a single movement, and the prince and his companions\nwere captives in the iron castle.\n\nWhen they had looked round in the court, the prince put his horse up\nin the stable, where everything was ready for it, and then they went\ninto the castle. In the court, in the stable, in the castle hall,\nand in the rooms, they saw in the twilight many richly-dressed\npeople, gentlemen and servants, but not one of them stirred--they\nwere all turned to stone. They went through several rooms, and came\ninto the supper-room. This was brilliantly lighted up, and in the\nmidst was a table, and on it plenty of good meats and drinks, and\ncovers were laid for four persons. They waited and waited, thinking\nthat someone would come; but when nobody came for a long time, they\nsat down and ate and drank what the palate fancied.\n\nWhen they had done eating, they looked about to find where to sleep.\nThereupon the door flew open unexpectedly all at once, and into the\nroom came the wizard; a bent old man in a long black garb, with a\nbald head, a gray beard down to his knees, and three iron hoops\ninstead of a girdle. By the hand he led a beautiful, very beautiful\ndamsel, dressed in white; she had a silver girdle round her waist,\nand a crown of pearls on her head, but was pale and sad, as if she\nhad risen from the grave. The prince recognised her at once, sprang\nforward, and went to meet her; but before he could utter a word the\nwizard addressed him: 'I know for what you have come; you want to\ntake the princess away. Well, be it so! Take her, if you can keep\nher in sight for three nights, so that she doesn't vanish from you.\nIf she vanishes, you will be turned into stone as well as your three\nservants; like all who have come before you.' He then motioned the\nprincess to a seat and departed.\n\nThe prince could not take his eyes off the princess, so beautiful\nwas she. He began to talk to her, and asked her all manner of\nquestions, but she neither answered nor smiled, nor looked at anyone\nany more than if she had been of marble. He sat down by her, and\ndetermined not to sleep all night long lest she should vanish from\nhim, and, to make surer, Long extended himself like a strap, and\nwound himself round the whole room along the wall; Broad posted\nhimself in the doorway, swelled himself up, and stopped it up so\ntight that not even a mouse could have slipped through; while\nSharpsight placed himself against a pillar in the midst of the room\non the look-out. But after a time they all began to nod, fell\nasleep, and slept the whole night, just as if the wizard had thrown\nthem into the water.\n\nIn the morning, when it began to dawn, the prince was the first to\nwake, but--as if a knife had been thrust into his heart--the\nprincess was gone! He forthwith awoke his servants, and asked what\nwas to be done. 'Never mind, sir,' said Sharpsight, and looked\nsharply out through the window, 'I see her already. A hundred miles\nhence is a forest, in the midst of the forest an old oak, and on the\ntop of the oak an acorn, and she is that acorn.' Long immediately\ntook him on his shoulders, extended himself, and went ten miles at a\nstep, while Sharpsight showed him the way.\n\nNo more time elapsed than would have been wanted to move once round\na cottage before they were back again, and Long delivered the acorn\nto the prince. 'Sir, let it fall on the ground.' The prince let it\nfall, and that moment the princess stood beside him. And when the\nsun began to show itself beyond the mountains, the folding doors\nflew open with a crash, and the wizard entered the room and smiled\nspitefully; but when he saw the princess he frowned, growled, and\nbang! one of the iron hoops which he wore splintered and sprang off\nhim. He then took the damsel by the hand and led her away.\n\nThe whole day after the prince had nothing to do but walk up and\ndown the castle, and round about the castle, and look at the\nwonderful things that were there. It was everywhere as if life had\nbeen lost in a single moment. In one hall he saw a prince, who held\nin both hands a brandished sword, as if he intended to cleave\nsomebody in twain; but the blow never fell: he had been turned into\nstone. In one chamber was a knight turned into stone, just as if he\nhad been fleeing from some one in terror, and, stumbling on the\nthreshold, had taken a downward direction, but not fallen. Under the\nchimney sat a servant, who held in one hand a piece of roast meat,\nand with the other lifted a mouthful towards his mouth, which never\nreached it; when it was just in front of his mouth, he had also been\nturned to stone. Many others he saw there turned to stone, each in\nthe position in which he was when the wizard said, 'Be turned into\nstone.' He likewise saw many fine horses turned to stone, and in the\ncastle and round the castle all was desolate and dead; there were\ntrees, but without leaves; there were meadows, but without grass;\nthere was a river, but it did not flow; nowhere was there even a\nsinging bird, or a flower, the offspring of the ground, or a white\nfish in the water.\n\nMorning, noon, and evening the prince and his companions found good\nand abundant entertainment in the castle; the viands came of\nthemselves, the wine poured itself out. After supper the folding\ndoors opened again, and the wizard brought in the princess for the\nprince to guard. And although they all determined to exert\nthemselves with all their might not to fall asleep, yet it was of no\nuse, fall asleep again they did. And when the prince awoke at dawn\nand saw the princess had vanished, he jumped up and pulled\nSharpsight by the arm, 'Hey! get up, Sharpsight, do you know where\nthe princess is?' He rubbed his eyes, looked, and said, 'I see her.\nThere's a mountain 200 miles off, and in the mountain a rock, and in\nthe rock a precious stone, and she's that precious stone. If Long\ncarries me thither, we shall obtain her.'\n\nLong took him at once on his shoulders, extended himself, and went\ntwenty miles at a step. Sharpsight fixed his flaming eyes on the\nmountain, the mountain crumbled, and the rock in it split into a\nthousand pieces, and amongst them glittered the precious stone. They\ntook it up and brought it to the prince, and when he let it fall on\nthe ground, the princess again stood there. When afterwards the\nwizard came and saw her there, his eyes flashed with spite, and\nbang! again an iron hoop cracked upon him and flew off. He growled\nand led the princess out of the room.\n\nThat day all was again as it had been the day before. After supper\nthe wizard brought the princess in again, looked the prince keenly\nin the face, and scornfully uttered the words, 'It will be seen\nwho's a match for whom; whether you are victorious or I,' and with\nthat he departed. This day they all exerted themselves still more to\navoid going to sleep. They wouldn't even sit down, they wanted to\nwalk about all night long, but all in vain; they were bewitched; one\nfell asleep after the other as he walked, and the princess vanished\naway from them.\n\nIn the morning the prince again awoke earliest, and when he didn't\nsee the princess, woke Sharpsight. 'Hey! get up, Sharpsight! look\nwhere the princess is!' Sharpsight looked out for a long time. 'Oh\nsir,' says he, 'she is a long way off, a long way off! Three hundred\nmiles off is a black sea, and in the midst of the sea a shell on\nthe bottom, and in the shell is a gold ring, and she's the ring. But\nnever mind! we shall obtain her, but to-day Long must take Broad\nwith him as well; we shall want him.' Long took Sharpsight on one\nshoulder, and Broad on the other, and went thirty miles at a step.\nWhen they came to the black sea, Sharpsight showed him where he must\nreach into the water for the shell. Long extended his hand as far as\nhe could, but could not reach the bottom.\n\n'Wait, comrades! wait only a little and I'll help you,' said Broad,\nand swelled himself out as far as his paunch would stretch; he then\nlay down on the shore and drank. In a very short time the water fell\nso low that Long easily reached the bottom and took the shell out of\nthe sea. Out of it he extracted the ring, took his comrades on his\nshoulders, and hastened back. But on the way he found it a little\ndifficult to run with Broad, who had half a sea of water inside him,\nso he cast him from his shoulder on to the ground in a wide valley.\nThump he went like a sack let fall from a tower, and in a moment the\nwhole valley was under water like a vast lake. Broad himself barely\ncrawled out of it.\n\nMeanwhile the prince was in great trouble in the castle. The dawn\nbegan to display itself over the mountains, and his servants had not\nreturned; the more brilliantly the rays ascended, the greater was\nhis anxiety; a deadly perspiration came out upon his forehead. Soon\nthe sun showed itself in the east like a thin strip of flame--and\nthen with a loud crash the door flew open, and on the threshold\nstood the wizard. He looked round the room, and seeing the princess\nwas not there, laughed a hateful laugh and entered the room. But\njust at that moment, pop! the window flew in pieces, the gold ring\nfell on the floor, and in an instant there stood the princess again.\nSharpsight, seeing what was going on in the castle, and in what\ndanger his master was, told Long. Long made a step, and threw the\nring through the window into the room. The wizard roared with rage,\ntill the castle quaked, and then bang! went the third iron hoop that\nwas round his waist, and sprang off him; the wizard turned into a\nraven, and flew out and away through the shattered window.\n\nThen, and not till then, did the beautiful damsel speak and thank\nthe prince for setting her free, and blushed like a rose. In the\ncastle and round the castle everything became alive again at once.\nHe who was holding in the hall the outstretched sword, swung it into\nthe air, which whistled again, and then returned it to its sheath;\nhe who was stumbling on the threshold, fell on the ground, but\nimmediately got up again and felt his nose to see whether it was\nstill entire; he who was sitting under the chimney put the piece of\nmeat into his mouth and went on eating; and thus everybody completed\nwhat he had begun doing, and at the point where he had left off. In\nthe stables the horses merrily stamped and snorted, the trees round\nthe castle became green like periwinkles, the meadows were full of\nvariegated flowers, high in the air warbled the skylark, and\nabundance of small fishes appeared in the clear river. Everywhere\nwas life, everywhere enjoyment.\n\nMeanwhile a number of gentlemen assembled in the room where the\nprince was, and all thanked him for their liberation. But he said,\n'You have nothing to thank me for; if it had not been for my trusty\nservants Long, Broad, and Sharpsight, I too should have been what\nyou were.' He then immediately started on his way home to the old\nking, his father, with his bride and servants. On the way they met\nBroad and took him with them.\n\nThe old king wept for joy at the success of his son; he had thought\nhe would return no more. Soon afterwards there was a grand wedding,\nthe festivities of which lasted three weeks; all the gentlemen that\nthe prince had liberated were invited. After the wedding Long,\nBroad, and Sharpsight announced to the young king that they were\ngoing again into the world to look for work. The young king tried to\npersuade them to stay with him. 'I will give you everything you\nwant, as long as you live,' said he; 'you needn't work at all.' But\nthey didn't like such an idle life, took leave of him, went away and\nhave been ever since knocking about somewhere or other in the world.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThis story appears to me to be the perfection of 'Natural Science in\nAllegory.' It is not a mere 'Natur-myth,' exhibiting the contests,\nvictories, and defeats of the forces of Nature. In interpreting it\nwe must distinguish between the mere machinery and the essential\nactors. The king's son does nothing himself, and the whole work is\nperformed by the three men, whom he takes into his service. I\nunderstand by the king's son Man, who wishes to cultivate the earth,\nwho is the princess imprisoned by the enchanter, the drought. She is\nreleased by the agency of the three phenomena that usher in the\nrainy season, the rainbow (Long), the cloud (Broad), and the\nlightning (Sharpsight). Man, by the aid of these three phenomena, is\nenabled to cultivate the earth. Such a story could only originate in\na country of periodic rains. The rapid recovery of vegetation and\nalmost instantaneous reappearance of fish in dried-up brooks in\nIndia are well known. The common story of the Sleeping Beauty is\nevidently a fragment from the myth which exhibits figuratively the\nspeedy wake up of all things when released from the bondage of the\ndrought.\n\nIt is possible also to consider the prince as the sun, who cannot\nmarry the drought-enslaved earth, until he has taken into his\nservice and obtained the aid of the same three phenomena. Those who\nhad previously attempted to set the princess free would then be the\nsuns immediately preceding the rainy season, which had not had the\naid of Long, Broad, and Sharpsight.\n\n\n\n\nII.--'THE THREE GOLDEN HAIRS OF GRANDFATHER ALLKNOW.'\n\n\nThere was once upon a time a king who delighted in hunting wild\nanimals in forests. One day he chased a stag to a great distance and\nlost his way. He was all alone; night came on, and the king was only\ntoo glad to find a cottage in a clearing. A charcoal-burner lived\nthere. The king asked him whether he would guide him out of the\nforest to the road, promising to pay him well for it. 'I would\ngladly go with you,' said the charcoal-burner, 'but, you see, my\nwife is expecting; I cannot go away. And whither would you go at\nthis time of night? Lie down on some hay on the garret floor, and\nto-morrow morning I will be your guide.' Soon afterwards a baby boy\nwas born to the charcoal-burner. The king was lying on the floor and\ncouldn't sleep. At midnight he observed a kind of light in the\nkeeping-room below. He peeped through a chink in the boarding and\nsaw the charcoal-burner asleep, his wife lying in a dead faint, and\nthree old hags, all in white, standing by the baby, each with a\nlighted taper in her hand. The first said: 'My gift to this boy is,\nthat he shall come into great dangers.' The second said: 'My gift to\nhim is, that he shall escape from them all and live long.' And the\nthird said: 'And I give him to wife the baby daughter who has this\nday been born to that king who is lying upstairs on the hay.'\nThereupon the hags put out their tapers, and all was still again.\nThey were the Fates.\n\nThe king felt as if a sword had been thrust into his breast. He\ndidn't sleep till morning, thinking over what to do, and how to do\nit, to prevent that coming to pass which he had heard. When day\ndawned the child began to cry. The charcoal-burner got up and saw\nthat his wife had gone to sleep for ever. 'Oh, my poor little\norphan!' whimpered he; 'what shall I do with you now?' 'Give me the\nbaby,' said the king; 'I'll take care that it shall be well with it,\nand will give you so much money that you needn't burn charcoal as\nlong as you live.' The charcoal-burner was delighted at this, and\nthe king promised to send for the baby. When he arrived at his\npalace they told him, with great joy, that a beautiful baby-daughter\nhad been born to him on such and such a night. It was the very night\non which he saw the three Fates. The king frowned, called one of his\nservants, and told him: 'Go to such a place in the forest; a\ncharcoal-burner lives there in a cottage. Give him this money, and\nhe will give you a little child. Take the child and drown it on your\nway back. If you don't drown it, you shall drink water yourself.'\nThe servant went, took the baby and put it into a basket, and when\nhe came to a narrow foot-bridge, under which flowed a deep and broad\nriver, he threw the basket and all into the water. 'Good-night,\nuninvited son-in-law!' said the king, when the servant told him what\nhe had done.\n\nThe king thought that the baby was drowned, but it wasn't. It\nfloated in the water in the basket as if it had been its cradle, and\nslept as if the river were singing to it, till it floated down to a\nfisherman's cottage. The fisherman was sitting by the bank mending\nhis net. He saw something floating down the river, jumped into his\nboat, and went to catch it, and out of the water he drew the baby in\nthe basket. He carried it to his wife, and said: 'You've always\nwanted a little son, and here you have one. The water has brought\nhim to us.' The fisherman's wife was delighted, and brought up the\nchild as her own. They named him 'Floatling' (_Plav\u00e1czek_), because\nhe had floated to them on the water.\n\nThe river flowed on and years passed on, and from a boy he became a\nhandsome youth, the like of whom was not to be found far and wide.\nOne day in the summer it came to pass that the king rode that way\nall alone. It was hot, and he was thirsty, and beckoned to the\nfisherman to give him a little fresh water. When Floatling brought\nit to him, the king looked at him with astonishment. 'You've a fine\nlad, fisherman!' said he; 'is he your son?' 'He is and he isn't,'\nreplied the fisherman; 'just twenty years ago he floated, as a\nlittle baby, down the river in a basket, and we brought him up.' A\nmist came before the king's eyes; he became as pale as a whitewashed\nwall, perceiving that it was the child he had ordered to be drowned.\nBut he soon recollected himself, sprang from his horse, and said: 'I\nwant a messenger to my palace, and have nobody with me: can this\nyouth go thither for me?' 'Your majesty has but to command and the\nlad will go,' said the fisherman. The king sat down and wrote a\nletter to his queen: 'Cause this young man whom I send you to be run\nthrough with a sword at once; he is a dangerous enemy of mine. Let\nit be done before I return. Such is my will.' He then folded the\nletter, fastened and sealed it with his signet.\n\nFloatling started at once with the letter. He had to go through a\ngreat forest, but missed the road and lost his way. He went from\nthicket to thicket till it began to grow dark. Then he met an old\nhag, who said to him: 'Whither are you going, Floatling?' 'I am\ngoing with a letter to the king's palace, and have lost my way.\nCan't you tell me, mother, how to get into the right road?' 'Anyhow,\nyou won't get there to-day,' said the hag; 'it's dark. Stay the\nnight with me. You won't be with a stranger. I am your godmother.'\nThe young man allowed himself to be persuaded, and they hadn't gone\nmany paces when they saw before them a pretty little house, just as\nif it had grown all at once out of the ground. In the night, when\nthe lad was asleep, the hag took the letter out of his pocket and\nput another in its place, in which it was written thus: 'Cause this\nyoung man whom I send you to be married to our daughter at once; he\nis my destined son-in-law. Let it be done before I return. Such is\nmy will.'\n\nWhen the queen read the letter, she immediately ordered arrangements\nto be made for the wedding, and neither she nor the young princess\ncould gaze enough at the bridegroom, so delighted were they with\nhim; and Floatling was similarly delighted with his royal bride.\nSome days after, the king came home, and when he found what had\nhappened, he was violently enraged at his queen for what she had\ndone. 'Anyhow, you ordered me yourself to have him married to our\ndaughter before you returned,' answered the queen, and gave him the\nletter. The king took the letter and looked it through--writing,\nseal, paper, everything was his own. He had his son-in-law called,\nand questioned him about what had happened on his way to the palace.\n\nFloatling related how he had started and had lost his way in the\nforest, and stayed the night with his old godmother. 'What did she\nlook like?' 'So and so.' The king perceived from his statement that\nit was the same person that had, twenty years before, assigned his\ndaughter to the charcoal-burner's son. He thought and thought, and\nthen he said: 'What's done can't be altered; still, you can't be my\nson-in-law for nothing. If you want to have my daughter, you must\nbring me for a dowry three golden hairs of Grandfather Allknow.' He\nthought to himself that he should thus be quit of his distasteful\nson-in-law.\n\nFloatling took leave of his bride and went--which way, and whither?\nI don't know; but, as a Fate was his godmother, it was easy for him\nto find the right road. He went far and wide, over hills and dales,\nover fords and rivers, till he came to a black sea. There he saw a\nboat, and in it a ferryman. 'God bless you, old ferryman!' 'God\ngrant it, young pilgrim! Whither are you travelling?' 'To\nGrandfather Allknow, for three golden hairs.' 'Ho, ho! I have long\nbeen waiting for such a messenger. For twenty years I've been\nferrying here, and nobody's come to set me free. If you promise me\nto ask Grandfather Allknow when the end of my work will be, I will\nferry you over.' Floatling promised, and the ferryman ferried him\nacross.\n\nAfter this he came to a great city, but it was decayed and sad. In\nfront of the city he met an old man, who had a staff in his hand,\nand could scarcely crawl. 'God bless you, aged grandfather!' 'God\ngrant it, handsome youth! Whither are you going?' 'To Grandfather\nAllknow, for three golden hairs.' 'Ah! ah! we've long been waiting\nfor some such messenger; I must at once conduct you to our lord the\nking.' When they got there the king said: 'I hear that you are going\non an errand to Grandfather Allknow. We had an apple-tree here that\nbore youth-producing apples. If anybody ate one, though he were on\nthe brink of the grave, he got young again, and became like a young\nman. But for the last twenty years our apple-tree has produced no\nfruit. If you promise me to ask Grandfather Allknow whether there is\nany help for us, I will requite you royally.' Floatling promised,\nand the king dismissed him graciously.\n\nAfter that he came again to another great city, which was half\nruined. Not far from the city a son was burying his deceased father,\nand tears, like peas, were rolling down his cheek. 'God bless you,\nmournful grave-digger!' said Floatling. 'God grant it, good pilgrim!\nWhither are you going?' 'I am going to Grandfather Allknow, for\nthree golden hairs.' 'To Grandfather Allknow? It's a pity you didn't\ncome sooner! But our king has long been waiting for some such\nmessenger; I must conduct you to him.' When they got there, the king\nsaid: 'I hear that you are going on an errand to Grandfather\nAllknow. We had a well here, out of which sprang living water; if\nanybody drank it, even were he at the point of death, he would get\nwell at once; nay, were he already a corpse, if this water were\nsprinkled upon him, he would immediately rise up and walk. But for\nthe last twenty years the water has ceased to flow. If you promise\nme to ask Grandfather Allknow whether there is any help for us, I\nwill give you a royal reward.' Floatling promised, and the king\ndismissed him graciously.\n\nAfter this he went far and wide through a black forest, and in the\nmidst of that forest espied a large green meadow, full of beautiful\nflowers, and in it a golden palace. This was Grandfather Allknow's\npalace; it glittered as if on fire. Floatling went into the palace,\nbut found nobody there but an old hag sitting and spinning in a\ncorner. 'Welcome, Floatling!' said she; 'I am delighted to see you\nagain.' It was his godmother, at whose house he had spent the night\nwhen he was carrying the letter. 'What has brought you here?' 'The\nking would not allow me to be his son-in-law for nothing, so he sent\nme for three golden hairs of Grandfather Allknow.' The hag smiled,\nand said: 'Grandfather Allknow is my son, the bright Sun; in the\nmorning he is a little lad, at noon a grown man, and in the evening\nan old grandfather. I will provide you with the three golden hairs\nfrom his golden head, that I too mayn't be your godmother for\nnothing. But, my boy! you can't remain as you are. My son is\ncertainly a good soul, but when he comes home hungry in the evening,\nit might easily happen that he might roast and eat you for his\nsupper. Yonder is an empty tub; I will cover you over with it.'\nFloatling begged her also to question Grandfather Allknow about the\nthree things concerning which he had promised on the road to bring\nanswers. 'I will,' said the hag, 'and do you give heed to what he\nsays.'\n\nAll at once a wind arose outside and in flew the Sun, an old\ngrandfather with a golden head, by the west window into the room. 'A\nsmell, a smell of human flesh!' says he; 'have you anybody here,\nmother?' 'Star of the day! whom could I have here without your\nseeing him? But so it is; you're all day long flying over God's\nworld, and your nose is filled with the scent of human flesh; so\nit's no wonder that you still smell it when you come home in the\nevening.' The old man said nothing in reply, and sat down to his\nsupper.\n\nAfter supper he laid his golden head on the hag's lap and began to\nslumber. As soon as she saw that he was sound asleep, she pulled out\na golden hair and threw it on the ground. It rang like a\nharp-string. 'What do you want, mother?' said the old man. 'Nothing,\nsonny, nothing! I was asleep, and had a marvellous dream.' 'What did\nyou dream about?' 'I dreamt about a city, where they had a spring of\nliving water; when anybody was ill and drank of it, he got well\nagain; and if he died and was sprinkled with this water, he came to\nlife again. But for the last twenty years the water has ceased to\nflow; is there any help that it may flow again?' 'Quite easy;\nthere's a toad sitting on the spring in the well that won't let the\nwater flow. Let them kill the toad and clean out the well; the water\nwill flow as before.' When the old man fell asleep again, the hag\npulled out a second golden hair and threw it on the ground. 'What\nails you again, mother?' 'Nothing, sonny, nothing; I was asleep, and\nagain had a marvellous dream. I dreamt of a city where they had an\napple-tree which bore youth-restoring apples; when anybody grew old\nand ate one he became young again. But for the last twenty years the\napple-tree has borne no fruit; is there any help?' 'Quite easy;\nunder the tree there lies a snake that exhausts its powers; let them\nkill the snake and transplant the apple-tree; it will bear fruit as\nbefore.' The old man then fell asleep again, and the hag pulled out\na third golden hair. 'Why won't you let me sleep, mother?' said the\nold man crossly, and wanted to get up. 'Lie still, sonny, lie still!\nDon't be angry, I didn't want to wake you. But a heavy sleep fell\nupon me, and I had another marvellous dream. I dreamt of a ferryman\non a black sea; for twenty years he has been ferrying across it, and\nno one has come to set him free. When will his work have an end?'\n'He's the son of a stupid mother. Let him give the oar into another\nperson's hand and jump ashore himself; the other will be ferryman in\nhis stead. But let me be quiet now; I must get up early to-morrow\nand go to dry the tears which the king's daughter sheds every night\nfor her husband, the charcoal-burner's son, whom the king has sent\nfor three golden hairs of mine.'\n\nIn the morning a wind again arose outside, and on the lap of its old\nmother awoke, instead of the old man, a beautiful golden-haired\nchild, the divine Sun, who bade farewell to his mother and flew out\nby the east window. The hag turned up the tub and said to Floatling:\n'There are the three golden hairs for you, and you also know what\nGrandfather Allknow has answered to those three things. Go; and\ngood-bye! You will see me no more; there is no need of it.'\nFloatling thanked the hag gratefully, and departed.\n\nWhen he came to the first city, the king asked him what news he\nbrought him. 'Good news,' said Floatling. 'Have the well cleaned\nout, and kill the toad which sits on the spring, and the water will\nflow again as aforetime.' The king had this done without delay, and\nwhen he saw the water bubbling up with a full stream, he presented\nFloatling with twelve horses white as swans, and on them as much\ngold and silver as they could carry.\n\nWhen he came to the second city the king asked him again what news\nhe brought. 'Good news!' said Floatling. 'Have the apple-tree dug\nup; you will find a snake under the roots; kill it; then plant the\napple-tree again, and it will bear fruit as aforetime.' The king had\nthis done at once, and during the night the apple-tree was clothed\nwith bloom, just as if it had been bestrewn with roses. The king was\ndelighted, and presented Floatling with twelve horses as black as\nravens, and on them as much riches as they could carry.\n\nFloatling travelled on, and when he came to the black sea, the ferryman\nasked him whether he had learnt when he would be liberated. 'I have,'\nsaid Floatling. 'But ferry me over first, and then I will tell you.'\nThe ferryman objected, but when he saw that there was nothing else to\nbe done, he ferried him over with his four-and-twenty horses. 'Before\nyou ferry anybody over again,' said Floatling, 'put the oar into his\nhand and jump ashore, and he will be ferryman in your stead.'\n\nThe king didn't believe his eyes when Floatling brought him the three\ngolden hairs of Grandfather Allknow; and his daughter wept, not from\nsorrow, but from joy at his return. 'But where did you get these\nbeautiful horses and this great wealth?' asked the king. 'I earned it,'\nsaid Floatling; and related how he had helped one king again to the\nyouth-restoring apples, which make young people out of old ones; and\nanother to the living water, which makes sick people well and dead\npeople living. 'Youth-restoring apples! living water!' repeated the\nking quietly to himself. 'If I ate one I should become young again; and\nif I died I should be restored to life by that water.' Without delay\nhe started on the road for the youth-restoring apples and the living\nwater--and hasn't returned yet.\n\nThus the charcoal-burner's son became the king's son-in-law, as the\nFate decreed; and as for the king, maybe he is still ferrying across\nthe black sea.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThis story is a variant of Grimm's 'Giant with the Three Golden\nHairs.' But, whereas in Grimm there is nothing to indicate who the\ngiant is, or whether he has three golden hairs and three only, in\nthe Bohemian tale it is plain that 'Grandfather Allknow' is the Sun,\nand that the three golden hairs are three sunbeams.\n\n\n\n\nIII.--GOLDENHAIR.\n\n\nThere was a king who was so clever that he understood all animals,\nand knew what they said to each other. Hear how he learnt it. Once\nupon a time there came to him a little old woman, who brought him a\nsnake in a basket, and told him to have it cooked for him; if he\ndined off it, he would understand what any animal in the air, on the\nearth, or in the water said. The king liked the idea of\nunderstanding what nobody else understood, paid the old woman well,\nand forthwith ordered his servant to cook the fish for dinner.\n'But,' said he, 'be sure you don't take a morsel of it even on your\ntongue, else you shall pay for it with your head.'\n\nGeorge, the servant, thought it odd that the king forbade him so\nenergetically to do this. 'In my life I never saw such a fish,' said\nhe to himself; 'it looks just like a snake! And what sort of cook\nwould that be who didn't take a taste of what he was cooking?' When\nit was cooked, he took a morsel on his tongue, and tasted it.\nThereupon he heard something buzzing round his ears: 'Some for us,\ntoo! some for us, too!' George looked round, and saw nothing but\nsome flies that were flying about in the kitchen. Again somebody\ncalled with a hissing voice in the street outside: 'Where are you\ngoing? where are you going?' And shriller voices answered: 'To the\nmiller's barley! to the miller's barley!' George peeped through the\nwindow, and saw a gander and a flock of geese. 'Aha!' said he;\n'that's the kind of fish it is.' Now he knew what it was. He hastily\nthrust one more morsel into his mouth, and carried the snake to the\nking as if nothing had happened.\n\nAfter dinner the king ordered George to saddle the horses and\naccompany him, as he wished to take a ride. The king rode in front\nand George behind. As they were riding over a green meadow, George's\nhorse bounded and began to neigh. 'Ho! ho! brother. I feel so light\nthat I should like to jump over mountains!' 'As for that,' said the\nother, 'I should like to jump about, too, but there's an old man on\nmy back; if I were to skip, he'd tumble on the ground like a sack\nand break his neck.' 'Let him break it--what matter?' said George's\nhorse; 'instead of an old man you'll carry a young one.' George\nlaughed heartily at this conversation, but so quietly that the king\nknew nothing about it. But the king also understood perfectly well\nwhat the horses were saying to each other, looked round, and seeing\na smile on George's face, asked him what he was laughing at.\n'Nothing, your illustrious majesty,' said George in excuse; 'only\nsomething occurred to my mind.' Nevertheless, the old king already\nsuspected him, neither did he feel confidence in the horses, so he\nturned and rode back home.\n\nWhen they arrived at the palace, the king ordered George to pour him\nout a glass of wine. 'But your head for it,' said he, 'if you don't\npour it full, or if you pour it so that it runs over.' George took\nthe decanter and poured. Just then in flew two birds through the\nwindow; one was chasing the other, and the one that was trying to\nget away carried three golden hairs in its beak. 'Give them to me!'\nsaid the first; 'they are mine.' 'I shan't; they're mine; I took\nthem up.' 'But I saw them fall, when the golden-haired maiden was\ncombing her hair. At any rate, give me two.' 'Not one!' Hereupon the\nother bird made a rush, and seized the golden hairs. As they\nstruggled for them on the wing, one remained in each bird's beak,\nand the third golden hair fell on the ground, where it rang again.\nAt this moment George looked round at it, and then poured the wine\nover. 'You've forfeited your life!' shouted the king; 'but I'll deal\nmercifully with you if you obtain the golden-haired maiden, and\nbring her me to wife.'\n\nWhat was George to do? If he wanted to save his life, he must go in\nsearch of the maiden, though he did not know where to look for her.\nHe saddled his horse, and rode at random. He came to a black forest,\nand there, under the forest by the roadside, a bush was burning;\nsome cowherd had set it on fire. Under the bush was an ant-hill;\nsparks were falling on it, and the ants were fleeing in all\ndirections with their little white eggs. 'Help, George, help!' cried\nthey mournfully; 'we're being burnt to death, as well as our young\nones in the eggs.' He got down from his horse at once, cut away the\nbush, and put out the fire. 'When you are in trouble think of us,\nand we'll help you.'\n\nHe rode on through the forest, and came to a lofty pine. On the top\nof this pine was a raven's nest, and below, on the ground, were two\nyoung ravens crying and complaining: 'Our father and mother have\nflown away; we've got to seek food for ourselves, and we poor little\nbirds can't fly yet. Help us, George, help us! Feed us, or we shall\ndie of hunger!' George did not stop long to consider, but jumped\ndown from his horse, and thrust his sword into its side, that the\nyoung ravens might have something to eat. 'When you are in need\nthink of us, and we'll help you.'\n\nAfter this, George had to go on on foot. He walked a long, long way\nthrough the forest, and when he at last got out of it, he saw before\nhim a long and broad sea. On the shore of this sea two fishermen\nwere quarrelling. They had caught a large golden fish in their net,\nand each wanted to have it for himself. 'The net is mine, and mine's\nthe fish.' The other replied: 'Much good would your net have been,\nif it hadn't been for my boat and my help.' 'If we catch such\nanother fish again, it will be yours.' 'Not so; wait you for the\nnext, and give me this.' 'I'll set you at one,' said George. 'Sell\nme the fish--I'll pay you well for it--and you divide the money\nbetween you, share and share alike.' He gave them all the money that\nthe king had given him for his journey, leaving nothing at all for\nhimself. The fishermen were delighted, and George let the fish go\nagain into the sea. It splashed merrily through the water, dived,\nand then, not far from the shore, put out its head: 'When you want\nme, George, think of me, and I'll requite you.' It then disappeared.\n'Where are you going?' the fishermen asked George. 'I'm going for\nthe golden-haired maiden to be the bride of the old king, my lord,\nand I don't even know where to look for her.' 'We can tell you all\nabout her,' said the fishermen. 'It's Goldenhair, the king's\ndaughter, of the Crystal Palace, on the island yonder. Every day at\ndawn she combs her golden hair, and the bright gleam therefrom goes\nover sky and over sea. If you wish it, we'll take you over to the\nisland ourselves, as you set us at one again so nicely. But take\ncare to bring away the right maiden; there are twelve maidens--the\nking's daughters--but only one has golden hair.'\n\nWhen George was on the island, he went into the Crystal Palace to\nentreat the king to give the king, his lord, his golden-haired\ndaughter to wife. 'I will,' said the king, 'but you must earn her;\nyou must in three days perform three tasks, which I shall impose\nupon you, each day one. Meanwhile, you can rest till to-morrow.'\nNext day, early, the king said to him: 'My Goldenhair had a necklace\nof costly pearls; the necklace broke, and the pearls were scattered\nin the long grass in the green meadow. You must collect all these\npearls, without one being wanting.' George went into the meadow; it\nwas long and broad; he knelt on the grass, and began to seek. He\nsought and sought from morn to noon, but never saw a pearl. 'Ah! if\nmy ants were here, they might help me.' 'Here we are to help you,'\nsaid the ants, running in every direction, but always crowding round\nhim. 'What do you want?' 'I have to collect pearls in this meadow,\nbut I don't see one.' 'Only wait a bit, we'll collect them for you.'\nBefore long they brought him a multitude of pearls out of the grass,\nand he had nothing to do but string them on the necklace.\nAfterwards, when he was going to fasten up the necklace, one more\nant limped up--it was lame, its foot had been scorched when the fire\nwas at the ant-hill--and cried out: 'Stop, George, don't fasten it\nup; I'm bringing you one more pearl.'\n\nWhen George brought the pearls to the king, the king counted them\nover; not one was wanting. 'You have done your business well,' said\nhe; 'to-morrow I shall give you another piece of work.' In the\nmorning George came, and the king said to him: 'My Goldenhair was\nbathing in the sea, and lost there a gold ring; you must find and\nbring it.' George went to the sea, and walked sorrowfully along the\nshore. The sea was clear, but so deep that he couldn't even see the\nbottom, much less could he seek and find the ring there. 'Oh that my\ngolden fish were here; it might be able to help me.' Whereupon\nsomething glittered in the sea, and up swam the golden fish from the\ndeep to the surface of the water: 'Here I am to help you; what do\nyou want?' 'I've got to find a gold ring in the sea, and I can't\neven see the bottom.' 'I just met a pike which was carrying a gold\nring in its mouth. Only wait a bit, I'll bring it to you.' Ere long\nit returned from the deep water, and brought him the pike, ring and\nall.\n\nThe king commended George for doing his business well, and then next\nmorning laid upon him the third task: 'If you wish me to give your\nking my Goldenhair to wife, you must bring her the waters of death\nand of life--she will require them.' George did not know whither to\nbetake himself for these waters, and went at haphazard hither and\nthither, whither his feet carried him, till he came to a black\nforest: 'Ah, if my young ravens were here, perhaps they would help\nme.' Now there was a rustling over his head, and two young ravens\nappeared above him: 'Here we are to help you; what do you wish?'\n'I've got to bring the waters of death and of life, and I don't know\nwhere to look for them.' 'Oh, we know them well; only wait a bit,\nwe'll bring them to you.' After a short time they each brought\nGeorge a bottle-gourd full of water; in the one gourd was the water\nof life, in the other the water of death. George was delighted with\nhis good fortune, and hastened to the castle. At the edge of the\nforest he saw a cobweb extending from one pine-tree to another; in\nthe midst of the cobweb sat a large spider sucking a fly. George\ntook the bottle with the water of death, sprinkled the spider, and\nthe spider dropped to the ground like a ripe cherry--he was dead. He\nthen sprinkled the fly with the water of life out of the other\nbottle, and the fly began to move, extricated itself from the\ncobweb, and off into the air. 'Lucky for you, George, that you've\nbrought me to life again,' it buzzed round his ears; 'without me\nyou'd scarcely guess aright which of the twelve is Goldenhair.'\n\nWhen the king saw that George had completed this matter also, he\nsaid he would give him his golden-haired daughter. 'But,' said he,\n'you must select her yourself.' He then led him into a great hall,\nin the midst of which was a round table, and round the table sat\ntwelve beautiful maidens, one like the other; but each had on her\nhead a long kerchief reaching down to the ground, white as snow, so\nthat it couldn't be seen what manner of hair any of them had. 'Here\nare my daughters,' said the king; 'if you guess which of them is\nGoldenhair, you have won her, and can take her away at once; but if\nyou don't guess right, she is not adjudged to you, you must depart\nwithout her.' George was in the greatest anxiety; he didn't know\nwhat to do. Whereupon something whispered into his ear: 'Buzz! buzz!\ngo round the table, I'll tell you which is the one.' It was the fly\nthat George had restored to life with the water of life. 'It isn't\nthis maiden--nor this--nor this; this is Goldenhair!' 'Give me this\none of your daughters,' cried George; 'I have earned her for my\nlord.' 'You have guessed right,' said the king; and the maiden at\nonce rose from the table, threw off her kerchief, and her golden\nhair flowed in streams from her head to the ground, and such a\nbrightness came from them, even as when the sun rises in the\nmorning, that George's eyes were dazzled.\n\nThen the king gave his daughter all that was fitting for her\njourney, and George took her away to be his lord's bride. The old\nking's eyes sparkled, and he jumped for joy, when he saw Goldenhair,\nand gave orders at once for preparations to be made for the wedding.\n'I intended to have you hanged for your disobedience, that the\nravens might devour you,' said he to George; 'but you have served\nme so well, that I shall only have your head cut off with an axe,\nand then I shall have you honourably buried.' When George had been\nexecuted, Goldenhair begged the old king to grant her the body of\nhis dead servant, and the king couldn't deny his golden-haired bride\nanything. She then fitted George's head to his body, and sprinkled\nhim with the water of death, and the body and head grew together so\nthat no mark of the wound remained. Then she sprinkled him with the\nwater of life, and George rose up again, as if he had been born\nanew, as fresh as a stag, and youth beamed from his countenance.\n'Oh, how heavily I have slept!' said George, and rubbed his eyes.\n'Yes, indeed, you have slept heavily,' said Goldenhair; 'and if it\nhadn't been for me, you wouldn't have waked for ever and ever.' When\nthe old king saw that George had come to life again, and that he was\nyounger and handsomer than before, he wanted to be made young again\nalso. He gave orders at once that his head should be cut off, and\nthat he should be sprinkled with the water. They cut his head off\nand sprinkled him with the water of life, till they'd sprinkled it\nall away; but his head wouldn't grow on to the body. Then, and not\ntill then, did they begin to sprinkle him with the water of death,\nand in an instant the head grew on to the body; but the king was\ndead all the same, because they had no more of the water of life to\nbring him to life again. And since the kingdom couldn't be without a\nking, and they'd no one so intelligent as to understand all animals\nlike George, they made George king and Goldenhair queen.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThis story is a variant, and a very beautiful variant, of Grimm's\n'White Snake.' The two kinds of water, that of death and that of\nlife, appear here, showing that it is a true Slavonic, and not a\nTeutonic story.\n\n\n\n\nIV.--INTELLIGENCE AND LUCK.\n\n\nOnce upon a time Luck met Intelligence on a garden-seat. 'Make room\nfor me!' said Luck. Intelligence was then as yet inexperienced, and\ndidn't know who ought to make room for whom. He said: 'Why should I\nmake room for you? you're no better than I am.' 'He's the better\nman,' answered Luck, 'who performs most. See you there yon peasant's\nson who's ploughing in the field? Enter into him, and if he gets on\nbetter through you than through me, I'll always submissively make\nway for you, whensoever and wheresoever we meet.' Intelligence\nagreed, and entered at once into the ploughboy's head. As soon as\nthe ploughboy felt that he had intelligence in his head, he began to\nthink: 'Why must I follow the plough to the day of my death? I can\ngo somewhere else and make my fortune more easily.' He left off\nploughing, put up the plough, and drove home. 'Daddy,' says he, 'I\ndon't like this peasant's life; I'd rather learn to be a gardener.'\nHis father said: 'What ails you, Vanek? have you lost your wits?'\nHowever, he bethought himself, and said: 'Well, if you will, learn,\nand God be with you! Your brother will be heir to the cottage after\nme.' Vanek lost the cottage, but he didn't care for that, but went\nand put himself apprentice to the king's gardener. For every little\nthat the gardener showed him, Vanek comprehended ever so much more.\nEre long he didn't even obey the gardener's orders as to how he\nought to do anything, but did everything his own way. At first the\ngardener was angry, but, seeing everything thus getting on better,\nhe was content. 'I see that you've more intelligence than I,' said\nhe, and henceforth let Vanek garden as he thought fit. In no long\nspace of time Vanek made the garden so beautiful, that the king took\ngreat delight in it, and frequently walked in it with the queen and\nwith his only daughter.\n\nThe princess was a very beautiful damsel, but ever since she was\ntwelve years old she had ceased speaking, and no one ever heard a\nsingle word from her. The king was much grieved, and caused\nproclamation to be made, that whoever should bring it to pass that\nshe should speak again, should be her husband. Many young kings,\nprinces and other great lords announced themselves one after the\nother, but all went away as they had come; no one succeeded in\ncausing her to speak. 'Why shouldn't I too try my luck?' thought\nVanek; 'who knows whether I mayn't succeed in bringing her to answer\nwhen I ask her a question?' He at once caused himself to be\nannounced at the palace, and the king and his councillors conducted\nhim into the room where the princess was. The king's daughter had a\npretty little dog, and was very fond of him because he was so\nclever, understanding everything that she wanted. When Vanek went\ninto the room with the king and his councillors, he made as if he\ndidn't even see the princess, but turned to the dog and said: 'I\nhave heard, doggie, that you are very clever, and I come to you for\nadvice. We are three companions in travel, a sculptor, a tailor and\nmyself. Once upon a time we were going through a forest and were\nobliged to pass the night in it. To be safe from wolves, we made a\nfire, and agreed to keep watch one after the other. The sculptor\nkept watch first, and for amusement to kill time took a log and\ncarved a damsel out of it. When it was finished he woke the tailor\nto keep watch in his turn. The tailor, seeing the wooden damsel,\nasked what it meant. \"As you see,\" said the sculptor, \"I was weary,\nand didn't know what to do with myself, so I carved a damsel out of\na log; if you find time hang heavy on your hands, you can dress\nher.\" The tailor at once took out his scissors, needle and thread,\ncut out the clothes, stitched away, and when they were ready,\ndressed the damsel in them. He then called me to come and keep\nwatch. I, too, asked him what the meaning of all this was. \"As you\nsee,\" said the tailor, \"the sculptor found time hang heavy on his\nhands and carved a damsel out of a log, and I for the same reason\nclothed her; and if you find time hanging on your hands, you can\nteach her to speak.\" And by morning dawn I had actually taught her\nto speak. But in the morning when my companions woke up, each wanted\nto possess the damsel. The sculptor said, \"I made her;\" the tailor,\n\"I clothed her.\" I, too, maintained my right. Tell me, therefore,\ndoggie, to which of us the damsel belongs?' The dog said nothing,\nbut instead of the dog the princess replied: 'To whom can she belong\nbut to yourself? What's the good of the sculptor's damsel without\nlife? What's the good of the tailor's dressing without speech? You\ngave her the best gift, life and speech, and therefore she by right\nbelongs to you.' 'You have passed your own sentence,' said Vanek; 'I\nhave given you speech again and a new life, and you therefore by\nright belong to me.' Then said one of the king's councillors: 'His\nRoyal Grace will give you a plenteous reward for succeeding in\nunloosing his daughter's tongue; but you cannot have her to wife, as\nyou are of mean lineage.' The king said: 'You are of mean lineage; I\nwill give you a plenteous reward instead of our daughter.' But Vanek\nwouldn't hear of any other reward, and said: 'The king promised\nwithout any exception, that whoever caused his daughter to speak\nagain should be her husband. A king's word is a law; and if the king\nwants others to observe his laws, he must first keep them himself.\nTherefore the king _must_ give me his daughter.' 'Seize and bind\nhim!' shouted the councillor. 'Whoever says the king _must_ do\nanything, offers an insult to his Majesty, and is worthy of death.\nMay it please your Majesty to order this malefactor to be executed\nwith the sword?' The king said: 'Let him be executed.' Vanek was\nimmediately bound and led to execution. When they came to the place\nof execution Luck was there waiting for him, and said secretly to\nIntelligence, 'See how this man has got on through you, till he has\nto lose his head! Make way, and let me take your place!' As soon as\nLuck entered Vanek, the executioner's sword broke against the\nscaffold, just as if someone had snapped it; and before they brought\nhim another, up rode a trumpeter on horseback from the city,\ngalloping as swift as a bird, trumpeted merrily, and waved a white\nflag, and after him came the royal carriage for Vanek. This is what\nhad happened: The princess had told her father at home that Vanek\nhad but spoken the truth, and the king's word ought not to be\nbroken. If Vanek were of mean lineage the king could easily make him\na prince. The king said: 'You're right; let him be a prince!' The\nroyal carriage was immediately sent for Vanek, and the councillor\nwho had irritated the king against him was executed in his stead.\nAfterwards, when Vanek and the princess were going together in a\ncarriage from the wedding, Intelligence happened to be somewhere on\nthe road, and seeing that he couldn't help meeting Luck, bent his\nhead and slipped on one side, just as if cold water had been thrown\nupon him. And from that time forth it is said that Intelligence has\nalways given a wide berth to Luck whenever he has had to meet him.\n\n\n\n\nV.--THE JEZINKAS.\n\n\nThere was a poor orphan lad who had neither father nor mother, and\nwas compelled to go out to service to get his living. He travelled a\nlong way without being able to obtain an engagement, till one day he\ncame to a hovel all by itself under a wood. On the threshold sat an\nold man, who had dark caverns in his head instead of eyes. The\ngoats were bleating in the stall, and the old man said: 'I wish I\ncould take you, poor goats, to pasture, but I can't, I am blind; and\nI have nobody to send with you.' 'Daddy, send me,' answered the lad;\n'I will pasture your goats, and also be glad to wait upon you.' 'Who\nare you? and what is your name?' The lad told him all, and that they\ncalled him Johnny. 'Well, Johnny, I will take you; but drive out the\ngoats for me to pasture first of all. But don't lead them to yon\nhill in the forest; the Jezinkas will come to you, will put you to\nsleep, and will then tear out your eyes, as they have mine.' 'Never\nfear, Daddy,' answered Johnny; 'the Jezinkas won't tear out _my_\neyes.' He then let the goats out of the stall, and drove them to\npasture. The first and second day he pastured them under the forest,\nbut the third day he said to himself: 'Why should I be afraid of the\nJezinkas? I'll drive them where there is better pasture.' He then\nbroke off three green shoots of bramble, put them into his hat, and\ndrove the goats straight on to the hill in the forest. There the\ngoats wandered about for pasture, and Johnny sat down on a stone in\nthe cool. He had not sat long, when all of a sudden, how it came\nabout he knew not, a beautiful damsel stood before him, all dressed\nin white, with her hair--raven-black--prettily dressed and flowing\ndown her back, and eyes like sloes. 'God bless you, young goatherd!'\nsaid she. 'See what apples grow in our garden! Here's one for you;\nI'll give it you, that you may know how good they are.' She offered\nhim a beautiful rosy apple. But Johnny knew that if he took the\napple and ate it he would fall asleep, and she would afterwards tear\nout his eyes, so he said: 'I am much obliged to you, beautiful\ndamsel! My master has an apple-tree in his garden, on which still\nhandsomer apples grow; I have eaten my fill of them.' 'Well, if\nyou'd rather not, I won't compel you,' said the damsel, and went\naway. After a while came another, still prettier, damsel, with a\nbeautiful red rose in her hand, and said: 'God bless you, young\ngoatherd! See what a beautiful rose I've just plucked off the hedge.\nIt smells so nice; smell it yourself.' 'I am much obliged to you,\nbeautiful damsel. My master has still handsomer roses in his garden;\nI have smelt my fill of them.' 'Well, then, if you won't, let it\nalone!' said the damsel, quite enraged, turned round, and retired.\nAfter a while, a third damsel, the youngest and prettiest of them\nall, came up. 'God bless you, young goatherd!' 'Thank you, beautiful\ndamsel!' 'Indeed, you're a fine lad,' said the damsel, 'but you'd be\nstill handsomer if you had your hair nicely combed and dressed.\nCome, I'll comb it for you.' Johnny said nothing, but when the\ndamsel came up to him to comb his hair, he took his hat from his\nhead, drew out a bramble-shoot, and pop! struck her on both hands.\nThe damsel screamed 'Help, help!' began to weep, but was unable to\nmove from the place. Johnny cared naught for her weeping, and bound\nher hands together with the bramble. Then up ran the other two\ndamsels, and, seeing their sister a captive, began to beg Johnny to\nunbind her and let her go. 'Unbind her yourselves,' said Johnny.\n'Alas! we can't, we have tender hands, we should prick ourselves.'\nBut when they saw that the lad would not do as they wished, they\nwent to their sister and wanted to unfasten the bramble. Thereupon\nJohnny leapt up, and pop! pop! struck them too with a spray, and\nthen bound both their hands together. 'See, I've got you, you wicked\nJezinkas! Why did you tear out my master's eyes?' After this, he\nwent home to his master, and said, 'Come, daddy, I've found somebody\nwho will give you your eyes again.' When they came to the hill, he\nsaid to the first Jezinka, 'Now tell me where the old man's eyes\nare. If you don't tell me, I shall throw you at once into the\nwater.' The Jezinka made excuse that she didn't know, and Johnny was\ngoing to throw her into the river, which flowed hard by under the\nhill. 'Don't, Johnny, don't!' entreated the Jezinka, 'and I'll give\nyou the old man's eyes.' She conducted him into a cavern, where was\na great heap of eyes, large and small, black, red, blue and green,\nand took two out of the heap. But when Johnny placed them in the old\nman's sockets, the poor man began to cry: 'Alas, alas! these are not\nmy eyes. I see nothing but owls.' Johnny became exasperated, seized\nthe Jezinka, and threw her into the water. He then said to the\nsecond: 'Tell me, you, where the old man's eyes are.' She, too,\nbegan to make excuses that she didn't know; but when the lad\nthreatened to throw her, too, into the water, she led him again to\nthe cavern, and took out two other eyes. But the old man cried\nagain: 'Alas! these are not my eyes. I see nothing but wolves.' The\nsame was done to the second Jezinka as to the first; the water\nclosed over her. 'Tell me, you, where the old man's eyes are,' said\nJohnny to the third and youngest Jezinka. She, too, led him to the\nheap in the cavern, and took out two eyes for him. But when they\nwere inserted, the old man cried out again that they were not his\neyes. 'I see nothing but pike.' Johnny saw that she, too, was\ncheating him, and was going to drown her as well; but the Jezinka\nbesought him with tears: 'Don't, Johnny, don't! I will give you the\nold man's proper eyes.' She took them from under the whole heap. And\nwhen Johnny inserted them into the old man's sockets, he cried out\njoyfully: 'These, these are my eyes! Praise be to God! now I see\nwell again!' Afterwards Johnny and the old man lived together\nhappily; Johnny pastured the goats, and the old man made cheeses at\nhome, and they ate them together; but the Jezinka never showed\nherself again on that hill.\n\n\n\n\nVI.--THE WOOD-LADY.\n\n\nBetty was a little girl; her mother was a widow, and had no more of\nher property left than a dilapidated cottage and two she-goats; but\nBetty was, nevertheless, always cheerful. From spring to autumn she\npastured the goats in the birch-wood. Whenever she went from home,\nher mother always gave her in a basket a slice of bread and a\nspindle, with the injunction, 'Let it be full.' As she had no\ndistaff, she used to twine the flax round her head. Betty took the\nbasket, and skipped off singing merrily after the goats to the\nbirch-wood. When she got there, the goats went after pasture, and\nBetty sat under a tree, drew the fibres from her head with her left\nhand, and let down the spindle with her right so that it just hummed\nover the ground, and therewith she sang till the wood echoed; the\ngoats meanwhile pastured. When the sun indicated mid-day, she put\naside her spindle, called the goats, and after giving them each a\nmorsel of bread that they mightn't stray from her, bounded into the\nwood for a few strawberries or any other woodland fruit that might\nhappen to be just then in season, that she might have dessert to her\nbread. When she had finished her meal, she sprang up, folded her\nhands, danced and sang. The sun smiled on her through the green\nfoliage, and the goats, enjoying themselves among the grass,\nthought: 'What a merry shepherdess we have!' After her dance, she\nspun again industriously, and at even, when she drove the goats\nhome, her mother never scolded her for bringing back her spindle\nempty.\n\nOnce, when according to custom, exactly at mid-day, after her scanty\ndinner, she was getting ready for a dance, all of a sudden--where\nshe came, there she came--a very beautiful maiden stood before her.\nShe had on a white dress as fine as gossamer, golden-coloured hair\nflowed from her head to her waist, and on her head she wore a\ngarland of woodland flowers. Betty was struck dumb with\nastonishment. The maiden smiled at her, and said in an attractive\nvoice, 'Betty, are you fond of dancing?' When the maiden spoke so\nprettily to her, Betty's terror quitted her, and she answered, 'Oh,\nI should like to dance all day long!' 'Come, then, let's dance\ntogether. I'll teach you!' So spoke the maiden, tucked her dress up\non one side, took Betty by the waist, and began to dance with her.\nAs they circled, such delightful music sounded over their heads,\nthat Betty's heart skipped within her. The musicians sat on the\nbranches of the birches in black, ash-coloured, brown, and\nvariegated coats. It was a company of choice musicians that had come\ntogether at the beck of the beautiful maiden--nightingales, larks,\nlinnets, goldfinches, greenfinches, thrushes, blackbirds, and a very\nskilful mocking-bird. Betty's cheek flamed, her eyes glittered, she\nforgot her task and her goats, and only gazed at her partner, who\ntwirled before and round her with the most charming movements, and\nso lightly that the grass didn't even bend beneath her delicate\nfoot. They danced from noon till eve, and Betty's feet were neither\nwearied nor painful. Then the beautiful maiden stopped, the music\nceased, and as she came so she disappeared. Betty looked about her;\nthe sun was setting behind the wood. She clapped her hands on the\ntop of her head, and, feeling the unspun flax, remembered that her\nspindle, which was lying on the grass, was by no means full. She\ntook the flax down from her head, and put it with the spindle into\nher basket, called the goats, and drove them home. She did not sing\non the way, but bitterly reproached herself for letting the\nbeautiful maiden delude her, and determined that if the maiden\nshould come to her again, she would never listen to her any more.\nThe goats, hearing no merry song behind them, looked round to see\nwhether their own shepherdess was really following them. Her mother,\ntoo, wondered, and asked her daughter whether she was ill, as she\ndidn't sing. 'No, mother dear, I'm not ill; but my throat is dry\nfrom very singing, and therefore I don't sing,' said Betty in\nexcuse, and went to put away the spindle and the unspun flax.\nKnowing that her mother was not in the habit of reeling up the yarn\nat once, she intended to make up the next day what she had neglected\nto do the first day, and therefore did not say a word to her mother\nabout the beautiful maiden.\n\nThe next day Betty again drove the goats as usual to the birch-wood,\nand sang to herself again merrily. On arriving at the birch-wood the\ngoats began to pasture, and she sat under the tree and began to spin\nindustriously, singing to herself all the time, for work comes\nbetter from the hand while one sings. The sun indicated mid-day.\nBetty gave each of the goats a morsel of bread, went off for\nstrawberries, and after returning began to eat her dinner and\nchatter with the goats. 'Ah, my little goats, I mustn't dance\nto-day,' sighed she, when after dinner she collected the crumbs from\nher lap in her hand and placed them on a stone that the birds might\ntake them away. 'And why mustn't you?' spoke a pleasing voice, and\nthe beautiful maiden stood beside her, as if she had dropped from\nthe clouds. Betty was still more frightened than the first time, and\nclosed her eyes that she might not even see the maiden; but when the\nmaiden repeated the question, she answered modestly: 'Excuse me,\nbeautiful lady, I can't dance with you, because I should again fail\nto perform my task of spinning, and my mother would scold me.\nTo-day, before the sun sets, I must make up what I left undone\nyesterday.' 'Only come and dance; before the sun sets help will be\nfound for you,' said the maiden, tucked up her dress, took Betty\nround the waist, the musicians sitting on the birch branches struck\nup, and the two dancers began to whirl. The beautiful maiden danced\nstill more enchantingly. Betty couldn't take her eyes off her, and\nforgot the goats and her task. At last the dancer stopped, the music\nceased, the sun was on the verge of setting. Betty clapped her hand\non the top of her head, where the unspun flax was twined, and began\nto cry. The beautiful maiden put her hand on her head, took off the\nflax, twined it round the stem of a slender birch, seized the\nspindle, and began to spin. The spindle just swung over the surface\nof the ground, grew fuller before her eyes, and before the sun set\nbehind the wood all the yarn was spun, as well as that which Betty\nhad not finished the day before. While giving the full spool into\nthe girl's hand the beautiful maiden said: 'Reel, and grumble\nnot--remember my words, \"Reel, and grumble not!\"' After these words\nshe vanished, as if the ground had sunk in beneath her. Betty was\ncontent, and thought on her way, 'If she is so good and kind, I will\ndance with her again if she comes again.' She sang again that the\ngoats might step on merrily. But her mother gave her no cheerful\nwelcome. Wishing in the course of the day to reel the yarn, she saw\nthat the spindle was not full, and was therefore out of humour.\n'What were you doing yesterday that you didn't finish your task?'\nasked her mother reprovingly. 'Pardon, mother; I danced a little too\nlong,' said Betty humbly, and, showing her mother the spindle,\nadded: 'To-day it is more than full to make up for it.' Her mother\nsaid no more, but went to milk the goats, and Betty put the spindle\naway. She wished to tell her mother of her adventure, but bethought\nherself again, 'No, not unless she comes again, and then I will ask\nher what kind of person she is, and will tell my mother.' So she\nmade up her mind and held her tongue.\n\nThe third morning, as usual, she drove the goats to the birch-wood.\nThe goats began to pasture; Betty sat under the tree, and began to\nsing and spin. The sun indicated mid-day. Betty laid her spindle on\nthe grass, gave each of the goats a morsel of bread, collected\nstrawberries, ate her dinner, and while giving the crumbs to the\nbirds, said: 'My little goats, I will dance to you to-day!' She\njumped up, folded her hands, and was just going to try whether she\ncould manage to dance as prettily as the beautiful maiden, when all\nat once she herself stood before her. 'Let's go together, together!'\nsaid she to Betty, seized her round the waist, and at the same\nmoment the music struck up over their heads, and the maidens circled\nround with flying step. Betty forgot her spindle and her goats, saw\nnothing but the beautiful maiden, whose body bent in every direction\nlike a willow-wand, and thought of nothing but the delightful music,\nin tune with which her feet bounded of their own accord. They danced\nfrom mid-day till even. Then the maiden stopped, and the music\nceased. Betty looked round; the sun was behind the wood. With tears\nshe clasped her hands on the top of her head, and turning in search\nof the half-empty spindle, lamented about what her mother would say\nto her. 'Give me your basket,' said the beautiful maiden. 'I will\nmake up to you for what you have left undone to-day.' Betty handed\nher the basket, and the maiden disappeared for a moment, and\nafterwards handed Betty the basket again, saying, 'Not now; look at\nit at home,' and was gone, as if the wind had blown her away. Betty\nwas afraid to peep into the basket immediately, but half-way home\nshe couldn't restrain herself. The basket was as light as if there\nwas just nothing in it. She couldn't help looking to see whether the\nmaiden hadn't tricked her. And how frightened she was when she saw\nthat the basket was full--of birch leaves! Then, and not till then,\ndid she begin to weep and lament that she had been so credulous. In\nanger she threw out two handfuls of leaves, and was going to shake\nthe basket out; but then she bethought herself, 'I will use them as\nlitter for the goats,' and left some leaves in the basket. She was\nalmost afraid to go home. The goats again could hardly recognise\ntheir shepherdess. Her mother was waiting for her on the threshold,\nfull of anxiety. 'For Heaven's sake, girl! what sort of spool did\nyou bring me home yesterday?' were her first words. 'Why?' asked\nBetty anxiously. 'When you went out in the morning, I went to reel;\nI reeled and reeled, and the spool still remained full. One skein,\ntwo, three skeins; the spool still full. \"What evil spirit has spun\nit?\" said I in a temper; and that instant the yarn vanished from the\nspindle, as if it were spirited away. Tell me what the meaning of\nthis is!' Then Betty confessed, and began to tell about the\nbeautiful maiden. 'That was a wood-lady!' cried her mother in\nastonishment; 'about mid-day and midnight the wood-ladies hold their\ndances. Lucky that you are not a boy, or you wouldn't have come out\nof her arms alive. She would have danced with you as long as there\nwas breath in your body, or have tickled you to death. But they have\ncompassion on girls, and often give them rich presents. It's a pity\nthat you didn't tell me; if I hadn't spoken in a temper, I might\nhave had a room full of yarn.' Then Betty bethought herself of the\nbasket, and it occurred to her that perhaps, after all, there might\nhave been something under those leaves. She took out the spindle and\nunspun flax from the top, and looked once more, and, 'See, mother!'\nshe cried out. Her mother looked and clapped her hands. The\nbirch-leaves were turned into gold! 'She ordered me: \"Don't look\nnow, but at home!\" but I did not obey.' 'Lucky that you didn't empty\nout the whole basket,' thought her mother.\n\nThe next morning she went herself to look at the place where Betty\nhad thrown out the two handfuls of leaves, but on the road there lay\nnothing but fresh birch-leaves. But the riches that Betty had\nbrought home were large enough. Her mother bought a small estate;\nthey had many cattle. Betty had handsome clothes, and was not\nobliged to pasture goats; but whatever she had, however cheerful and\nhappy she was, nothing ever gave her so great delight as the dance\nwith the wood-lady. She often went to the birch-wood; she was\nattracted there. She hoped for the good fortune of seeing the\nbeautiful maiden; but she never set eyes on her more.\n\n\n\n\nVII.--GEORGE WITH THE GOAT.\n\n\nThere was a king who had a daughter who never could be induced to\nlaugh; she was always sad. So the king proclaimed that she should be\ngiven to anyone who could cause her to laugh. There was also a\nshepherd who had a son named George. He said: 'Daddy! I, too, will\ngo to see whether I can make her laugh. I want nothing from you but\nthe goat.' His father said, 'Well, go.' The goat was of such a\nnature that, when her master wished, she detained everybody, and\nthat person was obliged to stay by her.\n\nSo he took the goat and went, and met a man who had a foot on his\nshoulder. George said: 'Why have you a foot on your shoulder?' He\nreplied: 'If I take it off, I leap a hundred miles.' 'Whither are\nyou going?' 'I am going in search of service, to see if anyone will\ntake me.' 'Well, come with us.'\n\nThey went on, and again met a man who had a bandage on his eyes.\n'Why have you a bandage on your eyes?' He answered, 'If I remove the\nbandage, I see a hundred miles.' 'Whither are you going?' 'I am\ngoing in search of service, if you will take me?' 'Yes, I'll take\nyou. Come also with me.'\n\nThey went on a bit further, and met another fellow, who had a\nbottle under his arm, and, instead of a stopper, held his thumb in\nit. 'Why do you hold your thumb there?' 'If I pull it out, I squirt\na hundred miles, and besprinkle everything that I choose. If you\nlike, take me also into your service; it may be to your advantage\nand ours too.' George replied: 'Well, come too!'\n\nAfterwards they came to the town where the king lived, and bought a\nsilken riband for the goat. They came to an inn, and orders had\nalready been given there beforehand, that when such people came,\nthey were to give them what they liked to eat and drink--the king\nwould pay for all. So they tied the goat with that very riband and\nplaced it in the innkeeper's room to be taken care of, and he put it\nin the side room where his daughters slept. The innkeeper had three\nmaiden daughters, who were not yet asleep. So Manka said: 'Oh! if I,\ntoo, could have such a riband! I will go and unfasten it from that\ngoat.' The second, Dodla, said: 'Don't; he'll find it out in the\nmorning.' But she went notwithstanding. And when Manka did not\nreturn for a long time, the third, Kate, said: 'Go, fetch her.' So\nDodla went, and gave Manka a pat on the back. 'Come, leave it\nalone!' And now she too was unable to withdraw herself from her. So\nKate said: 'Come, don't unfasten it!' Kate went and gave Dodla a pat\non the petticoat; and now she, too, couldn't get away, but was\nobliged to stay by her.\n\nIn the morning George made haste and went for the goat, and led the\nwhole set away--Kate, Dodla, and Manka. The innkeeper was still\nasleep. They went through the village, and the judge looked out of a\nwindow and said, 'Fie, Kate! what's this? what's this?' He went and\ntook her by the hand, wishing to pull her away, but remained also by\nher. After this, a cowherd drove some cows through a narrow street,\nand the bull came rushing round; he stuck fast, and George led him,\ntoo, in the procession.\n\nThus they afterwards came in front of the castle, and the servants\ncame out of doors; and when they saw such things, they went and told\nthe king. 'O sire, we have such a spectacle here; we have already\nhad all manner of masquerades, but this has never been here yet.' So\nthey immediately led the king's daughter to the square in front of\nthe castle, and she looked and laughed till the castle shook.\n\nNow they asked him what sort of person he was. He said that he was a\nshepherd's son, and was named George. They said that it could not be\ndone; for he was of mean lineage, and they could not give him the\ndamsel; but he must accomplish something more for them. He said,\n'What?' They replied that there was a spring yonder, a hundred miles\noff; if he brought a goblet of water from it in a minute, then he\nshould obtain the damsel. So George said to the man who had the foot\non his shoulder: 'You said that if you took the foot down, you could\njump a hundred miles.' He replied: 'I'll easily do that.' He took\nthe foot down, jumped, and was there. But after this there was only\na very little time to spare, and by then he ought to have been back.\nSo George said to the second: 'You said that if you removed the\nbandage from your eyes, you could see a hundred miles. Peep and see\nwhat is going on.' 'Ah, sir! Goodness gracious! he's fallen asleep!'\n'That will be a bad job,' said George; 'the time will be up. You,\nthird man, you said if you pulled your thumb out, you could squirt a\nhundred miles; be quick and squirt thither, that he may get up. And\nyou, look whether he is moving, or what.' 'Oh, sir! he's getting up\nnow; he's knocking the dust off; he's drawing the water.' He then\ngave a jump, and was there exactly in time.\n\nAfter this they said that he must perform one task more; that\nyonder, in a rock, was a wild beast, a unicorn, of such a nature\nthat he destroyed a great many of their people; if he cleared him\nout of the world he should obtain the damsel. So he took his people\nand went into the forest. They came to a firwood. There were three\nwild beasts, and three lairs had been formed by wallowing as they\nlay. Two did nothing; but the third destroyed people. So they took\nsome stones and some pine-cones in their pockets, and climbed up\ninto a tree; and when the beasts lay down, they dropped a stone down\nupon that one which was the unicorn. He said to the next: 'Be quiet;\ndon't butt me.' It said: 'I'm not doing anything to you.' Again they\nlet a stone fall from above upon the unicorn. 'Be quiet! you've\nalready done it to me twice.' 'Indeed, I'm doing nothing to you.' So\nthey attacked each other and fought together. The unicorn wanted to\npierce the second beast through; but it jumped out of the way, and\nhe rushed so violently after it, that he struck his horn into a\ntree, and couldn't pull it out quickly. So they sprang speedily down\nfrom the fir, and the other two beasts ran away and escaped, but\nthey cut off the head of the third, the unicorn, took it up, and\ncarried it to the castle.\n\nNow those in the castle saw that George had again accomplished that\ntask. 'What, prithee, shall we do? Perhaps we must after all give\nhim the damsel!' 'No, sire,' said one of the attendants, 'that\ncannot be; he is too lowborn to obtain a king's daughter! On the\ncontrary, we must clear him out of the world.' So the king ordered\nthem to note his words, what he should say. There was a hired female\nservant there, and she said to him: 'George, it will be evil for you\nto-day; they're going to clear you out of the world.' He answered:\n'Oh, I'm not afraid. When I was only just twelve years old, I killed\ntwelve of them at one blow!' But this was the fact: when his mother\nwas baking a flat-cake, a dozen flies settled upon her, and he\nkilled them all at a single blow.\n\nWhen they heard this, they said: 'Nothing else will do but we must\nshoot him.' So they drew up the soldiers, and said they would hold a\nreview in his honour, for they would celebrate the wedding in the\nsquare before the castle. Then they conducted him thither, and the\nsoldiers were already going to let fly at him. But George said to\nthe man who held his thumb in the bottle in place of a stopper: 'You\nsaid, if you pulled your thumb out, you could besprinkle everything.\nPull it out--quick!' 'Oh, sir, I'll easily perform that.' So he\npulled out his thumb and gave them all such a sprinkling, that they\nwere all blind, and not one could see.\n\nSo, when they perceived that nothing else was to be done, they told\nhim to go, for they would give him the damsel. Then they gave him a\nhandsome royal robe, and the wedding took place. I, too, was at the\nwedding; they had music there, sang, ate, and drank; there was meat,\nthere were cheesecakes, and baskets full of everything, and buckets\nfull of strong waters. To-day I went, yesterday I came; I found an\negg among the tree-stumps; I knocked it against somebody's head, and\ngave him a bald place, and he's got it still.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThis story is related to Grimm's tale of the 'Golden Goose,' but it\nis much more rationally constructed, and much more interesting. The\nman who jumps one hundred miles appears to be the rainbow, the man\nwith bandaged eyes the lightning, and the man with the bottle the\ncloud. The interpretation will be very similar to that of No. 1, but\nthe allegory is by no means so clear or so well constructed. As to\nthe nonsense at the end, it is a specimen of the manner in which the\nnarrators of stories frequently finish them in all Slavonic\nlanguages.\n\n\n\n\n_MORAVIAN STORIES._\n\n\nMoravia is so named from the river Morava (in German the river\nMarch), of which, and its affluents, it is the basin. It falls into\nthe Danube a little above Presburg. In very early times Moravia\nappears to have been more civilized and powerful than Bohemia; but\nlater, Bohemia became a considerable kingdom, and Moravia a\ndependency of, and eventually a margravate under the Bohemian crown.\n\nThe Moravian stories differ but little in character from those of\nBohemia. The country, unlike Bohemia, abounds in dialects, although\nthe literary language is the Bohemian. On the east the Moravian\nmelts into the Silesian, or 'Water-Polish.'\n\nNo. 8, 'Godmother Death,' is an interesting variant of the Teutonic\n'Godfather Death,' which is given by Grimm. The reason why Death is\nrepresented as a Godmother, rather than a Godfather, in the Moravian\nstory, is, that Death (_Smrt_) is feminine in all Slavonic dialects.\nThe story constructed on this basis is more graceful and fuller of\nincident than the Teutonic tale, in which Death is masculine.\n\nNo. 9 is another story falling under the head of 'Natural Science in\nAllegory,' which is clearer and simpler in construction and\ninterpretation than any variant of it that I am acquainted with.\n\n\n\n\nVIII.--GODMOTHER DEATH.\n\n\nThere was a man, very poor in this world's goods, whose wife\npresented him with a baby boy. No one was willing to stand sponsor,\nbecause he was so very poor. The father said to himself: 'Dear Lord,\nI am so poor that no one is willing to be at my service in this\nmatter; I'll take the baby, I'll go, and I'll ask the first person I\nmeet to act as sponsor, and if I don't meet anybody, perhaps the\nsexton will help me.' He went and met Death, but didn't know what\nmanner of person she was; she was a handsome woman, like any other\nwoman. He asked her to be godmother. She didn't make any excuse, and\nimmediately saluted him as parent of her godchild, took the baby in\nher arms, and carried him to church. The little lad was properly\nchristened. When they came out of church, the child's father took\nthe godmother to an inn, and wanted to give her a little treat as\ngodmother. But she said to him, 'Gossip,[1] leave this alone, and\ncome with me to my abode.' She took him with her to her apartment,\nwhich was very handsomely furnished. Afterwards she conducted him\ninto great vaults, and through these vaults they went right into the\nunder-world in the dark. There tapers were burning of three\nsizes--small, large, and middle-sized; and those which were not yet\nalight were very large. The godmother said to the godchild's father:\n'Look, Gossip, here I have the duration of everybody's life.' The\nchild's father gazed thereat, found there a tiny taper close to the\nvery ground, and asked her: 'But, Gossip, I pray you, whose is this\nlittle taper close to the ground?' She said to him: 'That is yours!\nWhen any taper whatsoever burns down, I must go for that man.' He\nsaid to her: 'Gossip, I pray you, give me somewhat additional.' She\nsaid to him: 'Gossip, I cannot do that!' Afterwards she went and\nlighted a large new taper for the baby boy whom they had had\nchristened. Meanwhile, while the godmother was not looking, the\nchild's father took for himself a large new taper, lit it, and\nplaced it where his tiny taper was burning down.\n\n    [1] The Slavonians are rich in terms, both masculine and\n    feminine, expressing the various relationships between\n    godparents and godchildren and their parents. We have only one\n    form, 'gossip,' which thus has to do duty for both the godmother\n    and the father of the godchild.\n\nThe godmother looked round at him and said: 'Gossip, you ought not\nto have done that to me; but if you have given yourself additional\nlifetime, you have done so and possess it. Let us go hence, and\nwe'll go to your wife.'\n\nShe took a present, and went with the child's father and the child\nto the mother. She arrived, and placed the boy on his mother's bed,\nand asked her how she was, and whether she had any pain anywhere.\nThe mother confided her griefs to her, and the father sent for some\nbeer, and wanted to entertain her in his cottage, as godmother, in\norder to gratify her and show his gratitude. They drank and feasted\ntogether. Afterwards the godmother said to her godchild's father:\n'Gossip, you are so poor that no one but myself would be at your\nservice in this matter; but never mind, you shall bear me in memory!\nI will go to the houses of various respectable people and make them\nill, and you shall physic and cure them. I will tell you all the\nremedies. I possess them all, and everybody will be glad to\nrecompense you well, only observe this: When I stand at anyone's\nfeet, you can be of assistance to every such person; but if I stand\nat anybody's head, don't attempt to aid him.' It came to pass. The\nchild's father went from patient to patient, where the godmother\ncaused illness, and benefited every one. All at once he became a\ndistinguished physician. A prince was dying--nay, he had breathed\nhis last--nevertheless, they sent for the physician. He came, he\nbegan to anoint him with salves and give him his powders, and did\nhim good. When he had restored him to health, they paid him well,\nwithout asking how much they were indebted. Again, a count was\ndying. They sent for the physician again. The physician came. Death\nwas standing behind the bed at his head. The physician cried: 'It's\na bad case, but we'll have a try.' He summoned the servants, and\nordered them to turn the bed round with the patient's feet towards\nDeath, and began to anoint him with salves and administer powders\ninto his mouth, and did him good. The count paid him in return as\nmuch as he could carry away, without ever asking how much he was\nindebted; he was only too glad that he had restored him to health.\nWhen Death met the physician, she said to him: 'Gossip, if this\noccurs to you again, don't play me that trick any more. True, you\nhave done him good, but only for a while; I must, none the less,\ntake him off whither he is due.' The child's father went on in this\nway for some years; he was now very old. But at last he was wearied\nout, and asked Death herself to take him. Death was unable to take\nhim, because he had given himself a long additional taper; she was\nobliged to wait till it burned out. One day he drove to a certain\npatient to restore him to health, and did so. Afterwards Death\nrevealed herself to him, and rode with him in his carriage. She\nbegan to tickle and play with him, and tap him with a green twig\nunder the throat; he threw himself into her lap, and went off into\nthe last sleep. Death laid him in the carriage, and took herself\noff. They found the physician lying dead in his carriage, and\nconveyed him home. The whole town and all the villages lamented:\n'That physician is much to be regretted. What a good doctor he was!\nHe was of great assistance; there will never be his like again!' His\nson remained after him, but had not the same skill.\n\nThe son went one day into church, and his godmother met him. She\nasked him: 'My dear son, how are you?' He said to her: 'Not all\nalike; so long as I have what my dad saved up for me, it is well\nwith me, but after that the Lord God knows how it will be with me.'\nHis godmother said: 'Well, my son, fear nought. I am your\nchristening mamma; I helped your father to what he had, and will\ngive you, too, a livelihood. You shall go to a physician as a pupil,\nand you shall be more skilful than he, only behave nicely.' After\nthis she anointed him with salve over the ears, and conducted him to\na physician. The physician didn't know what manner of lady it was,\nand what sort of son she brought him for instruction. The lady\nenjoined her son to behave nicely, and requested the physician to\ninstruct him well, and bring him into a good position. Then she took\nleave of him and departed. The physician and the lad went together\nto gather herbs, and each herb cried out to the pupil what remedial\nvirtue it had, and the pupil gathered it. The physician also\ngathered herbs, but knew not, with regard to any herb, what remedial\nvirtue it possessed. The pupil's herbs were beneficial in every\ndisease. The physician said to the pupil: 'You are cleverer than I,\nfor I diagnose no one that comes to me; but you know herbs counter\nto every disease. Do you know what? Let us join partnership. I will\ngive my doctor's diploma up to you, and will be your assistant, and\nam willing to be with you till death.' The lad was successful in\ndoctoring and curing till his taper burned out in limbo.\n\n\n\n\nIX.--THE FOUR BROTHERS.\n\n\nThere was, once upon a time, a huntsman who had four sons, and these\nsons wanted to go to gain experience in the world. When they were\nall over sixteen years old, they said to their father: 'We are going\ninto the world, father; we pray you give us money for our journey.'\nThe father gave them 100 florins and a horse apiece. They mounted\ntheir horses and rode to the mountains. On a mountain were four\nroads, and between them stood a beech-tree. At this beech-tree they\nhalted, and the eldest said to the rest, 'Brothers, let us separate\nhere, and go each by a different road to seek his fortune in the\nworld. Let us each stick his knife into this beech-tree, and in a\nyear and a day let us all meet together here. These knives will be\ntokens for us; if any one of the knives is rusty, the one of us to\nwhom it belongs will be dead; and he whose knife is free from rust\nwill be alive and well.' They separated, and went each his way, and\nwhen they came to suitable places they each learned a handicraft.\nThe eldest learned to be a cobbler, the second to be a thief, the\nthird to be an astrologer, and the fourth to be a huntsman. When the\nyear and day arrived, they started on their return. The eldest came\nfirst to the beech-tree, pulled out his own knife and looked at the\nother knives. Seeing that they were all free from rust, he rejoiced,\nand said, 'Praise be to God! we are all alive and well.' He went\nhome. When he came to his father, his father asked him, 'What manner\nof handicraft have you learnt?' The son replied, 'Daddy, it's no use\ntelling you stories; I'm a cobbler.' The father said, 'Well, you've\nlearned a nice gainful handicraft.' The son answered, 'But, daddy,\nI'm not a cobbler like other cobblers, but I'm this kind of cobbler:\nif anything is worn out, I only say, \"Let it be mended up,\" and it\nis so at once.' The father had a coat worn out at the elbows, and\ntold him to cobble it up. The son gave the command, 'Let it be\nmended up,' and in a moment the coat was mended up as if it were\nbrand new, nor was it possible to know that it had been mended at\nall. Upon this the father said nothing more. The next day the second\nson came to the beech. He pulled out his own knife, and looked at\nthe remaining two; the third was already gone. Seeing that they\nwere both free from rust, he rejoiced, and said, 'Praise be to God!\nwe are all alive and well; our eldest brother is at home already.'\nHe also went home. When he came to his father, his father asked him,\n'What manner of handicraft have you learned?' The son replied, 'Dear\ndaddy, it's no use telling stories to you; I'm a thief.' The father\nsaid, 'Oh, you've learned a nice gainful trade! Shame on you!' The\nson said to him, 'But, daddy, I'm not a thief like a thief, but I'm\nsuch a thief that, if I think of anything, be it where it may, I\nhave it with me at once.' Just then a hare came running on the\nhillside; it could be seen through the window; the father told him\nto fetch the hare. The son immediately said, 'Let yon hare be here,'\nand it was with them at once. After this the father said no more.\nThe third day the third son came to the beech, pulled out his own\nknife and looked at the other knife, two not being there. Seeing\nthat it was clear of rust, he said, 'Praise be to God! we are all\nalive and well; my two elder brothers are at home already.' He also\nwent home. When he came to his father, his father asked him what\nmanner of handicraft he had learned. The son replied, 'Dear daddy,\nit's no use to tell you stories; I'm an astrologer.' His father said\nto him that it was a nice pretty handicraft. The son answered, 'But,\ndaddy, I am this kind of astrologer: if I look at the sky, I see at\nonce where anything is in the whole earth.' On the fourth day the\nyoungest son came to the beech and pulled out his knife, the other\nthree being there no longer. He was glad, and said, 'My brothers are\nalready all at home.' He also went home. When he came to his father,\nthe father asked him what manner of handicraft he had learned. The\nson answered that he was a huntsman. The father said, 'Anyhow, you\nhave not despised my craft; for that you're a good lad.' The son\nsaid, 'But, dear daddy, I'm not such a huntsman as you are, but one\nof this kind; if there is an unusually fine head of game, I say,\n\"Let it be shot,\" and immediately shot it is.' There was a hare\ndarting along the hillside; it was visible through the window. The\nfather said, 'Shoot it!' The youngest son spoke the word, and the\nhare lay dead. The father said, 'I don't see whether it is lying\ndead.' The astrologer looked at the sky, and said, 'Yes, daddy, it's\nlying there behind the bushes.' The father said, 'Yes, it's lying\nthere, but how are we to get it?' The brother who was a thief said,\n'Let it be here,' and immediately there it was. But it had come\nthrough thorny bushes, and was all torn. The father said, 'The whole\nskin is torn; who'll buy it of us?' The brother who was a cobbler\nsaid, 'Let it be mended up,' and immediately mended up it was. The\nfather said, 'Well, you'll all four maintain yourselves by your\nhandicrafts.'\n\nThey lived for some time at home with their father, and maintained\nthemselves well. Then a king lost the princess, his daughter, and\nmade proclamation that whoever should find her, to that person he\nwould give his daughter and the kingdom as well. The brothers said\nto one another, 'Let us go thither.' The father didn't give them\nleave to go, but go they did, and gave out that they were the people\nwho would find the lost princess. The king immediately sent a\ncarriage for them. When they came to the king, they said that they\nunderstood he had made proclamation that his daughter was lost, and\nthat he would give her and the kingdom as well to whoever should\nfind her. The king said that this was very truth, and immediately\nasked them to tell him where his daughter was. The astrologer\nreplied that he could not tell him just then, but when evening came\nhe would perceive in the sky where she was. About eight or nine\no'clock they went out and gazed at the sky. The astrologer said that\nshe had been taken captive by a dragon; that the dragon had seized\nher as she was out walking, and was keeping her on an island beyond\nthe Red Sea; that she was obliged to fondle him for two hours every\nday, and that the dragon then had his head placed on her lap. When\nday came, they assembled and drove in the carriage to the Red Sea.\nThen they got into a boat and rowed to the island where the princess\nwas. When they arrived at the island, the princess was out walking,\nand the dragon wasn't at home; but the princess made signs to them\nthat they were in evil case, for the dragon was just flying home.\nThe thief-brother called out with speed, 'Let the princess be here!'\nShe was with them in the boat at once, but cried out that they were\nin evil case, and would all perish. They rowed speedily away in the\nboat, but the dragon, full of wrath, roared and growled and rose in\nthe air above them. The astrologer said to the huntsman, 'Brother,\nshoot him.' The huntsman-brother said, 'Let him be shot.' The dragon\nwas shot, but fell on the boat and broke a hole in it, so that the\nwater came in. They threw the dragon into the sea, and the\nhuntsman-brother gave the word to the cobbler-brother, 'Mend the\nleak.' The cobbler-brother mended the leak, so that not a drop of\nwater came into the boat to them. Thus they arrived safely with the\nprincess at the sea-shore, landed on the beach, took their seats in\nthe carriage with the princess, and drove off. But as they drove\nalong in the carriage, they disputed to which of them the princess\nand the kingdom belonged. The astrologer said, 'The princess is\nmine. If it hadn't been for me, we shouldn't have known where the\nprincess was.' The thief said, 'The princess is mine. If it hadn't\nbeen for me, we shouldn't have got the princess into the boat.' The\nhuntsman said that the princess was his; if it hadn't been for him,\nthey wouldn't have shot the dragon. The cobbler shouted that the\nprincess was his; if it hadn't been for him, they would all have\nbeen drowned and have perished. When they came to the palace to the\nking, they asked him to decide to whom the princess belonged. The\nking said, 'Dear brothers, I will judge you righteously. It is true\nthat you have all deserved her, but you cannot all obtain her.\nAccording to my promise, the astrologer-brother must obtain her, for\nI made proclamation that whoever should _find_ the lost princess\nshould obtain her and the kingdom with her; the astrologer found\nher, and told us where she was. But, that none of you may be\nunfairly dealt with, each shall receive a district of his own, and\nye shall each be kings in your own districts.' They were all\ncontent. The astrologer, as soon as the wedding was over, sent home\nfor his father. The father came, and was delighted that his sons had\nbecome monarchs each in his district. In the spring he lived with\nthe cobbler, in the summer with the thief, in the autumn with the\nhuntsman, and in winter with the astrologer, and enjoyed himself\neverywhere till death.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI think that this story is connected with the Ceres and Proserpine\ncycle, only the daughter is lost by a father instead of a mother. It\nwill be seen, also, that at the conclusion of the story the order of\nthe brothers is not the same as in the story itself. And I think the\nerror is in the story, and that the astrologer ought to have been\nthe youngest brother instead of the huntsman. The brothers are the\nfour seasons of the year, which in ancient times began with spring,\nthe cobbler, who mends up all things, and makes them new again; next\ncomes summer, the thief, who gathers the products of the earth;\nthird comes autumn, the huntsman, when the wild animals that have\nincreased and multiplied during the year are destroyed and reduced\nwithin limits; last comes winter, the astrologer, when ploughing,\nsowing, and other agricultural operations that govern the whole year\ngo on by calculation. Thus the princess herself, the earth or its\nfertility, is assigned to the representative of winter, while the\nother seasons are lords each in his own district.\n\nThis Moravian tale will bear an advantageous comparison with Grimm's\ntale of the 'Four Accomplished Brothers,' in which neither of the\nbrothers is allowed to obtain the princess.\n\n\n\n\n_HUNGARIAN-SLOVENISH STORIES._\n\n\nThe Slovenes or Slovaks of North Hungary speak a great number of\ndialects, their literary language being, however, the Bohemian. They\nseem to be the _d\u00e9bris_ of a much larger nation or assemblage of\nnations, which was forced out of the plains of Pannonia into the\nmountains by the invasion of the Magyar or Hungarian horsemen, who,\naccording to the Russian chronicler Nestor, marched past Kief in\nA.D. 898, on their way to establish themselves in their present\nabode.\n\nTheir stories are not very dissimilar to the Bohemian tales,\nalthough they do not resemble them so closely as the Moravian\nstories do. No. 10 is one of the tales that especially attracted my\nattention, and caused me to entertain the idea of translating a\nconsiderable selection out of the hundred given by Erben. No. 11\ncontains incidents which occur again in the White Russian story (No.\n22), and in the great Russian tale of 'Ivan Popyalof,' given by\nRalston, though in other respects the stories are very different.\nNo. 12 is a superior variant of the German 'Rumpelstilskin' given by\nGrimm, and No. 13 is a specimen of an entirely different kind of\nstory, illustrating 'The biter bitten.'\n\n\n\n\nX.--THE THREE LEMONS.\n\n\nThere was once upon a time an old king who had an only son. This son\nhe one day summoned before him, and spoke to him thus: 'My son, you\nsee that my head has become white; ere long I shall close my eyes,\nand I do not yet know in what condition I shall leave you. Take a\nwife, my son! Let me bless you in good time, before I close my\neyes.' The son made no reply, but became lost in thought; he would\ngladly with all his heart have fulfilled his father's wish, but\nthere was no damsel in whom his heart could take delight.\n\nOnce upon a time, when he was sitting in the garden, and just\nconsidering what to do, all of a sudden an old woman appeared before\nhim--where she came, there she came. 'Go to the glass hill, pluck\nthe three lemons, and you will have a wife in whom your heart will\ntake delight,' said she, and as she had appeared so she disappeared.\nLike a bright flash did these words dart through the prince's soul.\nAt that moment he determined, come what might, to seek the glass\nhill and pluck the three lemons. He made known his determination to\nhis father, and his father gave him for the journey a horse, arms\nand armour, and his fatherly blessing.\n\nThrough forest-covered mountains, through desert plains, went our\nprince on his pilgrimage, for a very, very great distance; but there\nwas nothing to be seen, nothing to be heard of the glass hill and\nthe three lemons. Once, quite wearied out with his long journey, he\nthrew himself down under the cool shade of a broad lime-tree. As he\nthrew himself down, his father's sword, which he wore at his side,\nclanged against the ground, and a dozen ravens began croaking at the\ntop of the tree. Frightened by the clang of the sword, they rose on\ntheir wings, and flew into the air above the lofty tree. 'Hem! till\nnow I haven't seen a living creature for a long while,' said the\nprince to himself, springing from the ground. 'I will go in the\ndirection in which the ravens have flown; maybe some hope will\ndisclose itself to me.'\n\nHe went on--he went on anew for three whole days and three nights,\ntill at last a lofty castle displayed itself to him at a distance.\n'Praise be to God! I shall now at any rate come to human beings,'\ncried he, and proceeded further.\n\nThe castle was of pure lead; round it flew the twelve ravens, and in\nfront of it stood an old woman--it was Jezibaba[2]--leaning on a\nlong leaden staff. 'Ah, my son! whither have you come? Here there is\nneither bird nor insect to be seen, much less a human being,' said\nJezibaba to the prince. 'Flee, if life is dear to you; for, if my\nson comes, he will devour you.' 'Ah! not so, old mother, not so!'\nentreated the prince. 'I have come to you for counsel as to whether\nyou cannot let me have some information about the glass hill and the\nthree lemons.' 'I have never heard of the glass hill; but stay! when\nmy son comes home, maybe he will be able to let you have the\ninformation. But I will now conceal you somewhat; you will hide\nyourself under the besom, and wait there concealed till I call you.'\n\n    [2] Jezibaba is said to represent winter.\n\nThe mountains echoed, the castle quaked, and Jezibaba whispered to\nthe prince that her son was coming. 'Foh! foh! there is a smell of\nhuman flesh; I am going to eat it!' shouted Jezibaba's son, while\nstill in the doorway, and thumped on the ground with a huge leaden\nclub, so that the whole castle quaked. 'Ah, not so, my son, not so!'\nsaid Jezibaba, soothing him. 'There has come a handsome youth who\nwants to consult you about something.' 'Well, if he wants to consult\nme, let him come here.' 'Yes, indeed, my son, he shall come, but\nonly on condition that you promise to do nothing to him.' 'Well,\nI'll do nothing to him, only let him come.'\n\nThe prince was trembling like an aspen under the besom, for he saw\nbefore him through the twigs an ogre, up to whose knees he didn't\nreach. Happily his life was safeguarded, when Jezibaba bade him come\nout from under the besom. 'Well, you beetle, why are you afraid?'\nshouted the giant. 'Whence are you? What do you want?' 'What do I\nwant?' replied the prince. 'I've long been wandering in these\nmountains, and can't find that which I am seeking. Now I've come to\nask you whether you can't give me information about the glass hill\nand the three lemons.' Jezibaba's son wrinkled his brow, but, after\na while, said in a somewhat gentler voice: 'There's nothing to be\nseen here of the glass hill; but go to my brother in the silver\ncastle, maybe he'll be able to tell you something. But stay, I won't\nlet you go away hungry. Mother, here with the dumplings!' Old\nJezibaba set a large dish upon the table, and her gigantic son sat\ndown to it. 'Come and eat!' shouted he to the prince. The prince\ntook the first dumpling and began to eat, but two of his teeth\nbroke, for they were dumplings of lead. 'Well, why don't you eat?\nmaybe you don't like them?' inquired Jezibaba's son. 'Yes, they are\ngood; but I don't want any just now.' 'Well, if you don't want any\njust now, pocket some, and go your way.' The good prince--would he,\nnould he--was obliged to put some of the leaden dumplings into his\npocket. He then took leave and proceeded further.\n\nOn he went and on he went for three whole days and three nights, and\nthe further he went, the deeper he wandered into a thickly wooded\nand gloomy range of mountains. Before him it was desolate, behind\nhim it was desolate; there wasn't a single living creature to be\nseen. All wearied from his long journey, he threw himself on the\nground. The clang of his silver-mounted sword spread far and wide.\nAbove him four and twenty ravens, frightened by the clash of his\nsword, began to croak, and, rising on their wings, flew into the\nair. 'A good sign!' cried the prince. 'I will go in the direction in\nwhich the birds have flown.'\n\nAnd on he went in that direction, on he went as fast as his feet\ncould carry him, till all at once a lofty castle displayed itself to\nhim! He was still far from the castle, and already its walls were\nglistening in his eyes, for the castle was of pure silver. In front\nof the castle stood an old woman bent with age, leaning on a long\nsilver staff, and this was Jezibaba. 'Ah, my son! How is it that you\nhave come here? Here there is neither bird nor insect, much less a\nhuman being!' cried Jezibaba to the prince; 'if life is dear to you,\nflee away, for if my son comes, he will devour you!' 'Nay, old\nmother, he will hardly eat me. I bring him a greeting from his\nbrother in the leaden castle.' 'Well, if you bring a greeting from\nthe leaden castle, then come into the parlour, my son, and tell me\nwhat you are seeking.' 'What I am seeking, old mother? For ever so\nlong a time I've been seeking the glass hill and the three lemons,\nand cannot find them; now I've come to inquire whether you can't\ngive me information about them.' 'I know nothing about the glass\nhill; but stay! when my son comes, maybe he will be able to give you\nthe information. Hide yourself under the bed, and don't make\nyourself known unless I call you.'\n\nThe mountains echoed with a mighty voice, the castle quaked, and the\nprince knew that Jezibaba's son was coming home. 'Foh! foh! there's\na smell of human flesh; I'm going to eat it!' roared a horrible ogre\nalready in the doorway, and thumped upon the ground with a silver\nclub, so that the whole castle quaked. 'Ah! not so, my son, not so;\nbut a handsome youth has come and has brought you a greeting from\nyour brother in the leaden castle.' 'Well, if he's been at my\nbrother's, and if he has done nothing to him, let him have no fear\nof me either; let him come out.' The prince sprang out from under\nthe bed, and went up to him, looking beside him as if he had placed\nhimself under a very tall pine. 'Well, beetle, have you been at my\nbrother's?' 'Indeed, I have; and here I've still the dumplings,\nwhich he gave me for the journey.' 'Well, I believe you; now tell me\nwhat it is you want.' 'What I want? I am come to ask you whether you\ncan't give me information about the glass hill or the three lemons.'\n'Hem! I've heard formerly about it, but I don't know how to direct\nyou. Meanwhile, do you know what? Go to my brother in the golden\ncastle, he will direct you. But stay, I won't let you go away\nhungry. Mother, here with the dumplings!' Jezibaba brought the\ndumplings on a large silver dish, and set them on the table. 'Eat!'\nshouted her son. The prince, seeing that they were silver dumplings,\nsaid that he didn't want to eat just then, but would take some for\nhis journey, if he would give him them. 'Take as many as you like,\nand greet my brother and aunt.' The prince took the dumplings,\nthanked him courteously, and proceeded further.\n\nThree days had already passed since he quitted the silver castle,\nwandering continuously through densely wooded mountains, not knowing\nwhich way to go, whether to the right hand or to the left. All\nwearied out, he threw himself down under a wide-spreading beech, to\ntake a little breath. His silver-mounted sword clanged on the\nground, and the sound spread far and wide. 'Krr, krr, krr!' croaked\na flock of ravens over the traveller, scared by the clash of his\nsword, and flew into the air. 'Praise be to God! the golden castle\nwon't be far off now,' cried the prince, and proceeded, encouraged,\nonwards in the direction in which the ravens showed him the road.\nScarcely had he come out of the valley on to a small hill, when he\nsaw a beautiful and wide meadow, and in the midst of the meadow\nstood a golden castle, just as if he were gazing at the sun; and\nbefore the gate of the castle stood an old bent Jezibaba, leaning on\na golden staff. 'Ah! my son! what do you seek for here?' cried she\nto the prince. 'Here there is neither bird nor insect to be seen,\nmuch less a human being! If your life is dear to you, flee, for if\nmy son comes, he will devour you!' 'Nay, old mother, he'll hardly\neat me,' replied he. 'I bring him a greeting from his brother in the\nsilver castle.' 'Well, if you bring him a greeting from the silver\ncastle, come into the parlour and tell me what has brought you to\nus.' 'What has brought me to you, old mother? I have long been\nwandering in this mountain range, and haven't been able to find out\nwhere are the glass hill and the three lemons. I was directed to\nyou, because haply you might be able to give me information about\nit.' 'Where is the glass hill? I cannot tell you that; but stay!\nwhen my son comes, he will counsel you which way you must go, and\nwhat you must do. Hide yourself under the table, and stay there till\nI call you.'\n\nThe mountains echoed, the castle quaked, and Jezibaba's son stepped\ninto the parlour. 'Foh! foh! there's a smell of human flesh; I'm\ngoing to eat it!' shouted he, while still in the doorway, and\nthumped with a golden club upon the ground, so that the whole castle\nquaked. 'Gently, my son, gently!' said Jezibaba, soothing him;\n'there is a handsome youth come, who brings you a greeting from your\nbrother in the silver castle. If you will do nothing to him, I will\ncall him at once.' 'Well, if my brother has done nothing to him,\nneither will I do anything to him.' The prince came out from under\nthe table and placed himself beside him, looking, in comparison, as\nif he had placed himself beside a lofty tower, and showed him the\nsilver dumplings in token that he had really been at the silver\ncastle. 'Well, tell me, you beetle, what you want!' shouted the\nmonstrous ogre; 'if I can counsel you, counsel you I will; don't\nfear!' Then the prince explained to him the aim of his long journey,\nand begged him to advise him which way to go to the glass hill, and\nwhat he must do to obtain the three lemons. 'Do you see that black\nknoll that looms yonder?' said he, pointing with his golden club;\n'that is the glass hill; on the top of the hill stands a tree, and\non the tree hang three lemons, whose scent spreads seven miles\nround. You will go up the glass hill, kneel under the tree, and hold\nup your hands; if the lemons are destined for you, they will fall\noff into your hands of themselves; but, if they are not destined for\nyou, you will not pluck them, whatever you do. When you are on your\nreturn, and are hungry or thirsty, cut one of the lemons into\nhalves, and you will eat and drink your fill. And now go, and God be\nwith you! But stay, I won't let you go hungry. Mother, here with the\ndumplings!' Jezibaba set a large golden dish on the table. 'Eat!'\nsaid her son to the prince, 'or, if you don't want to do so now, put\nsome into your pocket; you will eat them on the road.' The prince\nhad no desire to eat, but put some into his pocket, saying that he\nwould eat them on the road. He then thanked him courteously for his\nhospitality and counsel, and proceeded further.\n\nSwiftly he paced from hill into dale, from dale on to a fresh hill,\nand never stopped till he was beneath the glass hill itself. There\nhe stopped, as if turned to a stone. The hill was high and smooth;\nthere wasn't a single crack in it. On the top spread the branches of\na wondrous tree, and on the tree swung three lemons, whose scent was\nso powerful that the prince almost fainted. 'God help me! Now, as it\nshall be, so it will be. Now that I'm once here, I will at any rate\nmake the attempt,' thought he to himself, and began to climb up the\nsmooth glass; but scarcely had he ascended a few fathoms when his\nfoot slipped, and he himself, pop! down the hill, so that he didn't\nknow where he was, or what he was, till he found himself on the\nground at the bottom. Wearied out, he began to throw away the\ndumplings, thinking that their weight was a hindrance to him. He\nthrew away the first, and lo! the dumpling fixed itself on the glass\nhill. He threw a second and a third, and saw before him three steps,\non which he could stand with safety. The prince was overjoyed. He\nkept throwing the dumplings before him, and in every case steps\nformed themselves from them for him. First he threw the leaden ones,\nthen the silver, and then the golden ones. By the steps thus\nconstructed he ascended higher and higher till he happily attained\nthe topmost ridge of the glass hill. Here he knelt down under the\ntree and held up his hands. And lo! the three beautiful lemons flew\ndown of themselves into the palms of his hands. The tree\ndisappeared, the glass hill crashed and vanished, and when the\nprince came to himself, there was no tree, no hill, but a wide plain\nlay extended before him.\n\nHe commenced his return homeward with delight. He neither ate nor\ndrank, nor saw nor heard, for very joy. But when the third day came,\na vacuum began to make itself felt in his stomach. He was so hungry\nthat he would gladly have then and there betaken himself to the\nleaden dumplings if his pocket hadn't been empty. His pocket was\nempty, and all around was just as bare as the palm of his hand. Then\nhe took a lemon out of his pocket and cut it into halves; and what\ncame to pass? Out of the lemon sprang a beautiful damsel, who made a\nreverence before him, and cried out: 'Have you made ready for me to\neat? Have you made ready for me to drink? Have you made pretty\ndresses ready for me?' 'I have nothing, beautiful creature, for you\nto eat, nothing for you to drink, nothing for you to put on,' said\nthe prince, in a sorrowful voice, and the beautiful damsel clapped\nher white hands thrice before him, made a reverence and vanished.\n\n'Aha! now I know what sort of lemons these are,' said the prince;\n'stay! I won't cut them up so lightly.' From the cut one he ate and\ndrank to his satisfaction, and thus refreshed, proceeded onwards.\n\nBut on the third day a hunger three times worse than the preceding,\nassailed him. 'God help me!' said he; 'I have still one remaining\nover. I'll cut it up.' He then took out the second lemon, cut it in\nhalves, and lo! a damsel still more beautiful than the preceding one\nplaced herself before him. 'Have you made ready for me to eat? Have\nyou made ready for me to drink? Have you made pretty dresses ready\nfor me?' 'I have not, dear soul! I have not!' and the beautiful\ndamsel clapped her hands thrice before him, made a reverence, and\nvanished.\n\nNow he had only one lemon remaining; he took it in his hand and\nsaid: 'I will not cut you open save in my father's house,' and\ntherewith proceeded onwards. On the third day he saw, after long\nabsence, his native town. He didn't know himself how he got there,\nwhen he found himself at once in his father's castle. Tears of joy\nbedewed his old father's cheeks: 'Welcome, my son! welcome a hundred\ntimes!' he cried, and fell upon his neck. The prince related how it\nhad gone with him on his journey, and the members of the household\nhow anxiously they had waited for him.\n\nOn the next day a grand entertainment was prepared; lords and ladies\nwere invited from all quarters; and beautiful dresses, embroidered\nwith gold and studded with pearls were got ready. The lords and\nladies assembled, took their seats at the tables, and waited\nexpectantly to see what would happen. Then the prince took out the\nlast lemon, cut it in halves, and out of the lemon sprang a lady\nthrice as beautiful as had been the preceding ones. 'Have you made\nready for me to eat? Have you made ready for me to drink? Have you\ngot pretty dresses ready for me?' 'I have, my dear soul, got\neverything ready for you,' answered the prince, and presented the\nhandsome dresses to her. The beautiful damsel put on the beautiful\nclothes, and all rejoiced at her extraordinary beauty. Ere long the\nbetrothal took place, and after the betrothal a magnificent wedding.\n\nNow was fulfilled the old king's wish; he blessed his son, resigned\nthe kingdom into his hands, and ere long died.\n\nThe first thing that occurred to the new king after his father's\ndeath was a war, which a neighbouring king excited against him. Now\nhe was constrained for the first time to part from his hard-earned\nwife. Lest, therefore, anything should happen to her in his absence,\nhe caused a throne to be erected for her in a garden beside a lake,\nwhich no one could ascend, save the person to whom she let down a\nsilken cord, and drew that person up to her.\n\nNot far from the royal castle lived an old woman, the same that had\ngiven the prince the counsel about the three lemons. She had a\nservant, a gipsy, whom she was in the habit of sending to the lake\nfor water. She knew very well that the young king had obtained a\nwife, and it annoyed her excessively that he had not invited her to\nthe wedding, nay, had not even thanked her for her good advice. One\nday she sent her maidservant to the lake for water. She went, drew\nwater, and saw a beautiful image in the water. Under the impression\nthat this was her own reflection, she banged her pitcher on the\nground, so that it flew into a thousand pieces. 'Are you worthy,'\nsaid she, 'that so beautiful a person as myself should carry water\nfor an old witch like you?' As she uttered this she looked up, and\nlo! it wasn't her own reflection that she saw in the water, but that\nof the beautiful queen. Ashamed, she picked up the pieces and\nreturned home. The old woman, who knew beforehand what had occurred,\nwent out to meet her with a fresh pitcher, and asked her servant,\nfor appearance' sake, what had happened to her. The servant related\nall as it had occurred. 'Well, that's nothing!' said the old woman.\n'But, do you know what? Go you once more to the lake, and ask the\nlady to let down the silken cord and draw you up, promising to comb\nand dress her hair. If she draws you up, you will comb her hair, and\nwhen she falls asleep, stick this pin into her head. Then dress\nyourself in her clothes and sit there as queen.'\n\nIt wasn't necessary to use much persuasion to the gipsy; she took\nthe pin, took the pitcher, and returned to the lake. She drew water\nand looked at the beautiful queen. 'Dear me! how beautiful you are!\nAh! you are beautiful!' she screamed, and looked with coaxing\ngestures into her eyes. 'Yes,' said she; 'but you would be a hundred\ntimes more beautiful if you would let me comb and dress your hair;\nin truth, I would so twine those golden locks that your lord could\nnot help being delighted.' And thus she jabbered, thus she coaxed,\ntill the queen let down the silken cord and drew her up.\n\nThe nasty gipsy combed, separated, and plaited the golden hair till\nthe beautiful queen fell sound asleep. Then the gipsy drew out the\npin, and stuck it into the sleeping queen's head. At that moment a\nbeautiful white dove flew off the golden throne, and not a vestige\nremained of the lovely queen save her handsome clothes, in which the\ngipsy speedily dressed herself, took her seat in the place where the\nqueen sat before, and gazed into the lake; but the beautiful\nreflection displayed itself no more in the lake, for even in the\nqueen's clothes the gipsy nevertheless remained a gipsy.\n\nThe young king was successful in overcoming his enemies, and made\npeace with them. Scarcely had he returned to the town, when he went\nto the garden to seek his delight, and to see whether anything had\nhappened to her. But who shall express his astonishment and horror,\nwhen, instead of his beautiful queen, he beheld a sorry gipsy. 'Ah,\nmy dear, my very dear one, how you have altered!' sighed he, and\ntears bedewed his cheeks. 'I have altered, my beloved! I have\naltered; for anxiety for you has tortured me,' answered the gipsy,\nand wanted to fall upon his neck; but the king turned away from her\nand departed in anger. From that time forth he had no settled abode,\nno rest; he knew neither day nor night; but merely mourned over the\nlost beauty of his wife, and nothing could comfort him.\n\nThus agitated and melancholy, he was walking one day in the garden.\nHere, as he moved about at haphazard, a beautiful white dove flew on\nto his hand from a high tree, and looked with mournful gaze into his\nbloodshot eyes. 'Ah, my dove! why are you so sad? Has your mate been\ntransformed like my beautiful wife?' said the young king, talking to\nit and caressingly stroking its head and back. But feeling a kind of\nprotuberance on its head, he blew the feathers apart, and behold!\nthe head of a pin! Touched with compassion, the king extracted the\npin; that instant the beautiful mourning dove was changed into his\nbeautiful wife. She narrated to him all that had happened to her,\nand how it had happened; how the gipsy had deluded her, and how she\nhad stuck the pin into her head. The king immediately caused the\ngipsy and the old woman to be apprehended and burnt without further\nado.\n\nFrom that time forth nothing interfered with his happiness, neither\nthe might of his enemies nor the spite of wicked people. He lived\nwith his beautiful wife in peace and love; he reigned prosperously,\nand is reigning yet, if he be yet alive.\n\n\n\n\nXI.--THE SUN-HORSE.\n\n\nThere was once upon a time a country, sad and gloomy as the grave,\non which God's sun never shone. But there was a king there, and this\nking possessed a horse with a sun on his forehead; and this\nsun-horse of his the king caused to be led up and down the dark\ncountry, from one end to the other, that the people might be able to\nexist there; and light came from him on all sides wherever he was\nled, just as in the most beautiful day.\n\nAll at once the sun-horse disappeared. A darkness worse than that of\nnight prevailed over the whole country, and nothing could disperse\nit. Unheard-of terror spread among the subjects; frightful misery\nbegan to afflict them, for they could neither manufacture anything\nnor earn anything, and such confusion arose among them that\neverything was turned topsy-turvy. The king, therefore, in order to\nliberate his realm and prevent universal destruction, made ready to\nseek the sun-horse with his whole army.\n\nThrough thick darkness he made his way as best he could to the\nfrontier of his realm. Over dense mountains thousands of ages old\nGod's light began now to break from another country, as if the sun\nwere rising in the morning out of thick fogs. On such a mountain the\nking came with his army to a poor lonely cottage. He went in to\ninquire where he was, what it was, and how to get further. At a\ntable sat a peasant, diligently reading in an open book. When the\nking bowed to him he raised his eyes, thanked him, and stood up. His\nwhole person announced that he was not a man like another man, but a\nseer.\n\n'I was just reading about you,' said he to the king, 'how that you\nare going to seek the sun-horse. Journey no further, for you will\nnot obtain him; but rely on me: I will find him for you.' 'I promise\nyou, good man, I will recompense you royally,' replied the king,\n'if you bring him here to me.' 'I require no recompense; return home\nwith your army--you're wanted there; only leave me one servant.'\n\nThe next day the seer set out with the servant. The way was far and\nlong, for they passed through six countries, and had still further\nto go, till in the seventh country they stopped at the royal palace.\nIn this seventh country ruled three own brothers, who had to wife\nthree own sisters, whose mother was a witch. When they stopped in\nfront of the palace, the seer said to his servant: 'Do you hear? you\nstay here, and I will go in to ascertain whether the kings are at\nhome; for the horse with the sun is in their possession--the\nyoungest rides upon him.' Therewith he transformed himself into a\ngreen bird, and, flying on the gable of the eldest queen's roof,\nflew up and down and pecked at it until she opened the window and\nlet him into her chamber. And when she let him in he perched on her\nwhite hand, and the queen was as delighted with him as a little\nchild. 'Ah, what a dear creature you are!' said she, as she played\nwith him; 'if my husband were at home he would indeed be delighted\nwith you; but he won't come till evening; he has gone to visit the\nthird part of his country.'\n\nAll at once the old witch came into the room, and, seeing the bird,\nscreamed to her daughter, 'Wring the accursed bird's neck, for it's\nmaking you bleed!' 'Well, what if it should make me bleed? it's such\na dear; it's such an innocent dear!' answered the daughter. But the\nwitch said: 'Dear innocent mischief! here with him! let me wring his\nneck!' and dashed at it. But the bird cunningly transformed itself\ninto a man, and, pop! out through the door, and they didn't know\nwhither he had betaken himself.\n\nAfterwards he again transformed himself into a green bird, flew on\nthe gable of the middle sister, and pecked at it till she opened\nthe window for him. And when she let him in he flew on to her white\nhand, and fluttered from one hand to the other. 'Oh, what a dear\ncreature you are!' cried the queen, smiling; 'my husband would\nindeed be delighted with you if he were at home; but he won't come\ntill to-morrow evening; he has gone to visit two thirds of his\nkingdom.'\n\nThereupon the witch burst into the room. 'Wring the accursed bird's\nneck! wring its neck, for it's making you bleed!' cried she as soon\nas she espied it. 'Well, what if it should make me bleed? it's such\na dear, such an innocent dear!' replied the daughter. But the witch\nsaid: 'Dear innocent mischief! here with it! let me wring its neck!'\nand was already trying to seize it. But at that moment the green\nbird changed itself into a man, ran out through the door, and\ndisappeared, as it were, in the clap of a hand, so that they didn't\nknow whither he had gone.\n\nA little while afterwards he changed himself again into a green bird\nand flew on the gable of the youngest queen's roof, and flew up and\ndown, and pecked at it until she opened the window to him. And when\nshe had let him in he flew straight on to her white hand, and made\nhimself so agreeable to her that she played with him with the\ndelight of a child. 'Ah, what a dear creature you are!' said the\nqueen; 'if my husband were at home he would certainly be delighted\nwith you, but he won't come till the day after to-morrow at even; he\nhas gone to visit all three parts of his kingdom.'\n\nAt that moment the old witch came into the room. 'Wring, wring the\naccursed bird's neck!' screamed she in the doorway, 'for it is\nmaking you bleed.' 'Well, what if it should make me bleed, mother?\nit is so beautiful, so innocent,' answered the daughter. The witch\nsaid, 'Beautiful innocent mischief! here with him! let me wring his\nneck!' But at that moment the bird changed itself into a man, and\npop! out through the door, so that none of them saw him more.\n\nNow the seer knew where the kings were, and when they would arrive.\nHe went to his servant and ordered him to follow him out of the\ntown. On they went with rapid step till they came to a bridge, over\nwhich the kings were obliged to pass.\n\nUnder this bridge they stayed waiting till the evening. When at even\nthe sun was sinking behind the mountains, the clatter of a horse was\nheard near the bridge. It was the eldest king returning home. Close\nto the bridge his horse stumbled over a log of wood, which the seer\nhad thrown across the bridge. 'Ha! what scoundrel was that who threw\nthis log across the road?' exclaimed the king in anger. Thereat the\nseer sprang out from under the bridge and rushed upon the king for\n'daring to call him a scoundrel,' and, drawing his sword, attacked\nhim. The king, too, drew his sword to defend himself, but after a\nshort combat fell dead from his horse. The seer bound the dead king\non the horse, and gave the horse a lash with the whip to make him\ncarry his dead master home. He then withdrew under the bridge, and\nthey waited there till the next evening.\n\nWhen day a second time declined towards evening, the middle king\ncame to the bridge, and, seeing the ground sprinkled with blood,\ncried out, 'Somebody's been killed here! Who has dared to perpetrate\nsuch a crime in my kingdom?' At these words the seer sprang out from\nunder the bridge and rushed upon the king with drawn sword,\nexclaiming, 'How dare you insult me? Defend yourself as best you\ncan!' The king did defend himself, but after a brief struggle\nyielded up his life under the sword of the seer. The seer again\nfastened his corpse upon the horse, and gave the horse a lash with\nthe whip to make him carry his dead master home. They then withdrew\nunder the bridge and waited till the third evening came.\n\nThe third evening, at the very setting of the sun, up darted the\nyoungest king on the sun-horse, darted up with speed, for he was\nsomewhat late; but when he saw the red blood in front of the bridge,\nhe stopped, and gazing at it exclaimed, 'It is an unheard-of villain\nwho has dared to murder a man in my kingdom!' Scarcely had these\nwords issued from his mouth when the seer placed himself before him\nwith drawn sword, sternly bidding him defend himself, 'for he had\nwounded his honour.' 'I don't know how,' answered the king, 'unless\nit is you that are the villain.' But as his adversary attacked him\nwith a sword, he, too, drew his, and defended himself manfully.\n\nIt had been mere play to the seer to overcome the first two kings,\nbut it was not so with this one. Long time they fought, and broke\ntheir swords, yet victory didn't show itself either on the one side\nor on the other. 'We shall effect nothing with swords,' said the\nseer, 'but do you know what? Let us turn ourselves into wheels and\nstart down from the hill; the wheel which breaks shall be the\nconquered.' 'Good!' said the king; 'I'll be a cart-wheel, and you\nshall be a lighter wheel.' 'Not so,' cunningly said the seer; 'you\nshall be the lighter wheel, and I will be the cart-wheel;' and the\nking agreed to it. Then they went up the hill, turned themselves\ninto wheels, and started downwards. The cart-wheel flew to pieces,\nand bang! right into the lighter wheel, so that it all smashed up.\nImmediately the seer arose out of the cart-wheel and joyfully\nexclaimed, 'There you are, the victory is mine!' 'Not a bit of it,\nsir brother!' cried the king, placing himself in front of the seer;\n'you have only broken my fingers. But do you know what? Let us make\nourselves into flames, and the flame which burns up the other shall\nbe the victor. I will make myself into a red flame, and do you make\nyourself into a bluish one.' 'Not so!' interrupted the seer; 'you\nmake yourself into a bluish flame, and I will make myself into a red\none.' The king agreed to this also. They went into the road to the\nbridge, and, changing themselves into flames, began to burn each\nother unmercifully. Long did they burn each other, but nothing came\nof it. Thereupon, by coincidence, up came an old beggar with a long\ngray beard, a bald head, a large scrip at his side, leaning upon a\nthick staff. 'Old father!' said the bluish flame, 'bring some water\nand quench this red flame; I'll give you a penny for it.' The red\nflame cunningly exclaimed, 'Old father! I'll give you a shilling if\nyou'll pour the water on this bluish flame.' The old beggar liked\nthe shilling better than the penny, brought water and quenched the\nbluish flame. Then it was all over with the king. The red flame\nturned itself into a man, took the sun-horse by the bridle, mounted\non his back, called the servant, thanked the beggar for the service\nhe had rendered, and went off.\n\nIn the royal palaces there was deep grief at the murder of the two\nkings; the entire palaces were draped with black cloth, and the\npeople crowded into them from all quarters to gaze at the cut and\nslashed bodies of the two elder brothers, whose horses had brought\nthem home. The old witch, exasperated at the death of her\nsons-in-law, devised a plan of vengeance on their murderer, the\nseer. She seated herself with speed on an iron rake, took her three\ndaughters under her arms, and pop! off with them into the air.\n\nThe seer and his servant had already got through a good part of\ntheir journey, and were then crossing desert mountains, a treeless\nwaste. Here a terrible hunger seized the servant, and there wasn't\neven a wild plum to assuage it. All of a sudden they came to an\napple-tree. Apples were hanging on it; the branches were all but\nbreaking under their weight; their scent was beautiful; they were\ndelightfully ruddy, so that they almost offered themselves to be\neaten. 'Praise be to God!' cried the delighted servant; 'I shall eat\none of those apples with an excellent appetite.' 'Don't attempt to\ngather one of them!' cried the seer to him; 'wait, I'll gather some\nfor you myself.' But instead of plucking an apple, he drew his sword\nand thrust it mightily into the apple-tree; red blood spouted out of\nit. 'There,' said he, 'you would have come to harm if you had eaten\nany of those apples, for the apple-tree was the eldest queen, whose\nmother placed her there to put us out of this world.'\n\nAfter a time they came to a spring; water clear as crystal bubbled\nup in it, all but running over the brim and thus attracting\nwayfarers. 'Ah!' said the servant, 'if we can't get anything better,\nlet us at any rate have a drink of this good water.' 'Don't venture\nto drink of it!' shouted the seer; 'but stay, I'll get you some of\nit.' Yet he didn't get him any water, but thrust his drawn sword\ninto the midst of it; it was immediately discoloured with blood,\nwhich began to flow from it in mighty waves. 'That is the middle\nqueen, whose mother placed her here to put us out of this world,'\nsaid the seer, and the servant thanked him for his warning, and went\non, would he, nould he, in hunger and thirst, whithersoever the seer\nled him.\n\nAfter a time they came to a rose-bush, which was red with delightful\nroses, and filled the air round about with their scent. 'Oh, what\nbeautiful roses!' said the servant; 'I never saw such beauties in\nall my life. I'll go and gather a few of them; I will at any rate\ncomfort myself with them if I can't assuage my hunger and thirst.'\n'Don't venture to gather one of them!' cried the seer; 'I will\ngather them for you.' With that he cut into the bush with his sword;\nred blood spurted out, as if he had cut the vein of a human being.\n'That is the youngest queen,' said the seer to his servant, 'whom\nher mother, the witch, placed here with the intention of taking\nvengeance upon us for the death of her sons-in-law.' They then went\non.\n\nWhen they crossed the frontier of the dark realm, flashes flew in\nall directions from the horse's forehead, and everything came to\nlife again, beautiful regions rejoiced and blossomed with the\nflowers of spring. The king didn't know how to thank the seer\nsufficiently, and offered him the half of his kingdom as a reward,\nbut he declined it. 'You are king,' said he; 'rule over the whole\nrealm, and I will return to my cottage in peace.' He took leave and\ndeparted.\n\n\n\n\nXII.--THE GOLDEN SPINSTER.\n\n\nFar away somewhere beyond the Red Sea, there was a certain young\nlord. When he had grown up in body and mind, he bethought himself\nthat indeed it would not be a bad thing to look round him in the\nworld and seek out a nice wife for himself, and a good mistress for\nhis household. Well, as he determined, so he did. He went out into\nthe world, but could not find such a one as he would have liked. At\nlast he went somehow into the house of a widow, who had three\ndaughters, all maidens. The two elder were as active as wasps for\nwork, but the youngest, who was named Hanka, was like a leaden bird\nfor everything that wanted doing. When the young lord came to them\nat spinning time he was astounded. 'How is it,' thought he, 'that\nHanka can be sleeping in the chimney-corner, while the other\nspinsters are hard at work at their tasks?' He said to their mother:\n'But, old lady, tell me, why don't you make that one, too, take a\ndistaff? She is quite a grown-up girl, and would amuse herself by\nwork.' 'Ah! young sir,' replied the mother, 'I would allow her to\nspin with all my heart; I would fill her distaff myself; but what\nthen? She is such a spinster, that by herself she would by morning\nspin up not only all our spinning materials, but all the thatch from\nthe roof, and that into golden threads; nay, at last she would\nbetake herself to my gray hairs; I am obliged, therefore, to give\nher a holiday.' 'If this be so,' said the delighted suitor, 'and if\nit is God's will, you can give her to me to wife. You see, I have a\nnice establishment--flax, hemp, whole heaps of the finer and\ncommoner kinds of tow; she could spin away to her heart's content.'\nAt such language the old woman did not take long for consideration,\nand Hanka woke from her slumbers. They brought the bridegroom\nexpectant a handsome olive-coloured handkerchief out of the\nclothes-chest, adorned him with periwinkles, and performed the\nmarriage ceremony that very evening. The other spinsters were\nsomewhat mortified at Hanka's good fortune, but finally were content\nat it, hoping that they, too, would get rings on their fingers,[3]\nnow that the idle hand, as they nicknamed Hanka, had obtained a\nhusband. The next day our young bridegroom ordered his horses to be\nharnessed, and when all was ready, placed the tearful bride beside\nhim in a handsome carriage, gave his hand to his mother-in-law,\ncalled out 'Farewell!' to the bride's sisters, and they left the\nvillage at a gallop.\n\n    [3] Literally, 'Would come under the garland.'\n\nFor better or worse! Poor Hanka sat by her youthful husband mournful\nand tearful, just as if the chickens had eaten up all her bread. He\ntalked to her enough, but Hanka was as mute as a fish. 'What's the\nmatter with you?' said he. 'Don't be frightened. At my house,\nindeed, there will be no going to sleep for you. I shall give you\nall that your heart desires. You will have flax, hemp, fine and\ncoarse tow enough for the whole winter, and I have got in a store\nof apples for spittle.' But our Hanka became more sorrowful the\nfurther they went. Thus they arrived in the evening at the young\nlord's castle, got down from the carriage, and, after supper, the\nfuture lady was conducted into a large room, in which, from top to\nbottom, lay nothing but spinning materials. 'Well,' said he, 'here\nyou have distaff, spindle, and spindle-ring, and rosy apples and a\nfew peas for spittle--spin away! If you spin all this, by morning,\ninto golden threads, we shall be man and wife at once; if not, I\nshall cause you to be put to death without further ado.' Thereupon\nthe young lord went out and left the spinster to spin. When Hanka\nwas left alone, she didn't seat herself under the distaff, for she\ndidn't even know how to twirl the threads, but began sorrowfully to\nexclaim: 'Oh God! God! here I am come out to vile disgrace! Why did\nnot my mother teach me to work and spin like my two sisters? I might\nthen have reposed in peace at home; but, as it is, sinful creature\nthat I am, I must perish miserably.' As she was thus expressing her\nfeelings, the wall suddenly opened, and a little mannikin stood\nbefore the terrified Hanka, with a red cap on his head and an apron\ngirt round his waist; before him he pushed a little golden\nhand-cart. 'Why have you your eyes so tearful?' inquired he of\nHanka. 'What has happened to you?' 'As if, sinful soul that I am, I\nshould not weep,' said she; 'only think, they have ordered me to\nspin all these spinning materials into golden threads by morning,\nand if I don't do so, they will have me put to death without any\nceremony. Oh God! God! what shall I do, forlorn in this strange\nworld?' 'If that is all,' said the mannikin, 'don't be frightened. I\nwill teach you to spin golden threads cleverly; but only on this\ncondition, that I find you this time next year in this very place.\nThen, if you do not guess my honourable name, you will become my\nwife, and I shall convey you away in this cart. But, if you guess\nit, I shall leave you in peace. But this I tell you: if you choose\nto hide yourself anywhere this time next year, and if you fly ever\nso far beneath the sky, I shall find you, and will wring your neck.\nWell, have you agreed to this?' It was not, sooth to say, very\nsatisfactory to Hanka; but what could the poor thing do? At length\nshe bethought herself: 'Let it be left to God, whether I perish this\nway or that! I agree.' The mannikin, on hearing this, made three\ncircuits round her with his golden cart, seated himself under the\ndistaff, and repeating:\n\n    'Thus, Haniczka, thus!\n    Thus, Haniczka, thus!\n    Thus, Haniczka, thus!'\n\ntaught and instructed her to spin golden threads. After this, as he\ncame, so he departed, and the wall closed up of itself behind him.\nOur damsel, from that time forth a real golden spinster, sat under\nthe distaff, and seeing how the spinning materials decreased and the\ngolden threads increased, spun and spun away, and by morning had not\nonly spun up all, but had had a good sleep into the bargain. In the\nmorning, as soon as the young lord awoke, he dressed himself and\nwent to visit the golden spinster. When he entered the room he was\nall but blinded by the glitter, and wouldn't even believe his eyes,\nthat it was all gold. But when he had satisfied himself that so it\nwas, he began to embrace the golden spinster, and declared her his\ntrue and lawful wife. Thus they lived in the fear of God, and if our\nyoung lord had previously loved his Haniczka for the golden\nspinning, he then loved her a thousand times more for the beautiful\nson that she in the meantime bore him.\n\nBut what? There's no footpath without an end, neither could the joy\nof our wedded pair endure for ever. Day passed after day, till\nfinally the appointed time approached within a span. Now our Hanka\nbegan to be more sorrowful from moment to moment; her eyes were as\nred as if they were baked, and she did nothing but creep like a\nshadow from room to room. And, indeed, it was a serious thing for a\nyoung mother to have to lose all at once her good husband and her\nbeautiful son! Hitherto her poor husband knew nought about anything,\nand comforted his wife as well as he could; but she would not be\ncomforted. When she bethought herself what a nasty dwarf she was\ngoing to obtain instead of her shapely husband, she all but dashed\nherself against the walls from excessive agony. At last she managed\nto overcome herself, and revealed everything to her husband as it\nhad occurred to her on that first night. He became, from horror, as\npale as a whitewashed wall, and caused proclamation to be made\nthroughout the whole district that, if anyone knew of such a dwarf,\nand should make known his real name, he would give him a piece of\ngold as large as his head. 'Ah! what a windfall such a piece of gold\nas that would be!' whispered neighbour to neighbour, and they\ndispersed on all sides, examined all corners, all but looked into\nthe mouseholes, searched and searched as for a needle, but, after\nall, couldn't find anything out. Nobody knew and nobody had seen the\ndwarf, and as for his name, no living soul could guess it. Under\nsuch circumstances the last day arrived; nothing had been seen or\nheard of the mannikin, and our Hanka, with her boy at her breast,\nwas wringing her hands at the prospect of losing her husband. Her\nunhappy husband, whose eyes were almost exhausted from weeping, in\norder, at any rate, to escape from beholding the agony of his wife,\ntook his gun on his shoulder, fastened his faithful hounds in a\nleash, and went out hunting. After hunting time--it was about the\nhour of afternoon luncheon--it began to lighten on all sides and in\nall directions, rain poured so that it would have been a shame to\nturn a dog out into the roads, and in this tempest all our young\nlord's servants sought shelter where they could, and got so lost\nthat he remained with only one on a densely wooded unknown hill, and\nthat as soaked and dripping as a rat. Where were they to seek\nshelter before the ever-increasing storm? where to dry themselves?\nwhere to obtain harbour for the night? The unlucky pair, master and\nservant, looked round on all sides to see whether they couldn't espy\na shepherd's hut or a cattle-shed; but where nothing is, there is\nnothing. Finally, when they had almost strained their eyes out of\nthe sockets, they saw where, out of the hole of the side shaft of a\nmine, puffs of smoke were rolling, as from a limekiln. 'Go, lad,'\nsaid the young lord to the servant, 'look whence this smoke issues;\nthere must be people there. Ask them whether they will give us\nlodging for the night.' The servant went off and returned in a jiffy\nwith the intelligence that neither door, nor shed, nor people were\nthere. 'Fie, you're only a duffer!' said the lord to his servant\nwith chattering teeth. 'I'll go myself; you, for a punishment, shall\ndrip and freeze.' Well, the noble lord took the job in hand, but\nneither could he espy anything, save that in one place smoke kept\ncontinually issuing out of the side shaft. At last in disgust he\nsaid: 'Whatever devil on devil may bring, know I must whence all\nthis smoke comes.' So he went to the hole itself, knelt beside it\nand peeped in. As he was thus peeping, he espied, somewhere under\nground, where food was cooking in a kitchen, and covers were laid\nfor two on a stone table. Round this table ran a little mannikin in\na red cap with a golden hand-cart before him, and from time to time,\nafter making the circuit, he sang:\n\n    'I've manufactured a golden spinster for the young lord,\n    She will try to guess my name to night;\n    If she guesses my name aright, I shall leave her;\n    If she guesses it not, I shall take her:\n    My name is Martynko Klyngas.'\n\nAnd again he ran like mad round the table and shouted:\n\n    'I'm preparing nine dishes for supper,\n    I'll place her in a silken bed;\n    If she guesses,' etc.\n\nThe young lord wanted nothing more; he ran as fast as his legs could\ncarry him to his servant, and, as it now cleared up a little, they\nwere fortunate enough to find a path, by which they hastened home.\nHe found his wife at home in agony, in misery, streaming with tears;\nfor she thought she would not be able even to take leave of her\nhusband, as he was so long away. 'Don't afflict yourself, my wife,'\nwere the young lord's first words when he entered the room. 'I know\nwhat you require; his name is Martynko Klyngas.' And then he,\nwithout delay, recounted to her everything, where he had gone and\nwhat had happened to him. Hanka could scarcely keep on her feet for\njoy, embraced and kissed her husband, and betook herself joyfully\ninto the room, in which she had spent the first night, to finish\nspinning the golden threads. At midnight the wall opened, and the\nmannikin with the red cap came in, as he had done that time last\nyear, and running round her with the golden cart shouted with the\nutmost power of his lungs:\n\n    'If you guess my name, I leave you;\n    If you guess it not, I take you;\n        Only guess, guess away!'\n\n'I'll have a try to guess,' said Hanka; 'your name is Martynko\nKlyngas.' As soon as she had uttered this, the little dwarf seized\nhis cart, threw his cap on the ground, and departed as he had come;\nthe wall closed, and Hanka breathed in peace. From that time forth\nshe spun no more gold, and, indeed, neither was it necessary for her\nso to do for they were rich enough. She and her husband lived\nhappily together, their boy grew like a young tree by the water's\nside; and they bought a cow, and on the cow a bell, and here's an\nend to the tale I tell.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[This story may be compared with 'Rumpelstiltskin' in Grimm. The\nprinciple is the same; but, I think, the variation in the details is\nmuch in favour of the Slavonic tale.]\n\n\n\n\nXIII.--ARE YOU ANGRY?\n\n\nWhere it was, there it was, a certain village there was, in which\nlived a father with three sons. One of them was silly, and always\nsat in the chimney corner,[4] but the other two were considered\nclever. One of these went out to service in a village not far off.\nHis mother put on his back a wallet full of cakes baked under the\nashes. He went into a house and made an engagement with the master\nupon the terms that whichever got angry first was to have his nose\ncut off. The servant went to thresh. He was not called by his master\neither to breakfast or to dinner. His master asked him: 'Well,\nMishek, are you angry?' 'What have I to be angry for?' Evening came,\nand supper was cooked; again they did not ask Mishek. His master\nasked him: 'Well, Mishek, are you angry?' 'What have I to be angry\nfor?' He wasn't angry, for the cakes from home still held out. But\nduring the second and third day the wallet was emptied, and again he\nwasn't summoned to dinner. His master asked him: 'Mishek, are you\nnot angry?' 'Wouldn't even the devil be angry, when you are thus\nkilling me with hunger?' Then his master pulled out a knife and cut\noff Mishek's nose. He hastened home noseless, and complained to his\nfather and brothers of his wicked master. 'You simpleton!' said the\nnext brother, Pavko. 'Stay, I'll go! Hey, mother, bake some cakes\nunder the ashes!' Pavko started off and went straight to the same\nvillage and to the same house, and made an engagement with the same\nmaster, on the terms that whichever was the first to become angry\nwas to have his nose cut off. They set him, too, to thresh for three\ndays, but neither on the first, nor on the second, nor on the third\nday, did they call him to take a meal. 'Pavko, are you not angry?'\n'Wouldn't even devils be angry with you? My belly has already grown\nto my backbone.' Thereupon his master pulled out a knife and cut off\nPavko's nose. Pavko went home noseless, and said to his elder\nbrother: 'That's a cruel house of entertainment; the devil's got my\nnose.' Then Adam, the youngest, shouted from the chimney-corner:\n'You are idiots! I'll go, and you'll see that I shall make a good\njob of it.' He went with cakes baked under the ashes in his wallet,\nand hit right upon the same village in which his brothers had been,\nand engaged himself with the same master upon the terms that\nwhichever got angry first should have his nose cut off. But Adam\nknew how to proceed intelligently. When his master didn't call him\nto dinner, he went to the public-house with what he had threshed and\npawned it all. His master came and didn't see a grain of corn. Adam\nthen asked him: 'Master, are you angry?' 'Why should I be angry?'\nThis occurred several times, and his master always said that he\nwasn't angry, for fear of losing his nose. Once there came a day on\nwhich the master and mistress were obliged to be from home, and they\nordered Adam by their return to kill the first sheep that looked at\nhim when he entered the stable, to dress it and boil it in a\ncaldron, putting parsley with it. Adam went into the stable with\ngreat banging and noise, so that all the sheep looked at him at\nonce, whereupon he slaughtered them all. One he dressed and put in\nthe caldron, but instead of parsley he threw in a dog called by that\nname. His master and mistress came and asked Adam whether he had\ndone everything properly? He said: 'I've slaughtered the sheep and\nthrown Parsley into the caldron till I saw his feet. Now, master,\nare you angry?' 'What have I to be angry about?' he replied, for he\npreferred keeping his nose. On Christmas Eve, when they had to go to\nchurch, it was very dark. Adam's master said to him: 'It would be a\ngood thing if somebody would light us as far as the church.' 'Go!\ngo! I'll light you.' He took fire and set the roof on fire, till the\nwhole house was in flames. The master hurried up, and Adam said to\nhim: 'Master, are you angry?' 'Why should I be angry?' said he; for\nhis nose was dearer to him than his house. But what was he to do\nwithout a house, without everything? They went into the world,\nmaster, mistress, and servant. They wanted to put him to death; and\nplanned together, that when he was asleep his master should throw\nhim into the water. But Adam was up to this; he didn't lie down on\nthe side nearest the water, but got up in the night and threw his\nmistress, who was on that side, into the water. His master woke, and\nsaw that his wife was gone; and began to cry out. But Adam asked\nhim: 'Well, master, are you angry?' 'Wouldn't even the devil be\nangry, now that you've done me out of everything?' Adam took a knife\nand cut off his master's nose. He then took to his heels, went home,\nand said to his brothers: 'Now you see, you wiseacres, that I've\nearned the nose.'\n\n    [4] Literally, 'Behind the stove.'\n\n\n\n\n_UPPER AND LOWER LUSATIAN STORIES._\n\n\nThe Upper Lusatian language is spoken in a district which may be\nmarked by the towns of L\u00f6bau, Bautzen, and Muskau, while the Lower\nLusatians dwell round the towns of Spremberg and Kottbus. Of the\nUpper Lusatians the larger portion live in Saxony and the smaller in\nPrussian territory; the Lower Lusatians are all Prussian subjects.\n\nThe Upper Lusatian story illustrates, in folklore style, a moral\nprinciple of great value. The Lower Lusatian tale is a variant of\nour own 'Little Red Ridinghood.' But it completes the story in such\na manner as to explain the allegorical meaning of the narrative in\nthe sense in which I am inclined to interpret it, as will be shown\nat the conclusion of the story.\n\nBut the Slavonic remnant in Lusatia is so surrounded by German\nterritory, that most of its folklore has already been pressed into\nthe service of the Germans.\n\nA remarkable point in the Lusatian language is the completeness of\nthe dual number in both nouns, adjectives, and verbs.\n\n\n\n\nXIV.--RIGHT ALWAYS REMAINS RIGHT.\n\n\nThere was once upon a time a huntsman, who had a son, who was also a\nhuntsman. He sent his son into a foreign land, to look about him\nand learn something additional. Here he went into a tavern, where he\nfound a stranger, with whom he entered into conversation. They told\neach other all the news, till they also began to talk about right\nand wrong. The stranger asserted that the greatest wrong could be\nmade right for money. But the huntsman opined that right always\nremained right, and offered to bet three hundred dollars upon it, if\nthe stranger would do the same.[5] The stranger was content\ntherewith, and they agreed to ask three advocates the question at\nonce. They went to the first advocate, and he said that it was\npossible to make wrong right for money. They then went to another.\nHe also asserted that wrong could be made right for money. Finally,\nthey went to a third. He also told them that wrong could be made\nright for money. They then went back again, and as they had been\ngoing about the whole day, it wasn't till late in the evening that\nthey got to their tavern. The stranger then asked the huntsman\nwhether he still disbelieved that the greatest wrong could be made\nright for money, and the huntsman replied that he should soon be\nobliged to believe it on the assertion of the three advocates,\nalthough he was very unwilling to do so. The stranger was willing to\ngrant him his life if he consented to pay three hundred dollars; but\nas they were talking about it, in came a man who overpersuaded the\nstranger that he must needs abide by what they had previously agreed\nupon. He did not, however, do this, but only, with a red-hot iron,\ntook his eyesight from him, and told him at the same time, that he\nwould then and then only believe that right remained right in the\nworld, when the huntsman regained his sight.\n\n    [5] This surely ought, from what transpires later in the story,\n    to have run thus: 'To stake his life against three hundred\n    dollars to be staked by the stranger.'\n\nThe huntsman entreated the host of the tavern to put him on the\nright road to the town. He put him on the road to the gallows, and\nwent his way. When the huntsman had gone a little further, there was\nthe end of the road, and he heard it strike eleven. He couldn't go\nany further, and remained lying where he was in hope that perhaps\nsomebody would come there in the morning. After a short time he\nheard a clatter, and soon somebody came up; nor was it long before a\nsecond and a third arrived. These were three evil spirits, who\nquitted their bodies in the night time, and perpetrated all manner\nof villainy in the world. They began to talk together, and one said:\n'To-day it is a year and a day since we were here together and\nrelated the good deeds that we had done during the year before. A\nyear has again elapsed, and it is therefore time that we should\nascertain which of us has done the best action during the past\nyear.' The first spoke, and said: 'I have deprived the inhabitants\nof the city of Ramul of their water supply; they can only be helped\nif somebody finds out what it is that stops up the spring.' 'What's\nthat?' said the second; and the first replied: 'I have placed a\ngreat toad on the spring out of which the water at other times\nflowed; if that be removed, the water will spring up again as\nbefore.' The second said: 'I have caused the beauty of the princess\nof Sarahawsky to disappear, and herself to fade away to skin and\nbones; she cannot be helped until the silver nail, which hangs above\nher bed, be pulled out.' The third said: 'Yesterday I caused a\nperson to be deprived of his eyesight with a red hot iron; he can\nonly be helped by washing his eyes with the water that is in the\nwell not far from this gallows.' It then struck twelve in the town,\nand the three disappeared at once, but the huntsman remembered all\nthat he had heard, and rejoiced that it was in his power to regain\nhis eyesight.\n\nEarly on the morrow he heard somebody passing by, and begged him to\nsend him people from the town, to tell where the healing spring was.\nThen all manner of people came to him, but no one could show him the\nspring, save at length one old woman. He caused himself to be led\nthither, and as soon as he had washed his eyes in it, he immediately\nobtained his eyesight again.\n\nHe now asked the way to the city of Ramul, and went thither. As soon\nas he arrived, he told the town council that he would restore them\ntheir water. But plenty of people had been there already, and the\ncity had spent a great deal of money upon them, yet no one had\neffected aught, so, as it had been all in vain, they intended to\nhave nothing more to do with the matter. Well, he said that he would\ndo it all for nothing, only they must give him some labourers to\nhelp him. It was done. When they had dug as far as the place where\nthe pipes, through which the water used to flow, were laid into the\nspring, he sent all the workmen away and dug a little further\nhimself, and behold! a toad, like a boiler, was sitting on the\nspring. He removed it, and immediately the water began to flow, and\nere long all the fountains were filled with water. The citizens got\nup a grand banquet in his honour, and paid him a large sum of money\nfor what he had done.\n\nHe then went on and came to Sarahawsky. Then in a short time he\nlearnt that the princess was ill, just as he had heard, and that no\nphysician was able to help her; moreover that the king had promised\nthat the person who could cure her malady should obtain her to wife.\nHe therefore equipped himself very handsomely, went to the king's\npalace, and there declared that he had come from a far country, and\nwould cure the princess. The king replied to him that he had scarce\nany hope left, but would nevertheless make the experiment with him.\nThe huntsman said that he would fetch his medicine. He went out and\nbought all manner of sweet comfits, and then went to the princess.\nHe gave her a first dose, and looked about to see in what part of\nher bed's head the silver nail was sticking. Early on the second day\nhe came again, gave her again some of his medicine, took the\nopportunity of laying hold of the nail, and pulled it till it began\nto move. In the afternoon the princess felt that she was better. The\nthird day he came again, and while the princess was taking the\nmedicine, pulled again at the bed's head, pulled the nail clean out,\nand put it secretly into his pocket. At noon the princess was so far\nrecovered, that she wanted to have her dinner, and the king invited\nthe huntsman to a grand banquet. They settled when the wedding was\nto take place, but the huntsman considered that he must first go\nhome.\n\nAnd when he had got home, he went again to the tavern where he had\nlost the sight of his eyes, and the stranger was there also. They\nbegan to tell each other all the news, and the huntsman related what\nhe had heard under the gallows; how he had discovered the water, and\nfinally how he had regained the sight of his eyes, and said that the\nstranger must now believe that in the world right always remained\nright. The stranger marvelled exceedingly, and said that he would\nbelieve it.\n\nAfter this the huntsman went on and came to his princess, and they\nhad a grand wedding festival, which lasted a whole week. The\nstranger bethought himself that he, too, would go under the gallows;\nperadventure he might also hear some such things as the huntsman had\nheard, and might in consequence also obtain a princess to wife. And\nwhen the year had elapsed, he also went there. He heard it strike\none, and in a short time he heard a clatter; then up came somebody\nagain, and it wasn't long before a second and third arrived. They\nbegan to talk together, and one said: 'It cannot but be, that some\none overheard us last year, and through that everything that we\nhave done is ruined. Let us, therefore, make a careful search before\nwe again recount to each other what we have done.' They immediately\nbegan to search, and found the stranger. They tore him into three\npieces and hung them up on the three corners of the gallows.\n\nWhen the old king died they took the huntsman for king, and if he\nhas not died, he is reigning still at the present day, and firmly\nbelieves that in his realm right will always remain right.\n\n\n\n\nXV.--LITTLE RED HOOD.\n\n\nOnce upon a time, there was a little darling damsel, whom everybody\nloved that looked upon her, but her old granny loved her best of\nall, and didn't know what to give the dear child for love. Once she\nmade her a hood of red samite, and since that became her so well,\nand she, too, would wear nothing else on her head, people gave her\nthe name of 'Red Hood.' Once her mother said to Red Hood, 'Go; here\nis a slice of cake and a bottle of wine; carry them to old granny.\nShe is ill and weak, and they will refresh her. But be pretty\nbehaved, and don't peep about in all corners when you come into her\nroom, and don't forget to say \"Good-day.\" Walk, too, prettily, and\ndon't go out of the road, otherwise you will fall and break the\nbottle, and then poor granny will have nothing.' Red Hood said, 'I\nwill observe everything well that you have told me,' and gave her\nmother her hand upon it.\n\nBut granny lived out in a forest, half an hour's walk from the\nvillage. When Red Hood went into the forest, she met a wolf. But she\ndid not know what a wicked beast he was, and was not afraid of him.\n'God help you, Red Hood!' said he. 'God bless you, wolf!' replied\nshe. 'Whither so early, Red Hood?' 'To granny.' 'What have you\nthere under your mantle?' 'Cake and wine. We baked yesterday; old\ngranny must have a good meal for once, and strengthen herself\ntherewith.' 'Where does your granny live, Red Hood?' 'A good quarter\nof an hour's walk further in the forest, under yon three large oaks.\nThere stands her house; further beneath are the nut-trees, which you\nwill see there,' said Red Hood. The wolf thought within himself,\n'This nice young damsel is a rich morsel. She will taste better than\nthe old woman; but you must trick her cleverly, that you may catch\nboth.' For a time he went by Red Hood's side. Then said he, 'Red\nHood! just look! there are such pretty flowers here! Why don't you\nlook round at them all? Methinks you don't even hear how\ndelightfully the birds are singing! You are as dull as if you were\ngoing to school, and yet it is so cheerful in the forest!' Little\nRed Hood lifted up her eyes, and when she saw how the sun's rays\nglistened through the tops of the trees, and every place was full of\nflowers, she bethought herself, 'If I bring with me a sweet smelling\nnosegay to granny, it will cheer her. It is still so early, that I\nshall come to her in plenty of time,' and therewith she skipped into\nthe forest and looked for flowers. And when she had plucked one, she\nfancied that another further off was nicer, and ran there, and went\nalways deeper and deeper into the forest. But the wolf went by the\nstraight road to old granny's, and knocked at the door. 'Who's\nthere?' 'Little Red Hood, who has brought cake and wine. Open!'\n'Only press the latch,' cried granny; 'I am so weak that I cannot\nstand.' The wolf pressed the latch, walked in, and went without\nsaying a word straight to granny's bed and ate her up. Then he took\nher clothes, dressed himself in them, put her cap on his head, lay\ndown in her bed and drew the curtains.\n\nMeanwhile little Red Hood was running after flowers, and when she\nhad so many that she could not carry any more, she bethought her of\nher granny, and started on the way to her. It seemed strange to her\nthat the door was wide open, and when she entered the room\neverything seemed to her so peculiar, that she thought, 'Ah! my God!\nhow strange I feel to-day, and yet at other times I am so glad to be\nwith granny!' She said, 'Good-day!' but received no answer.\nThereupon she went to the bed and undrew the curtains. There lay\ngranny, with her cap drawn down to her eyes, and looking so queer!\n'Ah, granny! why have you such long ears?' 'The better to hear you.'\n'Ah, granny! why have you such large eyes?' 'The better to see you.'\n'Ah, granny! why have you such large hands?' 'The better to take\nhold of you.' 'But, granny! why have you such a terribly large\nmouth?' 'The better to eat you up!' And therewith the wolf sprang\nout of bed at once on poor little Red Hood, and ate her up.\n\nWhen the wolf had satisfied his appetite, he lay down again in the\nbed, and began to snore tremendously. A huntsman came past, and\nbethought himself, 'How can an old woman snore like that? I'll just\nhave a look to see what it is.' He went into the room, and looked\ninto the bed; there lay the wolf. 'Have I found you now, old\nrascal?' said he. 'I've long been looking for you.' He was just\ngoing to take aim with his gun, when he bethought himself, 'Perhaps\nthe wolf has only swallowed granny, and she may yet be released;'\ntherefore he did not shoot, but took a knife and began to cut open\nthe sleeping wolf's maw. When he had made several cuts, he saw a red\nhood gleam, and after one or two more cuts out skipped Red Hood, and\ncried, 'Oh, how frightened I have been; it was so dark in the wolf's\nmaw!' Afterwards out came old granny, still alive, but scarcely able\nto breathe. But Red Hood made haste and fetched large stones, with\nwhich they filled the wolf's maw, and when he woke he wanted to jump\nup and run away, but the stones were so heavy that he fell on the\nground and beat himself to death. Now, they were all three merry.\nThe huntsman took off the wolf's skin; granny ate the cake and drank\nthe wine which little Red Hood had brought, and became strong and\nwell again; and little Red Hood thought to herself, 'As long as I\nlive, I won't go out of the road into the forest, when mother has\nforbidden me.'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[Little Red Hood, like many folklore tales, is a singular mixture of\nmyth and morality. In Cox's 'Comparative Mythology,' vol. ii., p.\n831, note, Little Redcap, or Little Red Riding Hood, is interpreted\nas 'the evening with her scarlet robe of twilight,' who is swallowed\nup by the wolf of darkness, the Fenris of the Edda. It appears to me\nthat this explanation may suit the colour of her cap or hood, but is\nat variance with the other incidents of the story. I am inclined to\nlook upon the tale as a lunar legend, although the moon is only\nactually red during one portion of the year, at the harvest moon in\nthe autumn. Red Hood is represented as wandering, like Io, who is\nundoubtedly the moon, through trees, the clouds, and flowers, the\nstars, before she reaches the place where she is intercepted by the\nwolf. An eclipse to untutored minds would naturally suggest the\nnotion that some evil beast was endeavouring to devour the moon, who\nis afterwards rescued by the sun, the archer of the heavens, whose\nbow and arrow are by a common anachronism represented in the story\nby a gun. Though the moon is masculine in Slavonic, as in German,\nyet she is a lady, 'my lady Luna,' in the Croatian legend No. 53,\nbelow. In the Norse mythology, when Loki is let loose at the end of\nthe world, he is to 'hurry in the form of a wolf to swallow the\nmoon' (Cox ii., p. 200). The present masculine Slavonic word for\nmoon, which is also that for month, 'mesic,' or 'mesec,' is a\nsecondary formation, the original word having perished. In Greek and\nLatin the moon is always feminine.]\n\n\n\n\n_KASHUBIAN STORY._\n\n\nThe Kashubians inhabit a small district in the North-east of\nPomerania, 'the province upon the sea,' from _po_, upon, and _more_,\nthe sea. The limits of the district may be roughly marked by the\ntowns of Leba, Lauenburg and B\u00fctow or Bytom.\n\nThe story contains many of the circumstances of the German story of\n'The Table, the Ass and the Stick' in Grimm's collection. The\nKashubian tales again would naturally be pressed into the service of\nthe surrounding Germans. Bitter complaints have been made by\nSlavonic literati, that their Folklore tales have been appropriated\nby the Germans. Of course there is a vast amount of common ground in\nFolklore, and incidents belonging to one tale will sometimes start\nup at a distance in another apparently entirely unconnected with it.\nBut I believe that there is considerable ground for the complaint.\n\n\n\n\nXVI.--CUDGEL, BESTIR YOURSELF!\n\n\nA cobbler was busying himself on Saturday with mending old shoes,\nthat he might be able to go to church on Sunday. He worked till late\nin the evening, and, having finished his work, early in the morning\ndressed himself, and took his book to service. In church he heard\nthis doctrine, that if any one dedicates his property to the church,\nGod will recompense him a hundredfold in another form. And as he was\npoor, he therefore determined to sell his cottage and goods and take\nthe whole price to the priest at the church. He went home and told\nhis wife of his intentions; and in a few days the money was in the\nhands of the parson.[6] But day passed after day, and nothing was to\nbe seen of a recompense. At last, when hunger sorely tried the\ncobbler, he dressed himself like an old beggar and went to seek for\nthe Lord God. After wandering a couple of days he met with an old\nshepherd, who was pasturing a large flock of lambs. And as he was\nvery hungry, he made up his mind to go up to the old shepherd, and\nask him to give him a little to eat out of his dinner-basket.[7]\nDuring the meal he related all that he had done, and how it was then\ngoing with him. The old shepherd compassionated the poor cobbler,\nand gave him a lamb, which scattered ducats at every call: 'Lamb,\nshake yourself!' but gave it him under the condition, that in one\nvillage, through which he was obliged to pass, he was not to enter\nthe house of his old gossip. He laid the lamb on his shoulder with\ngreat joy, thanked the old man for it, and started with speed on his\nway home to rejoice his wife and children. When he got behind the\nhill, he began to distrust the words of the old shepherd, for he\ncould not get it into his head that an ordinary lamb would scatter\nducats. Wishing, therefore, to assure himself of their truth, he\nplaced the lamb on the ground and uttered the old man's words:\n'Lamb, shake yourself!' and when at the self-same moment he espied\nducats round the lamb's feet, he considered himself the most\nfortunate man in the whole world. Without delay he put the lamb on\nhis back, and went on towards home. But when he went past his\ngossip's tavern, she besought him to pay her a visit, for they had\nnot seen each other for a very long time. The cobbler at first\nhesitated a little, but wishing to show that he had ducats in his\npocket, and that he had met with such good fortune, he went into the\ntavern; and, after first giving into her charge his present from the\nold man, with these words, 'But don't say to him, \"Lamb, shake\nyourself!\"' went to the table and drank off a noggin of brandy. But\nhis gossip, a knavish old woman, bethought herself at once that\nthere must be some secret lying in these words. She, therefore, took\nthe lamb into another room, and when she was there by herself, said\nto the lamb: 'Lamb, shake yourself!' when she saw that he scattered\nducats she began to consider how to cheat her gossip. After a short\ntime she determined to make the cobbler drunk, to detain him all\nnight at her house, and next day, early, to give him instead of his\nlamb another like it out of her own flock; which was effected\naccording to her intention. Well, early in the morning the cobbler\ntook the lamb on his shoulder and now hastened straight to his wife\nand children, and tossed them, as they wept, a couple of ducats,\nthat his wife might get a good meal ready. His wife could not wonder\nenough whence her little husband had got so much money, but she did\nnot venture to question him. After the meal the cobbler put the lamb\non the table, called his children, that they might enjoy with him\nthe rolling ducats, and shouted: 'Lamb, shake yourself!' But the\nlamb stood as if he were made of wood, and never even moved his\nhead. The children, who had eaten their fill, began to laugh, and\nthe wife thought that her husband was not quite right in his head.\nThe cobbler, angry that his wish had not come to pass, repeated\nonce more the old man's words, but this time, too, without effect,\ntherefore he pushed the lamb off the table. So long as the ducats\nheld out, there was content in the home; but as soon as they began\nto run short in the cottage, his wife began to reproach her husband\nfor doing no work, and not troubling himself about a livelihood. So\nnothing again remained for the cobbler but, stick in hand, to go to\nlook for the old man. He knew very well what a bad welcome he would\nreceive from him, but what was to be done? However, the old man had\ncompassion on the poor family, and this time gave him a tablecloth,\nwhich at every summons: 'Tablecloth, spread yourself!' spread itself\nof its own accord, and on it stood most excellent food and drink;\nbut under the condition that he didn't go into his gossip's house.\nThe cobbler, well content with the present, thanked the old man and\nmoved towards home. In a short time he was behind the hill, sat down\nupon the ground, and, not from curiosity but from hunger, gave the\nword of command to the tablecloth to spread itself, for his inside\nwas croaking. When, after eating his fill, he went past the tavern,\nhis old gossip was waiting for him in front of the door; she begged\nhim in the kindest terms not to pass her tavern, adding the proverb:\n'Whoever passes a tavern sprains his foot.' The cobbler wavered\nlong, but at last went in and entrusted her with the tablecloth with\nthese words: 'Dear gossip, don't say, \"Tablecloth, spread\nyourself!\"' The crafty woman gave him brandy in welcome, not for\nmoney; therefore, her gossip tossed off noggin after noggin, till\nthere came a dizziness in his head. Then his gossip did the same\nwith the tablecloth as with the lamb. The cobbler came to his wife\nand children, placed the tablecloth on the table and cried:\n'Tablecloth, spread yourself!' But the tablecloth didn't stir, and\nthe cobbler began to despair and to revile the old woman, his\ngossip. He returned again to the old man, begged pardon of him on\nhis knees for not fulfilling the condition that time also, and\nprayed him, nevertheless, to have compassion on him and to be his\npreserver once more. The old man for a long time refused, but at\nlast gave him a cudgel with a silver mounting set with precious\nstones, and ordered him this time to visit his gossip, and take note\nof these words: 'Cudgel, bestir yourself!' The cobbler, seized with\nnew joy, thanked the old man a hundred times, and made the more\nhaste towards his wife and children. Still, when behind the hill, he\nwas curious to know what the cudgel meant, and wishing to satisfy\nhimself, said: 'Cudgel, bestir yourself!' In a moment there stood\nbefore him a couple of stout fellows, who began to thrash him\nmercilessly. The cobbler, seized by cruel terror, did not know how\nto order them to cease beating him; at last, when already well\nbeaten, he cried out: 'Cudgel, leave off!' Instantly the fellows\ndisappeared and the cudgel stood before him. 'You're good, you're\ngood!' said the cobbler, getting up from the ground, 'you'll help me\nto those former gifts.' When he arrived at the village, where his\ngossip lived, he stepped into her house and made himself at home as\nwith an old acquaintance. She was very glad to see him, for she\nthought she would again make a good profit, entertained him well,\nand afterwards began to inquire whether he hadn't something for her\nto take charge of. Then the cobbler gave up to her his cudgel with\nthe request not to say: 'Cudgel, bestir yourself!' The old woman\nlaughed in her sleeve at the simpleton, thinking to herself, 'He\nwouldn't tell me without cause what I'm not to say!' She went at\nonce with the cudgel into the other room, and scarcely had she\ncrossed the threshold, when she cried out impatiently: 'Cudgel,\nbestir yourself!' Immediately the two fellows with cudgels began to\nbeat her, and she lost all self-possession. At her piercing shrieks\nthe host darted up to help her, when, hey ho! he got it too. The\ncobbler all the time kept calling out: 'Go it, cudgel! go it! till\nthey give me back my lamb and my tablecloth!' Then nothing remained\nto his gossip but to give up his property to him. She ordered the\nlamb and tablecloth to be brought. As soon as the cobbler had\nsatisfied himself that this was really done, he shouted 'Cudgel,\nleave off!' and went with the three gifts as quick as he could to\nhis wife and children. Then there was great joy, for they had money\nand victuals in abundance; and did not withal forget God and other\npeople, but assisted every poor person.\n\n    [6] _Plebanus_, the priest of a church in which baptisms are\n    celebrated.\n\n    [7] Or dinner-pot: two earthenware pots united together, used by\n    shepherds and others to carry their dinners in.\n\n\n\n\n_POLISH STORIES._\n\n\nThe Polish language is one of great beauty and flexibility, but it\nis disfigured by an orthography which causes English readers to\nimagine that it is very difficult to pronounce, which is by no means\nthe case. The letter _z_ in Polish performs the office frequently\nassigned to _h_ in English, viz., that of softening the preceding\nconsonant without possessing any further power of its own. Thus _cz_\nis the exact equivalent in Polish of our _ch_, and _sz_ exactly\nrepresents our _sh_. The other grand peculiarities of the Polish\nlanguage are the sibillated _r_, written _rz_, the retention of the\nnasal sounds of long _a_ (as _on_) and long _e_ (as _en_ in French),\nand the dull _l_, represented by a curved stroke through the letter\n_l_, which has the sound of our final _ll_ in 'bull,' but is\nsomewhat difficult to pronounce at the beginning or in the middle of\na word.\n\nPoland, or rather Lithuania, the aristocracy of which is Polish, has\nproduced a really great poet, Mickiewicz, whose poems are so\nbeautiful, that it would be worth while for a literary person of\nleisure to study the language for the mere purpose of reading them.\nSee Morfill's 'Russia' (Sampson Low, 1880), pp. 207-212. One of the\nmost celebrated of Mickiewicz's poems, 'Pan Taddeus,' has lately\nbeen translated by Miss M. A. Biggs (Tr\u00fcbner and Co.).\n\nIn the Polish story, No. 17, we make acquaintance with 'Kostchey\nthe Deathless,' who plays a great part in Russian stories, but is\nentirely unknown by name among the southern and most of the western\nSlavonians. His place is with them taken by dragons and evil shapes\nof various kinds. His name is probably derived from _kost_, a\n'bone,' and I have ventured to Anglicize it accordingly. He is\ngenerally supposed to symbolize winter, and certainly deciduous\ntrees and bushes then exhibit a very skeleton-like appearance. In a\nstory from the government of Perm, given by Mr. Ralston, the secret\nof his immortality is discovered, and he is put to death\naccordingly. But I cannot help inferring that his death is of annual\noccurrence, and that he resumes his reign annually at the proper\nseason, to be again put to death towards spring. With No. 18 several\nRussian tales given by Mr. Ralston (pp. 185-193) may be compared.\nNo. 19 is a singular story of a more Oriental than European cast,\nand No. 20 reads as much like a dream dreamed after the consumption\nof a considerable quantity of _vodka_, as a genuine Folklore story.\nSuch is also the case with several of Crofton Croker's Legends of\nthe south of Ireland.\n\nTale No. 17 has already appeared in the 'Folklore Journal' for\nJanuary, 1884. For mere beauty of construction and narration I doubt\nwhether its equal can be found in any language.\n\n\n\n\nXVII.--PRINCE UNEXPECTED.\n\n\nThere was a king and queen who had been married for three years, but\nhad no children, at which they were both much distressed. Once upon\na time the king found himself obliged to make a visit of inspection\nround his dominions; he took leave of his queen, set off and was not\nat home for eight months. Towards the end of the ninth month the\nking returned from his progress through his country, and was already\nhard by his capital city, when, as he journeyed over an uninhabited\nplain during the most scorching heat of summer, he felt such\nexcessive thirst that he sent his servants round about to see if\nthey could find water anywhere and let him know of it at once. The\nservants dispersed in various directions, sought in vain for a whole\nhour, and returned without success to the king. The thirst-tormented\nking proceeded to traverse the whole plain far and wide himself, not\nbelieving that there was not a spring somewhere or other; on he\nrode, and on a level spot, on which there had not previously been\nany water, he espied a well with a new wooden fence round it, full\nto the brim with spring water, in the midst of which floated a\nsilver cup with a golden handle. The king sprang from his horse and\nreached after the cup with his right hand; but the cup, just as if\nit were alive and had eyes, darted quickly on one side and floated\nagain by itself. The king knelt down and began to try to catch it,\nnow with his right hand, now with his left, but it moved and dodged\naway in such a manner that, not being able to seize it with one\nhand, he tried to catch it with both. But scarcely had he reached\nout with both hands when the cup dived like a fish, and floated\nagain on the surface. 'Hang it!' thought the king, 'I can't help\nmyself with the cup, I'll manage without it.' He then bent down to\nthe water, which was as clear as crystal and as cold as ice, and\nbegan in his thirst to drink. Meanwhile his long beard, which\nreached down to his girdle, dipped into the water. When he had\nquenched his thirst, he wanted to get up again--something was\nholding his beard and wouldn't let it go. He pulled once and again,\nbut it was of no use; he cried out therefore in anger, 'Who's there?\nlet go!' 'It's I, the subterranean king, immortal Bony, and I shall\nnot let go till you give me that which you left unknowingly at\nhome, and which you do not expect to find on your return.' The king\nlooked into the depth of the well, and there was a huge head like a\ntub, with green eyes and a mouth from ear to ear, which was holding\nthe king by the beard with extended claws like those of a crab, and\nwas laughing mischievously. The king thought that a thing of which\nhe had not known before starting, and which he did not expect on his\nreturn, could not be of great value, so he said to the apparition,\n'I give it.' The apparition burst with laughter and vanished with a\nflash of fire, and with it vanished also the well, the water, the\nwooden fence, and the cup; and the king was again on a hillock by a\nlittle wood kneeling on dry sand, and there was nothing more. The\nking got up, crossed himself, sprang on his horse, hastened to his\nattendants, and rode on.\n\nIn a week or maybe a fortnight the king arrived at his capital; the\npeople came out in crowds to meet him; he went in procession to the\ngreat court of the palace and entered the corridor. In the corridor\nstood the queen awaiting him, and holding close to her bosom a\ncushion, on which lay a child, beautiful as the moon, kicking in\nswaddling clothes. The king recollected himself, sighed painfully,\nand said within himself: 'This is what I left without knowing and\nfound without expecting!' And bitterly, bitterly did he weep. All\nmarvelled, but nobody dared to ask the cause. The king took his son,\nwithout saying a word, in his arms, gazed long on his innocent face;\ncarried him into the palace himself, laid him in the cradle, and,\nsuppressing his sorrow, devoted himself to the government of his\nrealm, but was never again cheerful as formerly, since he was\nperpetually tormented by the thought that some day Bony would claim\nhis son.\n\nMeanwhile weeks, months, and years flowed on, and no one came for\nhis son. The prince, named 'Unexpected,' grew and developed, and\neventually became a handsome youth. The king also in course of time\nregained his usual cheerfulness; and forgot what had taken place,\nbut alas! everybody did not forget so easily.\n\nOnce the prince, while hunting in a forest, became separated from\nhis suite and found himself in a savage wilderness. Suddenly there\nappeared before him a hideous old man with green eyes, who said:\n'How do you do, Prince Unexpected? You have made me wait for you a\nlong time.' 'Who are you?' 'That you will find out hereafter, but\nnow, when you return to your father, greet him from me, and tell him\nthat I should be glad if he would close accounts with me, for if he\ndoesn't soon get out of my debt of himself, he will repent it\nbitterly.' After saying this the hideous old man disappeared, and\nthe prince in amazement turned his horse, rode home and told the\nking his adventure. The king turned as pale as a sheet, and revealed\nthe frightful secret to his son. 'Don't cry, father!' replied the\nprince, 'it isn't a great misfortune! I shall manage to force Bony\nto renounce the right over me, which he tricked you out of in so\nunderhand a manner, and if in the course of a year I do not return,\nit will be a token that we shall see each other no more.' The prince\nprepared for his journey, the king gave him a suit of steel armour,\na sword, and a horse, and the queen hung round his neck a cross of\npure gold. At leave-taking they embraced affectionately, wept\nheartily, and the prince rode off.\n\nOn he rode one day, two days, three days, and at the end of the\nfourth day at the setting of the sun he came to the shore of the\nsea, and in the self-same bay espied twelve dresses, white as snow,\nthough in the water, as far as the eye could reach, there was no\nliving soul to be seen; only twelve white geese were swimming at a\ndistance from the shore. Curious to know to whom they belonged, he\ntook one of the dresses, let his horse loose in a meadow, concealed\nhimself in a neighbouring thicket, and waited to see what would come\nto pass. Thereupon the geese, after disporting themselves on the\nsea, swam to the shore; eleven of them went to the dresses, each\nthrew herself on the ground and became a beautiful damsel, dressed\nherself with speed, and flew away into the plain. The twelfth goose,\nthe last and prettiest of all, did not venture to come out on the\nshore, but only wistfully stretched out her neck, looking on all\nsides. On seeing the prince she called out with a human voice:\n'Prince Unexpected, give me my dress; I will be grateful to you in\nreturn.' The prince hearkened to her, placed the dress on the grass,\nand modestly turned away in another direction. The goose came out on\nthe grass, changed herself into a damsel, dressed herself hastily,\nand stood before the prince; she was young and more beautiful than\neye had seen or ear heard of. Blushing, she gave him her white hand,\nand, casting her eyes down, said with a pleasing voice: 'I thank\nyou, good prince, for hearkening to me: I am the youngest daughter\nof immortal Bony; he has twelve young daughters, and rules in the\nsubterranean realm. My father, prince, has long been expecting you\nand is very angry; however, don't grieve, and don't be frightened,\nbut do as I tell you. As soon as you see King Bony, fall at once on\nyour knees, and, paying no regard to his outcry, upbraiding, and\nthreats, approach him boldly. What will happen afterwards you will\nlearn, but now we must part.' On saying this the princess stamped on\nthe ground with her little foot; the ground sprang open at once, and\nthey descended into the subterranean realm, right into Bony's\npalace, which shone all underground brighter than our sun. The\nprince stepped boldly into the reception-room. Bony was sitting on a\ngolden throne with a glittering crown on his head; his eyes gleamed\nlike two saucers of green glass and his hands were like the nippers\nof a crab. As soon as he espied him at a distance, the prince fell\non his knees, and Bony yelled so horribly that the vaults of the\nsubterranean dominion quaked; but the prince boldly moved on his\nknees towards the throne, and, when he was only a few paces from it,\nthe king smiled and said: 'Thou hast marvellous luck in succeeding\nin making me smile; remain in our subterranean realm, but before\nthou becomest a true citizen thereof thou art bound to execute three\ncommands of mine; but because it is late to-day, we will begin\nto-morrow; meanwhile go to thy room.'\n\nThe prince slept comfortably in the room assigned to him, and early\non the morrow Bony summoned him and said: 'We will see, prince, what\nthou canst do. In the course of the following night build me a\npalace of pure marble; let the windows be of crystal, the roof of\ngold, an elegant garden round about it, and in the garden seats and\nfountains; if thou buildest it, thou wilt gain thyself my love; if\nnot, I shall command thy head to be cut off.' The prince heard it,\nreturned to his apartment, and was sitting mournfully thinking of\nthe death that threatened him, when outside at the window a bee came\nbuzzing and said: 'Let me in!' He opened the lattice, in flew the\nbee, and the princess, Bony's youngest daughter, appeared before the\nwondering prince. 'What are you thus thinking about, Prince\nUnexpected?' 'Alas! I am thinking that your father wishes to deprive\nme of life.' 'Don't be afraid! lie down to sleep, and when you get\nup to-morrow morning your palace will be ready.'\n\nSo, too, it came to pass. At dawn the prince came out of his room\nand espied a more beautiful palace than he had ever seen, and Bony,\nwhen he saw it, wondered, and wouldn't believe his own eyes. 'Well!\nthou hast won this time, and now thou hast my second command. I\nshall place my twelve daughters before thee to-morrow; if thou dost\nnot guess which of them is the youngest, thou wilt place thy head\nbeneath the axe.' 'I unable to recognise the youngest princess!'\nsaid the prince in his room; 'what difficulty can there be in that?'\n'This,' answered the princess, flying into the room in the shape of\na bee, 'that if I don't help you, you won't recognise me, for we are\nall so alike that even our father only distinguishes us by our\ndress.' 'What am I to do?' 'What, indeed! That will be the youngest\nover whose right eye you espy a ladycow; only look well. Adieu!' On\nthe morrow King Bony again summoned Prince Unexpected. The\nprincesses stood in a row side by side, all dressed alike and with\neyes cast down. The prince looked and marvelled how alike all the\nprincesses were; he went past them once, twice--he did not find the\nappointed token; the third time he saw a ladycow over the eyebrow of\none, and cried out: 'This is the youngest princess!' 'How the deuce\nhave you guessed it?' said Bony angrily. 'There must be some\ntrickery here. I must deal with your lordship differently. In three\nhours you will come here again, and will show your cleverness in my\npresence. I shall light a straw, and you will stitch a pair of boots\nbefore it goes out, and if you don't do it you will perish.'\n\nThe prince returned desponding and found the bee already in his\napartment. 'Why pensive again, prince?' 'How shouldn't I be pensive,\nwhen your father wants me to stitch him a pair of boots, for what\nsort of cobbler am I?' 'What else will you do?' 'What am I to do? I\nshan't stitch the boots, and I'm not afraid of death--one can but\ndie once!' 'No, prince, you shall not die! I will endeavour to\nrescue you, and we will either escape together or perish together!\nWe must flee--there's nothing else to be done.' Saying this, the\nprincess spat on one of the window-panes, and the spittle\nimmediately froze. She then went out of the room with the prince,\nlocked the door after her, and threw the key far away; then, taking\neach other by the hands, they ascended rapidly, and in a moment\nfound themselves on the very spot whence they had descended into the\nsubterranean realm; there was the self-same sea, the self-same shore\novergrown with rushes and thornbushes, the self-same fresh meadow,\nand in the meadow cantered the prince's well-fed horse, who, as soon\nas he descried his rider, came galloping straight to him. The prince\ndidn't stop long to think, but sprang on his horse, the princess\nseated herself behind him, and off they set as swift as an arrow.\n\nKing Bony at the appointed hour did not wait for Prince Unexpected,\nbut sent to ask him why he did not appear. Finding the door locked,\nthe servants knocked at it vigorously, and the spittle answered them\nfrom the middle of the room in the prince's voice, 'Anon!' The\nservants carried this answer to the king; he waited, waited, no\nprince; he therefore again sent the same servants, who heard the\nsame answer: 'Anon!' and carried what they had heard to the king.\n'What's this? Does he mean to make fun of me?' shouted the king in\nwrath: 'Go at once, break the door open and conduct him to me!' The\nservants hurried off, broke open the door, and rushed in. What,\nindeed? there was nobody there, and the spittle on the pane of glass\nwas splitting with laughter at them. Bony all but burst with rage,\nand ordered them all to start off in pursuit of the prince,\nthreatening them with death if they returned empty-handed. They\nsprang on horseback and hastened away after the prince and princess.\n\nMeanwhile Prince Unexpected and the princess, Bony's daughter, were\nhurrying away on their spirited horse, and amidst their rapid flight\nheard 'tramp, tramp,' behind them. The prince sprang from the horse,\nput his ear to the ground and said, 'They are pursuing us.' 'Then,'\nsaid the princess, 'we have no time to lose.' Instantly she\ntransformed herself into a river, changed the prince into a bridge,\nthe horse into a raven, and the grand highway beyond the bridge\ndivided into three roads. Swiftly on the fresh track hastened the\npursuers, came on to the bridge, and stood stupefied; they saw the\ntrack up to the bridge, but beyond it disappeared, and the highway\ndivided into three roads. There was nothing to be done but to\nreturn, and they came with nought. Bony shouted with rage, and cried\nout: 'A bridge and a river! It was they. How was it that ye did not\nguess it? Back, and don't return without them!' The pursuers\nrecommenced the pursuit.\n\n'I hear \"tramp, tramp!\"' whispered the princess, Bony's daughter,\naffrightedly to Prince Unexpected, who sprang from the saddle, put\nhis ear to the ground, and replied: 'They are making haste, and are\nnot far off.' That instant the princess and prince, and with them\nalso their horse, became a gloomy forest, in which were roads,\nby-roads, and footpaths without number, and on one of them it seemed\nthat two riders were hastening on a horse. Following the fresh\ntrack, the pursuers came up to the forest, and when they espied the\nfugitives in it, they hastened speedily after them. On and on\nhurried the pursuers, seeing continually before them a thick forest,\na wide road and the fugitives on it; now, now they thought to\novertake them, when the fugitives and the thick forest suddenly\nvanished, and they found themselves at the self-same place whence\nthey had started in pursuit. They returned, therefore, again to Bony\nempty-handed. 'A horse, a horse! I'll go myself! they won't escape\nout of _my_ hands!' yelled Bony, foaming at the mouth, and started\nin pursuit.\n\nAgain the princess said to Prince Unexpected: 'Methinks they are\npursuing us, and this time it is Bony, my father, himself, but the\nfirst church is the boundary of his dominion, and he won't be able\nto pursue us further. Give me your golden cross.' The prince took\noff his affectionate mother's gift and gave it to the princess, and\nin a moment she was transformed into a church, he into the priest,\nand the horse into the bell; and that instant up came Bony. 'Monk!'\nBony asked the priest, 'hast thou not seen some travellers on\nhorseback?' 'Only just now Prince Unexpected rode this way with the\nprincess, Bony's daughter. They came into the church, performed\ntheir devotions, gave money for a mass for your good health, and\nordered me to present their respects to you if you should ride this\nway.' Bony, too, returned empty-handed. But Prince Unexpected rode\non with the princess, Bony's daughter, in no further fear of\npursuit.\n\nThey rode gently on, when they saw before them a beautiful town,\ninto which the prince felt an irresistible longing to go. 'Prince,'\nsaid the princess, 'don't go; my heart forebodes misfortune there.'\n'I'll only ride there for a short time, and look round the town, and\nwe'll then proceed on our journey.' 'It's easy enough to ride\nthither, but will it be as easy to return? Nevertheless, as you\nabsolutely desire it, go, and I will remain here in the form of a\nwhite stone till you return; be circumspect, my beloved; the king,\nthe queen, and the princess, their daughter, will come out to meet\nyou, and with them will be a beautiful little boy--don't kiss him,\nfor, if you do, you will forget me at once, and will never set eyes\non me more in the world--I shall die of despair. I will wait for you\nhere on the road for three days, and if on the third day you don't\nreturn, remember that I perish, and perish all through you.' The\nprince took leave and rode to the town, and the princess transformed\nherself into a white stone, and remained on the road.\n\nOne day passed, a second passed, the third also passed, and nothing\nwas seen of the prince. Poor princess! He had not obeyed her\ncounsel; in the town, the king, the queen, and the princess their\ndaughter, had come out to meet him, and with them walked a little\nboy, a curly-headed chatterbox, with eyes as bright as stars. The\nchild rushed straight into the prince's arms, who was so captivated\nby the beauty of the lad that he forgot everything, and kissed the\nchild affectionately. That moment his memory was darkened, and he\nutterly forgot the princess, Bony's daughter.\n\nThe princess lay as a white stone by the wayside, one day, two days,\nand when the third day passed and the prince did not return from the\ntown, she transformed herself into a cornflower, and sprang in among\nthe rye by the roadside. 'Here I shall stay by the roadside; maybe\nsome passer-by will pull me up or trample me into the ground,' said\nshe, and tears like dew-drops glittered on the azure petals. Just\nthen an old man came along the road, espied the cornflower in the\nrye by the wayside, was captivated by its beauty, extracted it\ncarefully from the ground, carried it into his dwelling, set it in a\nflower-pot, watered it, and began to tend it attentively. But--O\nmarvel!--ever since the time that the cornflower was brought into\nhis dwelling, all kind of wonders began to happen in it. Scarcely\nwas the old man awake, when everything in the house was already set\nin order, nowhere was the least atom of dust remaining. At noon he\ncame home--dinner was all ready, the table set; he had but to sit\ndown and eat as much as he wanted. The old man wondered and\nwondered, till at last terror took possession of him, and he betook\nhimself for advice to an old witch of his acquaintance in the\nneighbourhood. 'Do this,' the witch advised him: 'get up before the\nfirst morning dawn, before the cocks crow to announce daylight, and\nnotice diligently what begins to stir first in the house, and that\nwhich does stir, cover with this napkin: what will happen further,\nyou will see.'\n\nThe old man didn't close his eyes the whole night, and as soon as\nthe first gleam appeared and things began to be visible in the\nhouse, he saw how the cornflower suddenly moved in the flower-pot,\nsprang out, and began to stir about the room; when simultaneously\neverything began to put itself in its place; the dust began to sweep\nitself clean away, and the fire kindled itself in the stove. The old\nman sprang cleverly out of his bed and placed the cloth on the\nflower as it endeavoured to escape, when lo! the flower became a\nbeautiful damsel--the princess, Bony's daughter. 'What have you\ndone?' cried the princess. 'Why have you brought life back again to\nme? My betrothed, Prince Unexpected, has forgotten me, and,\ntherefore, life has become distasteful to me.' 'Your betrothed,\nPrince Unexpected, is going to be married to-day; the wedding feast\nis ready, and the guests are beginning to assemble.'\n\nThe princess wept, but after awhile dried her tears, dressed herself\nin frieze, and went into the town like a village girl. She came to\nthe royal kitchen, where there was great noise and bustle. She went\nup to the clerk of the kitchen with humble and attractive grace, and\nsaid in a sweet voice: 'Dear sir, do me one favour; allow me to make\na wedding-cake for Prince Unexpected.' Occupied with work, the first\nimpulse of the clerk of the kitchen was to give the girl a rebuff,\nbut when he looked at her, the words died on his lips, and he\nanswered kindly: 'Ah, my beauty of beauties! do what you will; I\nwill hand the prince your cake myself.' The cake was soon baked, and\nall the invited guests were sitting at table. The clerk of the\nkitchen himself placed a huge cake on a silver dish before the\nprince; but scarce had the prince made a cut in the side of it, when\nlo! an unheard-of marvel displayed itself in the presence of all. A\ngray tom-pigeon and a white hen-pigeon came out of the cake; the\ntom-pigeon walked along the table, and the hen-pigeon walked after\nhim, cooing:\n\n    'Stay, stay, my pigeonet, oh stay!\n    Don't from thy true love flee away;\n    My faithless lover I pursue,\n    Prince Unexpected like unto,\n    Who Bony's daughter did betray.'\n\nScarcely had Prince Unexpected heard this cooing of the pigeon, when\nhe regained his lost recollection, bounced from the table, rushed to\nthe door, and behind the door the princess, Bony's daughter, took\nhim by the hand; they went together down the corridor, and before\nthem stood a horse saddled and bridled.\n\nWhy delay? Prince Unexpected and the princess, Bony's daughter,\nsprang on the horse, started on the road, and at last arrived\nhappily in the realm of Prince Unexpected's father. The king and\nqueen received them with joy and merriment, and didn't wait long\nbefore they prepared them a magnificent wedding, the like of which\neye never saw and ear never heard of.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWith the above story should be compared that of 'The Water King, and\nVasilissa the Wise' (Ralston, p. 120). A large number of tales that\nmay also be compared with it are mentioned by Mr. Ralston in pp.\n132-133 of his Russian Folk-tales. As to the interpretation of\n'Prince Unexpected,' it is very tempting to look upon Kostchey's\ntwelve daughters as representing the twelve months. And, as the year\nanciently began with spring, Kostchey's youngest daughter would be\nthe month which forms the transition from winter to spring. The\ninterruption of their progress by Prince Unexpected's temporary\nforgetfulness may be explained as the temporary cessation of warm\nweather and return of a kind of secondary winter, which often\noccurs in early spring. Prince Unexpected himself may, perhaps, be\nconsidered as representing the sun, who has been held in captivity\nby the winter and has escaped with the last month of the year.\nVasilissa the Wise is the _eldest_ daughter of the Water King, and\nwould thus represent the first month of the new year.\n\n\n\n\nXVIII.--THE SPIRIT OF A BURIED MAN.\n\n\nA poor scholar was going by the highway into a town, and found under\nthe walls of the gate the body of a dead man, unburied, trodden by\nthe feet of the passers-by. He had not much in his purse, but\nwillingly gave enough to bury him, that he might not be spat upon\nand have sticks thrown at him. He performed his devotions over the\nfresh heaped-up grave, and went on into the world to wander. In an\noak wood sleep overpowered him, and when he awoke, he espied with\nwonderment a bag full of gold. He thanked the unseen beneficent\nhand, and came to the bank of a large river, where it was necessary\nto be ferried over. The two ferrymen, observing the bag full of\ngold, took him into the boat, and just at an eddy took from him the\ngold and threw him into the water. As the waves carried him away\ninsensible, he by accident clutched a plank, and by its aid floated\nsuccessfully to the shore. It was not a plank, but the spirit of the\nburied man, who addressed him in these words: 'You honoured my\nremains by burial; I thank you for it. In token of gratitude I will\nteach you how you can transform yourself into a crow, into a hare,\nand into a deer.' Then he taught him the spell. The scholar, when\nacquainted with the spell, could with ease transform himself into a\ncrow, into a hare, and into a deer. He wandered far, he wandered\nwide, till he wandered to the court of a mighty king, where he\nremained as an archer in attendance at the court. This king had a\nbeautiful daughter, but she dwelt on an inaccessible island,\nsurrounded on all sides by the sea. She dwelt in a castle of copper,\nand possessed a sword such that he who brandished it could conquer\nthe largest army. Enemies had invaded the territory of the king; he\nneeded and desired the victorious sword. But how to obtain it, when\nnobody had up to that time succeeded in getting on to the lonely\nisland? He therefore made proclamation that whoever should bring the\nvictorious sword from the princess should obtain her hand, and,\nmoreover, should sit upon the throne after him. No one was\nventuresome enough to attempt it, till the wandering scholar, then\nan archer attached to the court, stood before the king announcing\nhis readiness to go, and requesting a letter, that on receipt of\nthat token the princess might give up the weapon to him. All men\nwere astonished, and the king entrusted him with a letter to his\ndaughter. He went into the forest, without knowing in the least that\nanother archer attached to the court was dogging his steps. He first\ntransformed himself into a hare, then into a deer, and darted off\nwith haste and speed; he traversed no small distance, till he stood\non the shore of the sea. He then transformed himself into a crow,\nflew across the water of the sea, and didn't rest till he was on the\nisland. He went into the castle of copper, delivered to the\nbeautiful princess the letter from her father, and requested her to\ngive him the victorious sword. The beautiful princess looked at the\narcher. He captured her heart at once. She asked inquisitively how\nhe had been able to get to her castle, which was on all sides\nsurrounded by water and knew no human footsteps. Thereupon the\narcher replied that he knew secret spells by which he could\ntransform himself into a deer, a hare, and a crow. The beautiful\nprincess, therefore, requested the archer to transform himself into\na deer before her eyes. When he made himself into a graceful deer,\nand began to fawn and bound, the princess secretly pulled a tuft of\nfur from his back. When he transformed himself again into a hare,\nand bounded with pricked up ears, the princess secretly pulled a\nlittle fur off his back. When he changed himself into a crow and\nbegan to fly about in the room, the princess secretly pulled a few\nfeathers from the bird's wings. She immediately wrote a letter to\nher father and delivered up the victorious sword. The young scholar\nflew across the sea in the form of a crow, then ran a great distance\nin that of a deer, till in the neighbourhood of the wood he bounded\nas a hare. The treacherous archer was already there in ambush, saw\nwhen he changed himself into a hare, and recognised him at once. He\ndrew his bow, let fly the arrow, and killed the hare. He took from\nhim the letter and carried off the sword, went to the castle,\ndelivered to the king the letter and the sword of victory, and\ndemanded at once the fulfilment of the promise that had been made.\nThe king, transported with joy, promised him immediately his\ndaughter's hand, mounted his horse, and rode boldly against his\nenemies with the sword. Scarcely had he espied their standards, when\nhe brandished the sword mightily several times, and that towards the\nfour quarters of the world. At every wave of the sword large masses\nof enemies fell dead on the spot, and others, seized with panic,\nfled like hares. The king returned joyful with victory, and sent for\nhis beautiful daughter, to give her to wife to the archer who\nbrought the sword. A banquet was prepared. The musicians were\nalready striking up, the whole castle was brilliantly lighted; but\nthe princess sat sorrowful beside the assassin-archer. She knew at\nonce that he was in nowise the man whom she saw in the castle on the\nisland, but she dared not ask her father where the other handsome\narcher was; she only wept much and secretly: her heart beat for the\nother.\n\nThe poor scholar, in the hare's skin, lay slain under the oak, lay\nthere a whole year, till one night he felt himself awakened from a\nmighty sleep, and before him stood the well-known spirit, whose body he\nhad buried. He told him what had happened to him, brought him back to\nlife, and said: 'To-morrow is the princess's wedding; hasten,\ntherefore, to the castle without a moment's delay; she will recognise\nyou; the archer, too, who killed you treacherously, will recognise\nyou.' The young man sprang up promptly, went to the castle with\nthrobbing heart, and entered the grand saloon, where numerous guests\nwere eating and drinking. The beautiful princess recognised him at\nonce, shrieked with joy, and fainted; and the assassin-archer, the\nmoment he set eyes on him, turned pale and green from fear. Then the\nyoung man related the treason and murderous act of the archer, and in\norder to prove his words, turned himself in presence of all the\nassembled company into a graceful deer, and began to fawn upon the\nprincess. She placed the tuft of fur pulled off him in the castle on\nthe back of the deer, and the fur immediately grew into its place.\nAgain he transformed himself into a hare, and similarly the piece of\nfur pulled off, which the princess had kept, grew into its place\nimmediately on contact. All looked on in astonishment till the young\nman changed himself into a crow. The princess brought out the feathers\nwhich she had pulled from its wings in the castle, and the feathers\nimmediately grew into their places. Then the old king commanded the\nassassin-archer to be put to death. Four horses were led out, all wild\nand unbroken. He was bound to them by his hands and feet, the horses\nwere started off by the whip, and at one bound they tore the\nassassin-archer to pieces. The young man obtained the hand of the\nyoung and charming princess. The whole castle was in a brilliant blaze\nof light, they drank, they ate with mirth; and the princess did not\nweep, for she possessed the husband that she wished for.\n\n\n\n\nXIX.--THE PALE MAIDEN.\n\n\nA peasant farmer in reduced circumstances had a beautiful daughter,\nwhom an old knight, the proprietor of the village, wanted to marry,\nand that even by compulsion. But the damsel disliked him, and her\nparents also refused to consent to the marriage. So the proprietor\npersecuted them in every way in his power, and so oppressed them\nwith forced labour and ordered them to be beaten on the slightest\noccasion, that the poor farmer could hold out no longer, but\ndetermined to remove from the village with his whole family. In the\ncottage in which the farmer dwelt there was something continually\ngrating behind the stove, but though they searched several times,\nand turned the seat constructed at the side of the stove upside\ndown, yet were they unable to discover aught. But when, on the day\nof their departure, they were removing the rest of their goods, they\nheard a more and more articulate grating, and whilst they were\nimpatiently listening, as the grating and scraping went on, out of\nthe stove sprang a thin pale form, like a buried maiden. 'What the\ndevil is this?' cried the father. 'For heaven's sake!' screamed the\nmother, and all the children after her. 'I am no devil,' said the\nthin pale maiden, 'but I am your Poverty. You are now taking\nyourselves off hence, and you are bound to take me with you to your\nnew abode.' The poor householder was no fool; he bethought himself a\nlittle, and neither seized nor throttled his Poverty, for she was so\nslight that he could have done nothing of any consequence to her,\nbut he made the lowest possible reverence to her, and said: 'Well,\nyour gracious ladyship, if you are so well satisfied amongst us,\nthen come with us; but, as you see, we are removing everything for\nourselves, so help us to carry something, and we shall get off the\nquicker.' Poverty agreed to this, and wanted to take a couple of\nsmall vessels out of the house, but the householder distributed the\nsmall vessels among his children to remove, and said that there was\nstill a block of wood in the yard which must also be taken away.\nGoing out into the yard, he made a cut in the block from above with\nhis axe. He then called Poverty, and politely requested her to help\nhim remove the block. Poverty did not see on which side to lift the\nblock, till, when the farmer pointed out the cleft to her, she put\nher long thin fingers in the chink. The farmer, pretending to lift\nthe block on the other side, suddenly pulled his axe out of the\ncleft, and Poverty's long thin fingers remained squeezed in the\nblock, so that, being utterly unable to pull them out, she shrieked\nout immediately in what pain she was. But all in vain. The farmer\nremoved all his goods as well as his children, quitted the cottage\ncompletely, and returned to the place no more.\n\nWhen the farmer settled in another village, things went with him so\nprosperously that ere long he was the richest man in the whole\nvillage; he married his daughter to a respectable and wealthy\nfarmer's son, twenty years old, and the whole family prospered. On\nthe other hand, the proprietor of the first village, the oppressor\nof these poor people, having to assign vacant cottages to fresh\ntenants, came to inspect the cottage left vacant by the reduced\nfarmer, who had refused to give him his daughter. Seeing Poverty\nbeside the block complaining of the pain of her fingers, he took\npity on the pale maiden, took her fingers out by means of a wedge,\nand set her completely free. From the time of her liberation the\npale maiden never quitted the side of her liberator, and when,\nmoreover, the devil lit a fire in the old stove, and the proprietor\nwent dotty with love in his old age, he spent and spent, and ran\nthrough everything that he had.\n\n\n\n\nXX.--THE PLAGUE-SWARM.\n\n\nA Ruthenian, having lost his wife and children by the plague, fled\ninto the forest from his desolate cottage and sought safety there.\nHe wandered about all day long; towards evening he constructed a\nbooth of branches, lit a little fire, and fell asleep, wearied out.\nIt was already after midnight when a mighty noise awoke him. He rose\nto his feet, listened, and heard a kind of songs in the distance,\nand accompanying the songs a sound of tambourines and fifes. He\nlistened, in no small astonishment, that, when death was raging\naround, people were rejoicing there so merrily. The noise that he\nheard kept continually approaching, and the terrified Podolian[8]\nespied a swarming multitude advancing along a wide road. It was a\ntroop of strange-looking spectres that circled round a carriage; the\ncarriage was black and elevated, and in it sat the Plague. At every\nstep the frightful company kept increasing; for on the road almost\neverything was transformed into a spectre.\n\n    [8] A Ruthenian by nationality, a Podolian by locality.\n\nFeebly burned his little fire; a tolerably large firebrand was still\nsmoking a little. Scarcely had the plague-swarm drawn near when the\nfirebrand stood upon feet, extended two arms--the burning part began\nto glitter with two glaring eyes--it began to sing in concert with\nthe others. The villager was stupefied; in speechless terror he\nseized his axe and was on the point of striking the nearest spectre,\nbut the axe flew out of his hands, transformed itself into a tall\nwoman with raven-black tresses, and, singing, vanished before his\neyes. The plague-swarm proceeded onwards; and the Podolian saw how\nthe trees, the bushes, the owls, the screech-owls, assuming tall\nshapes, increased the multitude, the terrible harbinger of a\nfrightful death. He fell down powerless, and when in the morning the\nwarmth of the sun awoke him, the vessels that he had brought with\nhim were smashed and broken, the clothes torn to rags, the\nprovisions spoilt. He perceived that no one but the plague-swarm had\ndone him all this mischief, and, thanking God that he had at any\nrate escaped with life, proceeded further to seek shelter and food.\n\n\n\n\nEASTERN SLAVONIANS.\n\n\n\n\n_WHITE RUSSIAN STORIES._\n\n\nWe now come to the first set of stories belonging to those\nSlavonians who make use of the Cyrillic instead of the Latin\ncharacters. The White Russians occupy the whole of the Governments\nof Minsk and Mogilef, and great part of those of Vitebsk and Grodno.\nIn these stories we first met with the distinction between the\nWestern and Eastern Slavonic terms for monarch. The Western\nSlavonians employ the terms _kral_, _krul_, or _korol_, for a\nmonarch, which are believed to originate from the name of the mighty\nFrankish monarch, KARL the Great, whom we generally know by his\nFrench title, Charlemagne. The Eastern Slavonians usually make use\nof the term TZAR, 'Emperor,' which is a corruption of the Latin\n'C\u00e6sar,' the title of the emperors of Constantinople, and later of\nthe Russian emperors. Thus in the following stories we shall find\nemperors and empresses generally, though not invariably, replacing\nkings and queens, till we return again to the West.\n\nThe White Russian language possesses but little literature, but was\nemployed for diplomatic purposes by the once powerful state of\nLithuania (Morfill's 'Slavonic Literature,' S.P.C.K., p. 113).\n\nThe heroes 'Overturn-hill' (_Vertogor_) and 'Overturn-oak'\n(_Vertodub_), who appear in No. 22, occur also in a story from the\nUkraine, given by Mr. Ralston (pp. 170-175). Several circumstances\nin No. 22 are also similar to incidents in the Russian tale of 'Ivan\nPopyalof' (Ralston, p. 66), but in spite of these similarities the\nstories are truly distinct.\n\n\n\n\nXXI.--THE FROST, THE SUN, AND THE WIND.\n\n\nOnce upon a time a man went out alone, and met on the road the Sun,\nthe Frost, and the Wind. Well, on meeting them, he gave them a\nsalutation: 'Praised' [be the Lord Jesus Christ]! To which did he\npresent the salutation? The Sun said: 'To me, that I might not burn\nhim.' The Frost said: 'To me, and not to you, for he is not so much\nafraid of you as of me.' 'Story-tellers! it's false!' said, lastly,\nthe Wind; 'that man presented the salutation not to you two, but to\nme.' They began to jangle and quarrel together, and all but pulled\nthe mantles off each other's backs. 'Well, if it's so, let's ask him\nto whom he presented the salutation, to me or to you?' They overtook\nthe man and asked him; then he said: 'To the Wind.' 'Didn't I say\nthat it was to me?' 'Stop you! I'll give you a baking, you rascal!'\nsaid the Sun; 'you shall remember me.' Then said the Wind: 'Never\nfear, he won't bake you; I shall blow and cool him.' 'So will I\nfreeze you up, you scoundrel!' said the Frost. 'Don't be frightened,\npoor fellow! then I shan't blow, and he'll do nothing to you; he\ndoesn't freeze you up without a wind.'\n\n\n\n\nXXII.--LITTLE ROLLING-PEA.\n\n\nIn a certain empire and a certain province, on the ocean sea, on the\nisland of Bujan, stood a green oak, and under the oak a roasted ox,\nand by its side a whetted knife; suddenly the knife was seized. Be\nso good as to eat! This isn't a story (_kazka_), but only a preface\nto a story (_prikazka_): whoever shall listen to my story, may he\nhave a sableskin cloak, and a horseskin cloak, and a very beautiful\ndamsel, a hundred roubles for the wedding, and fifty for a\njollification!\n\nThere was a husband and wife. The wife went for water, took a\nbucket, and after drawing water, went home, and all at once she saw\na pea rolling along. She thought to herself: 'This is the gift of\nGod.' She took it up and ate it, and in course of time became the\nmother of a baby boy, who grew not by years, but by hours, like\nmillet dough when leavened. They nursed and petted him in a way that\ncouldn't be improved upon, and put him to school. What others learnt\nin three or four years he understood in a single year, and the book\nwas not sufficient for him. He came from the school to his father\nand mother: 'Now, then, daddy and mammy, thank my teachers, for\nalready many come to school to me. Thank God, I know more than\nthey.' Well, he went into the street to amuse himself, and found a\npin, which he brought to his father and mother. He said to his\nfather: 'Here's this piece of iron; take it to a smith, and let him\nmake me a mace of seven poods weight.' His father didn't say a\nsingle word to him, but only thought in his own mind: 'The Lord has\ngiven me a child different from other people; I think he has a\nmiddling understanding, but he is now making a fool of me. Can it\npossibly be that a seven-pood[9] mace can be made out of a pin?' His\nfather, having a considerable sum of money in gold, silver, and\npaper, drove to the town, bought seven poods of iron, and gave them\nto a smith to make a mace of. They made him a seven-pood mace, and\nhe brought it home. Little Rolling-pea came out from the attic, took\nhis seven-pood mace, and, hearing a storm in the sky, threw it into\nthe clouds. He went up into his attic: 'Mother, look in my head\nbefore I start; a nasty thing is biting me, for I am a young lad.'\n... Well, rising from his mother's knees, he went out into the yard\nand saw the clouds. He fell down with his right ear to the broad\nground, and on rising up called his father: 'Father, come here: see\nwhat is whizzing and humming; my mace is coming to the ground.' He\nplaced his knee in the way of his mace; the mace struck him on the\nknee and broke in halves. He became angry with his father: 'Well,\nfather, why did you not have a mace made for me out of the iron that\nI gave you? If you had done so, it would not have broken, but only\nbent. Here is the same iron for you, go and get it made; don't add\nany of your own.' The smiths put the iron in the fire and began to\nbeat it with hammers and pull it, and made a seven-pood mace.\n\n    [9] A pood is 40 Russian, 36 English, pounds.\n\nLittle Rolling-pea took his seven-pood mace and got ready to go on a\njourney, a long journey; he went and went, and Overturn-hill met\nhim. 'I salute you, brother Little Rolling-pea! whither are you\ngoing? whither are you journeying?' Little Rolling-pea also asked\nhim a question: 'Who are you?' 'I am the mighty hero Overturn-hill.'\n'Will you be my comrade?' said Little Rolling-pea. He replied:\n'Possibly I will be at your service.' They went on together. They\nwent and went, and the mighty hero Overturn-oak met them. 'God bless\nyou, brothers! Good health to you! What manner of men are you?'\ninquired Overturn-oak. 'Little Rolling-pea and Overturn-hill.'\n'Whither are you going?' 'To such a city. A dragon devours people\nthere, so we are going to smite him.' 'Is it not possible for me to\njoin your company?' 'It is possible,' said Little Rolling-pea. They\nwent to the city, and made themselves known to the emperor. 'What\nmanner of men are you?' 'We are mighty heroes!' 'Is it in your power\nto deliver this city? A dragon is ravenous and destroys much\npeople. He must be slain.' 'Why do we call ourselves mighty heroes,\nif we do not slay him?' Midnight came, and they went up to a bridge\nof guelder-rosewood over a river of fire. Lo! up came a six-headed\ndragon, and posted himself upon the bridge, and immediately his\nhorse neighed, his falcon chattered, and his hound howled. He gave\nhis horse a blow on the head: 'Don't neigh, devil's carrion![10]\nDon't chatter, falcon! And you, hound, don't howl! For here is\nLittle Rolling-pea. Well now,' said he, 'come forth, Little\nRolling-pea! shall we fight or shall we try our strength?' Little\nRolling-pea answered: 'Not to try their strength do good youths\ntravel, but only to fight.' They began the combat. Little\nRolling-pea and his comrades struck the dragon three blows at a time\non three heads. The dragon, seeing that he could not escape\ndestruction, said: 'Well, brothers, it is only little Rolling-pea\nthat troubles me. I'd settle matters with you two.' They began to\nfight again, smashed the dragon's remaining heads, took the dragon's\nhorse to the stable, his falcon to the mews, and his hound to the\nkennel; and Little Rolling-pea cut out the tongues from all six\nheads, took and placed them in his knapsack, and the headless trunk\nthey cast into the river of fire. They came to the emperor, and\nbrought him the tongues as certain proof. The emperor thanked them.\n'I see that you are mighty heroes and deliverers of the city, and\nall the people. If you wish to drink and eat, take all manner of\nbeverages and eatables without money and without tax.' And from joy\nhe issued a proclamation throughout the whole town, that all the\neating-houses, inns, and small public-houses were to be open for the\nmighty heroes. Well, they went everywhere, drank, amused themselves,\nrefreshed themselves, and enjoyed various honours.\n\n    [10] An insulting nickname.\n\nNight came, and exactly at midnight they went under the\nguelder-rose bridge to the river of fire, and speedily up came a\nseven-headed dragon. Immediately his horse neighed, his falcon\nchattered, and his hound howled. The dragon immediately struck his\nhorse on the head. 'Neigh not, devil's carrion! chatter not, falcon!\nhowl not, hound! for here is Little Rolling-pea. Now then,' said he,\n'come forth, Little Rolling-pea! Shall we fight or try our\nstrength?' 'Good youths travel not to try their strength, but only\nto fight.' And they began the combat, and the heroes beat off six of\nthe dragon's heads; the seventh remained. The dragon said: 'Give me\nbreathing time!' But Little Rolling-pea said: 'Don't expect me to\ngive you breathing time.' They began the combat again. He beat off\nthe last head also, cut out the tongues, and placed them in his\nknapsack, but threw the trunk into the river of fire. They came to\nthe emperor, and brought the tongues for certain proof.\n\nThe third time they went at midnight to the bridge of guelder-rose\nand the river of fire; speedily up came to them a nine-headed\ndragon. Immediately his horse neighed, his falcon chattered, and his\nhound howled. The dragon struck his horse on the head. 'Neigh not,\ndevil's carrion! falcon, chatter not! hound, howl not! for here is\nLittle Rolling-pea. And now come forth, Little Rolling-pea! Shall we\nfight or try our strength?' Little Rolling-pea said: 'Not to try\ntheir strength do good youths travel, but only to fight.' They began\nthe combat, and the heroes beat off eight heads; the ninth remained.\nLittle Rolling-pea said: 'Give us breathing time, unclean power!' It\nanswered: 'Take breathing time or not, you will not overcome me; you\nslew my brothers by craft, not by strength.' Little Rolling-pea not\nonly fought, but thought how to delude the dragon. All at once he\nthought of a plan, and said: 'Yes, there's still much of your\nbrother behind--I'll take you all.' Hastily the dragon looked\nround, and he cut off the ninth head also, cut out the tongues, put\nthem into his knapsack, and threw the trunk into the river of fire.\nThey went to the emperor. The emperor said: 'I thank you, mighty\nheroes! live with God, and with joy and courage, and take as much\ngold, silver, and paper money as you want.'\n\nAfter this the wives of the three dragons met together and took\ncounsel together. 'Whence did those men come who slew our husbands?\nWell, we _shall_ be women if we don't get rid of them out of the\nworld.' The youngest said: 'Now then, sisters! let us go by the\nhighroad, where they will go. I will make myself into a very\nbeautiful wayside seat, and if, when wearied, they sit down upon it,\nit will be death to them all.' The second said to her: 'If you do\nnothing to them, I will make myself into an apple-tree beside the\nhighroad, and when they begin to come up to me, the agreeable odour\nwill attract them; and if they taste the apples, it will be death to\nthem all.' Well, the heroes came up to the beautiful wayside seat.\nLittle Rolling-pea thrust his sword into it up to the hilt--blood\npoured forth! They went on to the apple-tree. 'Brother Little\nRolling-pea,' said the heroes, 'let us each eat an apple.' But he\nsaid: 'If it is possible, let us eat; if it is not possible, let us\ngo on further.' He drew his sword and thrust it into the apple-tree\nup to the hilt, and blood poured forth immediately. The third\nshe-dragon hastened after them, and extended her jaws from the earth\nto the sky. Little Rolling-pea saw that there was not room for them\nto pass by. How were they to save themselves? He looked about and\nsaw that she specially aimed at him, and threw the three horses into\nher mouth. The she-dragon flew off to the blue sea to drink water,\nand they proceeded further. She pursued them again. He saw that she\nwas near, and threw the three falcons into her mouth. Again the\nshe-dragon flew to the blue sea to drink water, and they proceeded\nfurther. Little Rolling-pea looked round; the she-dragon was again\npursuing him, and seeing his danger, he took and threw the three\nhounds into her mouth. Again she flew off to the blue sea to drink\nwater; while she drank her fill, they proceeded still further. He\nlooked round and saw that she was catching them up again. Little\nRolling-pea took his two comrades and threw them into her mouth. The\nshe-dragon flew to the blue sea to drink water, and he went on.\nAgain she overtook him; he looked round, saw that she was not far\noff, and said: 'Lord, protect me and save my soul!' He saw before\nhim an iron workshop, and fled into the smithy. The smith said to\nhim: 'Why, stranger, are you so cowardly?' 'Honourable gentlemen!\nprotect me from an unclean power, and save my soul!' They took and\nshut the smithy completely up. 'Give up to me what is mine!' said\nthe she-dragon. Then the smiths said to her: 'Lick the iron door\nthrough, and we will place him on your tongue.' She licked the door\nthrough, and placed her tongue in the centre. The smiths seized her\ntongue three at a time with red-hot pincers, and said: 'Come,\nstranger, do with her what you will!' He went out into the yard, and\nbegan to pound the she-dragon, and pounded her skin to the bones,\nand her bones to the marrow; then took her with her whole carcase\nand buried her seven fathoms deep. Then, and not till then, did he\nlive and eat morsels; but we ate bread, for he had none. I was\nthere, too, and drank honey-wine; it flowed over my beard, but\ndidn't get into my mouth.\n\n\n\n\nXXIII.--THE WONDERFUL BOYS.\n\n\nA father had three daughters; they went to the river to wash the\nlinen. The king's son rode up. One said: 'Well, if the king's son\nwere to marry me, I would hem the whole palace round with a single\nneedle.' The second said: 'If the king's son were to marry me, I\nwould feed the whole palace with a single roll.' But the third said:\n'If the king's son were to marry me, I would bring him two sons,\neach with a moon on his head and a star on the nape of his neck.'\nThe king rode up to the one that said: 'I would bring him two sons;'\nthey lived one year, two years, and she was expecting to become a\nmother. The king came and gave orders to her mother: 'Whatever God\ngives my wife, let it be reared.' He rode away twenty miles off, and\nGod gave his wife children; she brought him two sons, each with a\nmoon on his head and a star on the nape of his neck. His wife wrote\na letter, that God had given them two sons, each with a moon on his\nhead and a star on the nape of his neck. A servant carried the\nletter to him, and went in to stop the night at the house of the\nqueen's sister, without knowing that it was her sister. He lay down\nto sleep; then she took and opened the letter, erased that which was\nwritten in it--'Each with a moon on his head and a star on the nape\nof his neck'--and wrote instead, that it was not a snake nor a\nlizard--it was nobody knew what, that she had become the mother of.\nThe man went to the king and delivered the letter. He read it\nthrough: 'What God has given her, let it not be destroyed without my\norders.' He went back and again stopped at the same place to pass\nthe night; she took the letter again, opened it, erased what the\nking had written, and wrote instead, that before he returned, she\nwas to bury her sons. When he arrived, the king's wife read it\nthrough, and began to weep; she was grieved to bury those beautiful\nsons. She dug two graves in the yard and buried them; out of them\ngrew two maples, a golden stem and a silver one. The king came to\nthe house and put her away because she had buried them without his\norders.\n\nHe rode off and married his wife's second sister. They lived\ntogether, and after a time she said: 'My most illustrious husband!\nlet us cut down those maples and make ourselves a bed.'--'Ah! my\nmost illustrious husband! let us cut up that bed and burn it, and\nsprinkle the ashes on the road.' A shepherd was driving sheep that\nway; a ewe strayed and swallowed some of the ashes; she bore two\nhe-lambs; on the head of each was a moon, on the back of the neck a\nstar. Then she disliked those lambs, ordered them to be slaughtered,\nand the entrails to be thrown out into the street. The first wife\ncame out, collected the entrails, cooked and ate them, and became\nthe mother of two sons; each had a moon on his head and a star on\nthe nape of his neck. The two sons grew and grew, and never took off\ntheir caps. Then the king had a desire that somebody should come to\ntell him stories. People said that there were two brothers there who\ncould tell stories. They came to tell stories.\n\nThey began to tell a story. 'There was a king who had a queen; the\nqueen became the mother of two sons; on the head of each was a moon,\non the nape of the neck a star. Afterwards the king went hunting;\nthe queen wrote a letter and sent it. The man went to her sister's\nfor the night; she took the letter, opened it, and wrote that it was\nnot a snake nor a lizard--it was nobody knew what, that the queen\nhad been the mother of. The king read it through, and replied that\nit was to be reared, whether it were a snake or a lizard. The man\nwent homewards, and again rested at the house where he had passed\nthe night. She opened the letter, and wrote that she was to bury it\n'_by my arrival_.' Then she dug two holes--graves--and buried them;\nand two maples grew out, a golden stem and a silver one. The new\nqueen contrived that they should be cut down and a bed made of them,\nand began to sleep on it, and began to be uncomfortable: she\nordered the bed to be cut up and burnt, and the ashes to be thrown\nout into the yard. A shepherd was driving sheep; a ewe swallowed\nsome of the ashes and bore two he-lambs; each had a moon on the head\nand a star on the back of the neck. The queen ordered the lambs to\nbe slaughtered, and their entrails to be thrown out into the street.\nHer divorced sister went out into the street, collected the\nentrails, took them to her house, cooked and ate them, and became\nthe mother of two sons; each had a moon on his head and a star on\nthe nape of his neck.' The boys bowed and took off their caps, thus\nilluminating the whole room. The second wife was placed on an iron\nharrow, and torn to pieces, but the king took his first wife, and\nthey began to live happily.\n\n\n\n\n_LITTLE RUSSIAN STORIES._\n\n(FROM GALICIA.)\n\n\nMr. Ralston does not seem to have been directly acquainted with\nthese tales; at any rate, none of them are given in either his book\nof Russian folk-tales or in that of Russian songs. It is, therefore,\nthe more necessary for me to supplement his admirable work by giving\nall the Galician stories in Erben's collection.\n\nThe Little Russians, or Ruthenians, form the bulk of the population\nin the Austrian province of Galicia, formerly the principality of\nHalicz, and also designated 'Red Russia.' The capital is Lemberg\n(contracted from L\u00f6wenberg), or Lv\u00f3v. They are also found in the\nadjoining parts of the north of Hungary, and in the Bukovina.\n\nI think that the present selection is the first introduction of the\nliterature of the Austrian Russians to the notice of the British\nreader.\n\nThe prophet Elijah (_Ilya_) is a very important and powerful\npersonage in Russian folklore, and we find him accordingly in No. 27\nholding a prominent position in the heavenly hierarchy, even before\nthe creation of man! He seems to have taken the place of Perun, the\ngod of thunder, among the heathen Slavonians.\n\nI must also draw attention to the extreme stupidity of the 'devils'\nof Slavonic folklore. They are still less intelligent than their\nTeutonic brethren, and do not appear to have any connection with the\nArch Enemy, but to be, as Mr. Ralston says (p. 370), rather 'the\nlubber fiends of heathen mythology, beings endowed with supernatural\nmight, but scantily provided with mental power.' No. 26 gives a\nspecimen of their average intelligence.\n\n\n\n\nXXIV.--GOD KNOWS HOW TO PUNISH MAN.\n\n\nThere was a wealthy, a very wealthy proprietor; he had buildings\nenough; there was where and wherewith for every purpose. Once upon a\ntime he had guests at his house, and said to them: 'If my buildings\nwere to be burnt down, I should know where and how to rebuild them.'\nHe said, and it came to pass. While he was conversing thus with his\nguests, somebody went out into the courtyard, but returned still\nquicker and said: 'You're on fire!' But the proprietor said: 'Never\nmind; I wish it to be so.' He neither attempted to extinguish the\nfire himself nor allowed others to do so, and thus all was reduced\nto ashes; only the site was left. But he didn't trouble himself a\nbit, but went and lived by the waterside, and kept his money in a\nwillow-tree, being thus a source of danger to himself. Unexpectedly\na heavy rain fell, and before he could look about him the water had\nalready undermined the willow and carried it away. He then became\npoor, so that it became his lot to serve others. He was obliged to\ncarry letters for gentlemen.\n\nWell, it came to pass once that he was going with a letter, and\nnight overtook him on the way; what was he now to do? He begged a\nnight's lodging at a certain man's house; this man was rich and\nkindly, so he said: 'Good! you shall not pass my house.' Meanwhile\nthe mistress prepared supper, and after supping they prayed to God,\nbut before they lay down to sleep they conversed together about\nthis and that. The traveller began to relate how he had himself been\nwealthy, how he had been burnt out, and had come to poverty. 'I\nhad,' said he, 'still a little money, and kept it in a willow-tree,\nbut great floods came, undermined the willow, and carried my money\naway with the water! Thus I remained with nothing, and now it has\nbeen my lot more than once to beg for bread.'\n\nScarcely had his host heard this when he looked at his wife, for the\nwillow had floated to shore under their barn, and when they began to\ncut it up, the money tumbled out a little at a time. They both went out\ninto a room, and began to consult how to return the money to him\nwithout his knowing whence it came. They consulted. Then said the host:\n'Well, what shall we do? Let us cut off the under part of a loaf, take\nout the crumb, put the money inside, then cover it again with the\ncrust; and when he is on the point of departing let us give it him, as\nif it were provision for his journey.' And so they did. The next day\nwhen he was starting to proceed on his way, they gave him the loaf of\nbread, and said: 'Here's for you; it will be of use on the road.' He\ntook it, made his bow, and went on his way. On the road there met him\nsome merchants--pardon me, some drovers--purchasing swine, who had\nformerly visited him more than once, and they asked him: 'Of course you\nknow what we're after?' and he replied: 'Formerly it was at my house;\nmisfortune has come upon me; I've been burnt out, and now I serve\nothers.' When he had spoken these words he all at once gave his\nknapsack a tap, and said: 'Come! buy some bread.' (He took it out.)\n'Somehow I'm not hungry, and it's heavy to carry; some money would be\nmore advantageous on my journey.' Bargain and sale. They came to an\nagreement. The merchants took the bread and he the money, and they\nparted.\n\nThe merchants came to that very same village, and went to the house\nof that very same proprietor, from whom the bread came, and began to\nmake inquiries of him respecting their business. 'Not I, but God!'\nsaid he; 'sit down, meanwhile, and rest;' and he sent for a snack\nfor them. But they said to him that he needn't trouble himself. 'On\nthe road we bought a loaf of excellent bread from a man who was\ngoing with a letter.' They (the host and his wife) felt a quaking at\nthe heart; they had a suspicion; but the merchants soon took it out\nand placed it on the table, the very same loaf, which they had given\nto the traveller. The proprietor looked at his wife, and said to\ntheir guests: 'Before anything is done, let us go and have a look\nround; maybe you will make a purchase.' 'Let us go!' and they went\nout of the house, but he winked to his wife, and she knew at once\nwhat he wanted. When they went out on their business, the mistress\nbrought out another loaf and placed it on the table, but removed the\nfirst one. They returned, breakfasted, either did or didn't come to\nterms, and went away.\n\nAfter some time the man came again with a letter, and turned in\nagain at the proprietor's, just as at an old acquaintance's, for the\nnight. They received him and were glad, for they thought they might\nnow be successful in returning the money somehow or other. They\nwaited; they passed the night, and when he had gone out of the\nhouse, they wrapped the money in a cloth, put it in his knapsack,\ngave him breakfast, and dismissed him. He went off, and as he went\nby a footpath through the orchard, he bethought himself: 'Ah! what\nbeautiful apples! Come! let me pluck a few for my journey.' He took\noff his knapsack and hung it on a tree, that it mightn't embarrass\nhim, and began himself to reach after the apples. Just then up came\nhis host, the proprietor. He saw him, and took flight so much the\nquicker, leaving his knapsack on the tree. The proprietor espied the\nknapsack hanging on a branch, began to think, and afterwards also\nsaid: 'The poor fellow was frightened, and has forgotten his\nknapsack.' He took down the knapsack, and said: 'His road goes to\nthe foot-bridge; he ran away through the bushes that he mightn't see\nme. I'll put it on the bridge, and then he'll be sure to take it\nup.' Even so he did. He ran round sideways, placed the money on the\nbridge, and went himself behind a bush not very far off, to keep a\nlook-out and see what would happen.\n\nSuddenly the traveller came up to the bridge, and looking downwards\nthought, and afterwards said: 'It's good that I still have some\nsight, at any rate, and can go on my way and earn something to get\nmy bread. What should I do if I were to go blind? How should I get\nacross this bridge? Come, I'll see whether I could do it\nsuccessfully.' Then, closing his eyes, tap, tap, with his stick over\nthe bridge, he went straight forwards, stepped over the money, and\nwent his way. The proprietor, recovering from his astonishment, said\naloud: 'He has angered God!'\n\n\n\n\nXXV.--THE GOOD CHILDREN.\n\n\nThe Lord was angered at mankind, and for three years there was a\ngreat famine over all the world; nowhere in the world was even a\ngrain of corn produced, and what people sowed failed to come up from\na drought so great, that for three years there was not a drop of\nrain or dew. For one year more people managed to live somehow or\nother, thrashing up what old corn there was; the rich made money,\nfor corn rose very high. Autumn came. Where anybody had or purchased\nold seed, they sowed it; and entreated the Lord, hoped in the love\nof God, if God would give fertility, 'if God would forgive our\nsins.' But it was not so. They did not obtain the love of God. When\nthey cast the seed into the holy earth, that was the last they saw\nof it; if it germinated somewhat, if it sent up shoots, it withered\naway close to the ground. Woe! and abundance of it! God's world went\non, sorrowed and wept, for now it was manifest that death by hunger\nwas approaching. They somehow got miserably through the winter.\nSpring came. Where anybody had still any grain, they sowed it. What\nwould come to pass? No blessing was poured forth, for the drought\nbegan with wind. Moreover, there was but little snow in the winter,\nand everything dried up so that the black earth remained as it was.\nIt now came to this--all the world began to perish! The people died;\nthe cattle perished; as misery carried them, so did the people\nproceed.\n\nThere was at that time a powerful emperor in a certain empire; as\nthe young ordinarily cleave to the young, so would he associate only\nwith young men. Whether in council or in office or in the army,\nthere were none but young men; no old man had access to anything\nanywhere. Well, as young men, unripe in understanding, were the\ncounsellors, so was their counsel also unripe. One year passed, a\nsecond passed; then, in the third year, they saw that misery was\nalready on every side, that it was already coming to this, that all\nthe world would perish. The young emperor assembled his young\ncouncil, and they began to advise after their fashion; they advised,\nthey advised, and ah! the resolutions they came to were such that it\nis a sin even to give an account of their resolutions! Well, the\nemperor made proclamation after their advice, that all old people\nwere to be drowned, in order that, said he, bread might not be\nwasted in vain, but there might be a supply of bread for the young;\nand that no one should venture, on pain of death, to maintain or\nharbour any old man. Well, heralds went about throughout the whole\ncountry, and promulgated the emperor's command everywhere--yea,\nbrigands seized old people where they chose, and drowned them\nwithout mercy.\n\nThere were then in a certain place three own brothers, who had an\naged father. When they heard of this edict, they told their father;\nand their father said: 'My sons, such is the will of God and the\nwill of the emperor; take me, let me perish at once, only that you,\nmy children, may live on. I am already with one foot in the grave.'\n'No, our own daddy! we will die, but we will not give you up,' cried\nthe good sons with one voice, and fell upon his neck; 'we will keep\nyou; we will take from our own mouths, and will nourish you.'\n\nThe three brothers took their aged father, conducted him into their\ncottage, dug under the raised portion of the floor, made up a bed\nwith sheets and frieze-coats, for straw was scarce, and placed the\nold man there, brought him a loaf of bread as black as the holy\nearth, and covered him over with the floor. There the old man abode\nfor two or three months, and his sons brought him clandestinely all\nthat they had. The summer passed without harvest, without mowing.\nSeptember passed too. Autumn passed without joy. Winter passed too.\nNow came spring; the sun became warm. It was now time to sow, but\nthere was no seed. The world was large, but there was no seed-corn.\nWhen one kind was used up, the people sowed others, hoping that\nthere would be a crop; but when they cast it into the holy earth, it\nrotted there. It seemed as if the end of the world were come.\n\nThen the three sons went to their father, and asked him: 'Daddy,\nwhat shall we do? It's time to sow. God is now sending showers of\nrain; the earth is warmed and is crumbling like grits; but of seed\nthere is not a blessed grain.' 'Take, my sons, and strip the old\nroof off the house, and thresh the bundles and sow the chaff.' The\nlads stripped the house and barn (anyhow, there was nothing in it),\nand threshed away till the sweat ran from their brows, so that they\ncrushed the bundles as small as poppy-seeds. When they sowed, God\ngave a blessing; so in a week's time it became green like rue; in a\nmonth's time, in two months' time, there was corn, ever so\nmuch--ever so much, and all manner of seed was found there: there\nwas rye, there was wheat and barley; yea, maybe, there was also a\nplant or two of buckwheat and millet. Wherever you went throughout\nthe world there was no corn to be seen; all the plain was overgrown\nwith grasses, steppe-grasses, and thistles, but with _them_ was corn\nlike a forest. How people wondered and were astounded! The fame\nthereof went over the whole world, and the news reached the emperor\nhimself, that in such and such a place there were three own\nbrothers, and with them corn had sprung up for all the world, and so\nbeautiful, never was the like beheld! The emperor ordered the three\nbrothers to appear in the imperial presence.\n\nThe brothers heard of it, and smacked the tops of their heads with\ntheir hands. 'Now it will be amen with us!' They went again to their\nfather. 'Daddy! they tell us to appear before the emperor. Advise\nus, daddy, what to do!' 'Go, my sons--what will be, will be; and\ntell the pure truth before the emperor.' The brothers started off\nand went to the emperor. The emperor inquired menacingly: 'Why,\nvillains, did ye hoard up corn, when there was such a famine that so\nmany people died of hunger? Tell the truth; if not, I shall order\nyou to be tortured and racked even unto death.' The brothers related\nall as it had been, from the beginning to the end. 'Now, most\ngracious emperor, give us over to any torture whatever, or let thy\nkindness have compassion on us!' The emperor's brow became smooth,\nhis eyes became serene. He then ordered the old father to be brought\nbefore him at once, and made him sit beside him close to his throne,\nand hearkened to his counsel till death, and his sons he rewarded\nhandsomely. He ordered the corn to be collected ear by ear, and to\nbe rubbed out in men's hands; and sent it about for seed-corn in all\nempires, and from it was produced holy corn for all the world.\n\n\n\n\nXXVI.--THE DEVIL AND THE GIPSY.\n\n\nAn old gipsy went to engage himself as servant to a devil; the devil\nsaid: 'I will give you what you wish to bring me fire-wood and water\nregularly, and to put fire under the kettle.' 'Good!' The devil gave\nhim a pail and said: 'Go yonder to the well and draw some water.'\n\nOur gipsy went off, got some water into the pail, and drew it up\nwith a hook; but, being old, he couldn't draw it out, and was\nobliged to pour the water out, in order not to lose the pail in the\nwell. But what was he now to return home with? Well, our gipsy took\nsome stakes out of a fence, and grubbed round about the well, as if\nhe were digging. The devil waited and waited, and as the gipsy\ndidn't appear himself, of course he didn't appear with the water.\nAfter awhile he went himself to meet the gipsy, and without thinking\ninquired: 'But why do you loiter so? Why haven't you brought water\nby this time?' 'Well, what? I want to dig out the whole well, and\nbring it to you!' 'But you would have wasted time, if you had\npurposed anything of the sort; then you wouldn't have brought the\npail in time, that the quantity of fire-wood might not be\ndiminished.' And he drew out the water and carried it himself. 'Eh!\nif I had but known, I should have brought it long ago.'\n\nThe devil sent him once to the wood for fire-wood. The gipsy\nstarted off, but rain assailed him in the wood and wetted him\nthrough; the old fellow caught cold and couldn't stoop after the\nsticks. What was he to do? Well, he took and pulled bast; he pulled\nseveral heaps, went round the wood, and tied one tree to another\nwith strips of the bast. The devil waited, waited on, and was out of\nhis wits on account of the gipsy. He went himself, and when he saw\nwhat was going on: 'What are you doing, loiterer?' said he. 'What am\nI doing? I want to bring you wood. I'm tying the whole forest into\none bundle, in order not to do useless work.' The devil saw that he\nwas having a bad time of it with the gipsy, took up the fire-wood,\nand went home.\n\nAfter settling his affairs at home, he went to an older devil to ask\nhis advice: 'I've hired a gipsy, but he's quite a nuisance; _we're_\ntolerably 'cute,' says he, 'but he's still stronger and 'cuter than\nwe. Unless I kill him----' 'Good, when he lies down to sleep, kill\nhim, that he mayn't lead us by the nose any more.' The time came to\ngo home; they lay down to sleep; but the gipsy evidently noticed\nsomething, for he placed his fur-coat on the bench where he usually\nslept, and crept himself into a corner under the bench. When the\ntime came, the devil thought that the gipsy was now in a dead sleep,\ntook up an iron club, and beat the fur-coat till the sound went on\nall sides. He then lay down to sleep, thinking: 'Oho! it's now amen\nfor the gipsy!' But the gipsy grunted: 'Oh!' and made a rustling in\nthe corner. 'What ails you?' 'Oh, a flea bit me.'\n\nThe devil went again to the older one for advice: 'But where to kill\nhim?' said he. 'When I smashed him with a club, he only made a\nrustling and said: \"A flea bit me.\"' 'Then pay him up now,' said the\nelder devil, 'as much as he wants, and pack him off about his\nbusiness.' The gipsy chose a bag with ducats and went off. Then the\ndevil was sorry about the money, and consulted the older one again.\n'Overtake the gipsy, and say that the one of you that kicks a stone\nbest, so that the sound goes three miles, shall have the money.' The\ndevil overtook him: 'Stay, gipsy! I've something to say to you.'\n'What are you after, son of the enemy?' 'Oh, stay, let us kick; the\none that kicks loudest against a stone, let his be the money.' 'Now\nthen, kick away,' said the gipsy. The devil kicked once, twice, till\nit resounded in their ears; but the gipsy meanwhile poured some\nwater on it: 'Eh! what's that, you fool?' 'When I kick a dry stone,\nwater spurts out.' 'Ah! when he kicks, tremble! water has spurted\nout of the stone.'\n\nThe devil went again for advice. The elder one said: 'Let the one\nwho throws the club highest have the money.' The gipsy had now got\nsome miles on his way; he looked round; the devil was behind him:\n'Stop! wait, gipsy!' 'What do you want, son of the enemy?' 'The one\nof us that throws the club highest, let his be the money.' 'Well,\nlet us throw now. I've two brothers up yonder in heaven, both\nsmiths, and it will just suit them either for a hammer or for\ntongs.' The devil threw, so that it whizzed, and was scarcely\nvisible. The gipsy took it by the end, scarcely held it up, and\nshouted: 'Hold out your hands there, brothers--hey!' But the devil\nseized him by the hand: 'Ah, stop! don't throw; it would be a pity\nto lose it.'\n\nThe elder devil advised him again: 'Overtake him once more, and say,\n\"The one that runs fastest to a certain point, let him have the\nmoney.\"' The devil overtook him; the gipsy said: 'Do you know what?\nI shan't contend with you any more, for you don't deserve it; but\nI've a young son, Hare, who's only just three days old; if you\novertake him, you shall measure yourself with me.' The gipsy espied\na hare in a firwood: 'There he is! little Hare! now, then, Hare!\nCatch him up!' When the hare started he went hither and thither in\nbounds, only a line of dust rose behind him. 'Bah!' said the devil,\n'he doesn't run straight.' 'In my family no one ever did run\nstraight. He runs as he pleases.'\n\nThe elder devil advised him to wrestle; the stronger was to have the\nmoney. 'Eh!' said the gipsy; 'you hear the terms for me to wrestle\nwith you: I have a father, he is so old that for the last seven\nyears I have carried him food into a cave; if you floor him, then\nyou shall wrestle with me.' But the gipsy knew of a bear, and led\nthe devil to his cave. 'Go,' said he, 'in there; wake him up, and\nwrestle with him.' The devil went in and said: 'Get up, longbeard!\nlet us have a wrestle.' Alas! when the bear began to hug him, when\nhe began to claw him, he beat him out, he turned him out, and threw\nhim down on the floor of the cave.\n\nThe elder devil advised that the one who whistled best, so that it\ncould be heard for three miles, should have the money. The devil\nwhistled so that it resounded and whizzed again. But the gipsy said:\n'Do you know what? When I whistle you will go blind and deaf; bind\nup your eyes and ears.' He did so. The gipsy took a mallet for\nsplitting logs, and banged it once and twice against his ears. 'Oh,\nstop! Oh! don't whistle, or you'll kill me! May ill luck smite you\nwith your money! Go where you will never be heard of again!' That's\nall.\n\n\n\n\nXXVII.--GOD AND THE DEVIL.\n\n\nOnce upon a time there was nothing; there was only the heaven above,\nand water beneath. Then God journeyed [in a boat] upon the water and\nsaw a vast, vast crust of hard foam, on which sat the devil. God\nasked him: 'What art thou?' 'I will not converse with thee,'\nreplied the wicked one, 'unless thou takest me into thy boat.' God\npromised, and heard in reply: 'I'm the devil.' They both journeyed\non without conversing together at all, till the devil began: 'How\nvery nice and beautiful it would be, if there were firm land in the\nworld!' 'There shall be,' answered God; 'go down into the depth of\nthe sea and bring up a handful of sand; I will make the land from\nit. When thou descendest, and art about to take the sand, say these\nwords: \"I take thee in the name of God.\"' The devil didn't wait\nlong, but was immediately under the water. On the bottom he reached\nafter the sand with both hands with these words: 'I take thee in my\nown name.' When he came up to the top he looked with curiosity at\nhis closed fists, and was astonished at seeing that they were empty.\nBut God, observing what had happened to him, consoled him, and told\nhim to go down to the bottom once more. He did so, and as soon as he\nbegan to grub into the sand in the deep, he said: 'I take thee in\nhis name.' However, he brought up only as much sand, as could get\nunder his nails; God took a little of the sand and firm land formed\nitself, but only as much as was required for a bed. When night came,\nGod and the devil lay down side by side on the firm land to pass the\nnight. As soon as our Lord God fell asleep, the devil pushed him\ntowards the east, in order that he might fall into the water and\nperish. In the direction in which he pushed him, there did it become\nland for a long way. The devil tried pushing him towards the west,\nand on that side the land extended far. A similar circumstance\nhelped to form land also on the other sides of the world.\n\nAs soon as God had made the land, he ascended to heaven. The devil,\nnot liking to stay without him, followed in his track. Now he heard\nhow the angels praised God in hymns, and began to feel annoyed, that\nhe had no one to rejoice at his arrival. He went up to God and\nwhispered in his ear: 'What must I do, that I may have such a\nmultitude?' God answered him: 'Wash thy hands and face, and sprinkle\nthe water behind thee.' He did so, and there came into existence\nsuch a multitude of devils that the angels and saints no more had\nsufficient room in heaven. God observed what an injury there was\nfrom this to his own. He summoned St. Ilya, and ordered him to let\noff a storm of thunder and lightning. Ilya was glad at this; he\nroared, thundered, and lightened with a tempest, and poured rain for\nforty days and nights, and along with the great rain the devils also\nfell from heaven on to the earth. At last there were no more wicked\nones, and angels also began to fall. Then God ordered Ilya to stop,\nand wherever any devil struck the ground at the time that he fell,\nthere he remained. From that time to this bright little fires have\ndarted about in heaven, and only now fall upon the earth.\n\n\n\n\n_LITTLE RUSSIAN STORIES._\n\n(FROM SOUTH RUSSIA.)\n\n\nHere again Mr. Ralston informs us in his preface that he 'has been\nable to use but little the South Russian collections of Kulish and\nRudchenko, there being no complete dictionary available of the\ndialect, or rather language, in which they are written.' He has,\nhowever, given a long and interesting story from the Ukraine, which\nI find also in Erben, the 'Norka.' One of Erben's South Russian\nstories is too closely identical with a pretty tale from the\ngovernment of Voronezh, given by Ralston (p. 63), for me to give it\na place here. All the other South Russian stories in Erben's\ncollection I have translated, and only wish they had been more\nnumerous.\n\nThe tales of Snake Husbands always appear to have an evil end,\nthough the two that I have translated do not conclude so touchingly\nas the beautiful Great Russian story, 'The Watersnake' (Ralston, p.\n116). Certainly the science of comparative mythology cannot be\nconsidered as having its data complete, until Slavonic folklore has\nbeen thoroughly investigated and analyzed.\n\nIn No. 28 an old friend will be discovered in a very rustic dress.\n\n\n\n\nXXVIII.--THE BEAUTIFUL DAMSEL AND THE WICKED OLD WOMAN.\n\n\nIn the woods stood a cottage. In it lived a man and his wife, but\nthey had no children. Well, they went on a pilgrimage to beseech God\nto give them a child. God gave them a daughter. She grew and\nprospered. The prince about that time rode up to the place, as he\nwas out hunting, and sent his attendant, saying: 'Be so good as to\ngo and ask for a draught of water at yon cottage.' The attendant\nwent to ask for the water just when the child was weeping, and\npearls were rolling down from her eyes. Her mother pacified her; she\nbegan to smile; all manner of flowers bloomed. The servant went out\nand said: 'Prince, I have seen a little girl; when she weeps, pearls\nroll down; and when she smiles, all manner of flowers bloom.' The\nprince went into the cottage, and began to tease the child to make\nher cry. She cried, and pearls rolled down. He then begged her\nmother to pacify her. When she smiled, the prince saw that all\nmanner of flowers bloomed.\n\nThe girl continued to grow, and the prince always rode round that\nway when he went hunting. Well, she grew up. The prince said: 'Old\nman, give me your daughter to wife.' She now embroidered\nhandkerchiefs with eagles. But the emperor said: 'Where are your\nwits gone to, my son, that you want to take a peasant girl to wife?'\nThen the prince took one of the handkerchiefs that she had\nembroidered, and carried it to the emperor, whereat the emperor\nclapped his hands. 'Marry,' said he, 'my son, marry!' Then he\nconducted her homeward, but in his suite was an old woman who had\nher daughter with her. Well, as they were on their way, the prince\nstopped to shoot something, and the old woman took everything from\nthe damsel, scooped out her eyes, and thrust her into a cavern in\nthe ground, and dressed her daughter in her apparel; so the prince\ntook her to wife without recognising her.\n\nBut round the cavern there grew a multitude of bushes. An old man\ncame to gather brushwood. The girl, the damsel, was sitting in the\ncavern, and in front of her a heap of pearls, which she had wept as\nshe sat; but she had no eyes. 'Take me,' said she, 'kind old man,\nand pick up this jewellery here.' Well, the old man took her,\ncollected the jewellery, and led her home. At the old man's there\nwere no children, but there was an old woman. She, the damsel, said:\n'Collect the jewellery in a bag, and carry it to the town for sale;\nand if a certain old woman meets you, then don't sell to her, but\nsay: \"Give what you have about you.\"' Well, he carried it to the\ntown and met the old woman. The old woman said: 'Sell me the\njewellery!' 'Purchase.' 'How much for it?' 'Give what you have about\nyou?' She gave him an eye. Then the damsel began with one eye to\nembroider a handkerchief. Again the old man carried jewellery to the\ntown. The old woman again said: 'Old man, sell me the jewellery!'\n'Purchase.' 'How much for it?' 'Give what you have about you?' She\ngave him the other eye. The damsel then began to embroider still\nmore beautifully. The old man said: 'There's a dinner at the\nemperor's.' The damsel said to him: 'Go, kind old man, to the dinner\nand take a jug, that you may beg some soup for me.' She also tied a\nhandkerchief of her own sewing on the old man's neck. When the\nprince espied the handkerchief on the old man's neck, he cried:\n'Whence come you, old man?' 'From the farm yonder, prince; and there\nis also a damsel living at my house, so be so kind as to give her\nsomething in this jug.' 'But, old man, where did you get that\nhandkerchief?' 'I found a damsel in a cavern in the ground, and she\nembroidered it.' The prince at once recognised it by the embroidery.\n''Tis she! 'tis she!' But the old woman's daughter he packed off to\ntend swine. That's all.\n\n\n\n\nXXIX.--THE SNAKE AND THE PRINCESS.\n\n\nThere was an emperor and empress who had three daughters. The\nemperor fell ill, and sent his eldest daughter for water. She went\nto fetch it, when a snake said: 'Come! will you marry me?' The\nprincess replied: 'No, I won't.' 'Then,' said he, 'I won't give you\nany water.' Then the second daughter said: 'I'll go; he'll give me\nsome.' She went; the snake said to her: 'Come! will you marry me?'\n'No,' she said, 'I won't.' He gave her no water. She returned and\nsaid: 'He gave me no water. He said: \"If you will marry me I will\ngive it.\"' The youngest said: 'I will go; he will give me some.' She\nwent, and the snake said to her: 'Come! will you marry me?' 'I\nwill,' she said. Then he drew her water from the very bottom, cold\nand fresh. She brought it home, gave it her father to drink, and her\nfather recovered. Then on Sunday a carriage came, and those with it\nsaid:\n\n    'Open the door,\n        Princess!\n    Why did the dear one love?\n    Why draw water from the ford,\n        Princess?'\n\nShe was terrified, wept, and went and opened the door. Then they\nsaid again:\n\n    'Open the rooms,\n        Princess!\n    Why did the dear one love?\n    Why draw water from the ford,\n        Princess?'\n\nThen they came into the house and placed the snake in a plate on the\ntable. There he lay, just as if he were of gold! They went out of\nthe house, and said:\n\n    'Sit in the carriage,\n        Princess!\n    Why did the dear one love?\n    Why draw water from the ford,\n        Princess?'\n\nThey drove off with her to the snake's abode. There they lived, and\nhad a daughter born to them. They also took a godmother to live with\nthem, but she was a wicked woman. The child soon died, and the\nmother died soon after it. The godmother went in the night to the\nplace where she was buried, and cut off her hands. Then she came\nhome, and heated water-gruel, scalded the hands, and took off the\ngold rings. Then the princess--such was the ordinance of God--came\nto her for the hands, and said:\n\n    'The fowls are asleep, the geese are asleep,\n    Only my godmother does not sleep.\n    She scalds white hands in water-gruel,\n    She takes off golden rings.'\n\nThe godmother concealed herself under the stove. She said again:\n\n    'The fowls are asleep, the geese are asleep,\n    Only my godmother does not sleep.\n    She scalds white hands in water-gruel,\n    She takes off golden rings.'\n\nThe next day they came and found the godmother dead under the stove.\nThey didn't give her proper burial, but threw her into a hole.\n\n\n\n\nXXX.--TRANSFORMATION INTO A NIGHTINGALE AND A CUCKOO.\n\n\nA damsel fell in love with a snake, and was also beloved by him. He\ntook her to wife. His dwelling was of pure glass, all crystal. This\ndwelling was situated underground, in a kind of mound, or something\nof the sort. Well, it is said that her old mother at first grieved\nover her. How could she help doing so? Well, when the time came, the\nsnake's wife became the mother of twins, a boy and a girl; they\nlooked, as they lay by their mother, as if they were made of wax.\nAnd she was herself as beautiful as a flower. Well, God having given\nher children, she said: 'Now, then, since they have been born as\nhuman beings, let us christen them among human beings.' She took her\nseat in a golden carriage, laid the children on her knees, and drove\noff to the village to the pope.[11] The carriage had not got into\nthe open country, when sadness was brought to the mother. The old\nwoman had made an outcry in the whole village, seized a sickle, and\nrushed into the country. She saw she had manifest death before her,\nwhen she called to her children, and went on to say: 'Fly, my\nchildren, as birds about the world: you, my little son, as a\nnightingale, and you, my daughter, as a cuckoo.' Out flew a\nnightingale from the carriage by the right-hand, and a cuckoo by the\nleft-hand window. What became of the carriage and horses and all\nnobody knows. Nor did their mistress remain, only a dead nettle\nsprang up by the roadside.\n\n    [11] The orthodox Greek priests are always designated 'popes.'\n\n\n\n\nXXXI.--TRANSMIGRATION OF THE SOUL.\n\n\nA certain woman had a kind of adventure. When she went out into the\nfield to cut grass, or to fetch hemp, and placed food in the stove,\nthen somebody took the victuals out of the stove, and ate them all\nclean up. She thought, what might such a thing as this signify?\nNohow could she guess it. She came, the door was shut, and there was\nonly remaining in the house a baby--maybe half a year old--in the\ncradle. Well, she betook herself to a wise woman. She entreated her\nand paid her to come, and she came. She looked about, she snuffed\nabout--I mean the wise woman. All at once she heard something\nindefinite. 'Go you,' she said, 'into the field, and I'll hide\nmyself and we'll see what this is.' The woman went into the field,\nand the wise woman hid herself in a corner, and kept a look-out.\nThen, pop! the baby jumped out of the cradle! She looked, and it was\nno more a baby, but an old man. He was quite dwarfish, and his beard\nwas long. In a moment he was after the eatables, pulled the victuals\nout of the stove, then gave a screech, and began to gobble up the\nfood. When he had devoured all, then he became a baby again; but now\nhe didn't crawl into the cradle, but lay down, and screeched till\nthe whole house rang. Then the wise woman was after him: she placed\nhim on a block of wood, and began to chop the block under his feet.\nHe screeched and she chopped: he screeched and she chopped. Then she\nsaw how, taking an opportunity, he became an old man again, and\nsaid: 'Old woman, I have transformed myself not once nor twice only:\nI was first a fish, then I became a bird, an ant, and a quadruped,\nand now I have once more made trial of being a human being. It isn't\nbetter thus than being among the ants; but among human beings--it\nisn't worse!'\n\n\n\n\nXXXII.--THE WIZARD.\n\n\nThere was here once in our village a certain Avstriyat, who was such\na wizard that he could cause rain or hail to pass away when he\nchose. It happened that we were cutting corn in the country; a cloud\ncame up. We began to hurry off the sheaves, but he took no notice,\ncut and cut away by himself, smoked his pipe, and said: 'Don't be\nfrightened--there'll be no rain.' Lo and behold, there was no rain.\nOnce--all this I saw with my own eyes--we were cutting rye, when the\nsky became black, the wind rose: it began to whistle at first afar\noff, then over our very heads. There was thunder, lightning,\nwhirlwind--such a tempest, that--O God! Thy will be done! We went\nafter our sheaves, but he--'Don't be frightened, there'll be no\nrain.' 'Where won't it be?' We didn't hearken to him. But he smoked\nhis pipe out, and cut away quietly by himself. Up came a man on a\nblack horse, and all black himself: he darted straight up to\nAvstriyat: 'Hey! give permission!' said he. Avstriyat replied: 'No,\nI won't!' 'Give permission; be merciful!' 'I won't. It would be\nimpossible to get such a quantity in.' The black horseman bowed to\nthe man, and hastened off over the country.\n\nThen the black cloud became gray and whitened. Our elders feared\nthat there would be hail. But Avstriyat took no notice. He cut the\ncorn by himself and smoked his pipe. But again a horseman came up;\nhe hastened over the country still quicker than the first. But this\none was all in white, and on a white horse. 'Give permission!' he\nshouted to Avstriyat. 'I won't!' 'Give permission, for God's sake!'\n'I won't. It wouldn't be possible to get such a quantity in.' 'Hey!\ngive permission; I can't hold out!' Then, and not till then, did\nAvstriyat relent. 'Well, then, go now, but only into the glen, which\nis beyond the plain.' Scarcely had he spoken, when the horseman\ndisappeared, and hail poured down as out of a basket. In the course\nof a short hour it filled the glen brimful, level with the banks.\n\n\n\n\n_GREAT RUSSIAN STORIES._\n\n\nHere I have but little to remark that has not already been noticed\nby Mr. Ralston. In No. 33 I have given a pretty variant of Grimm's\n'Fisherman's Wife.' In this story, which is from the Government of\nMoscow, there is a curious confusion between 'king' (_korol_), and\n'emperor' (_tzar_). The peasant asks to be made _korol_ 'king,' but\nis answered that an 'emperor' (_tzar_) is chosen by God. The King of\nPoland was formerly the mighty potentate west of Moscow, which\nemerged from Tartar bondage under a grand-duke, or grand-prince.\nThis confusion may possibly imply that the story was crystallized in\nits present form not long after the assumption of the imperial\ndignity by the ruler of Muscovy.\n\nAs to No. 34, Mr. Ralston, in his 'Songs of the Russian People,'\ngives an account of the manner in which Ilya of Murom obtained a\nvast accession of strength from the still mightier hero Svyatozor\n(pp. 58-63). By his exploits, however, in the story which I have\ngiven, Ilya appears to have already possessed strength enough for\nmost purposes.\n\n\n\n\nXXXIII.--THE LIME-TREE.\n\n\nOne evening Vanyusha (Johnny) was sitting with his grandfather, and\nasked his grandfather: 'Whence comes it that bears' paws are like\nour hands and feet?' His grandfather replied: 'Listen, Johnny. I\nwill tell you what I have myself heard from ancient people. Ancient\npeople said bears were like human beings, like us orthodox\nChristians. In a certain village there lived a poor cottager. His\ncottage was wretched; he had no pony; a cow he never even thought\nof; he had no fire-wood. Winter came, and it was cold in his\nunwarmed room. The cottager took his axe, and went with it into the\nwood. An enchanted tree--a lime-tree--presented itself to his sight.\nHe struck it with his axe, and now to cut it down; but the lime-tree\naddressed him in human speech: \"I will give you all that you want.\nIf you have no riches, if you have no wife, I will give you all.\"\nThe peasant said: \"Very good, mother, if you make me richer than any\nof the peasants. But I have no pony, no cow, and my cottage is\nwretched.\" The lime-tree said: \"Go home; all shall be yours.\" The\npeasant went. A new house was his: fences of stout boards, horses\nthat were ready to fly, and store-rooms full of corn. The cottager\nwas not satisfied, because his wife was not handsomer. What was to\nbe done? \"I'll go off quick to Mother Lime-tree.\" He took his axe,\nand went off into the wood.\n\n'He went into the wood to the lime-tree, and struck it with his axe.\n\"What do you want?\" \"Mother Lime-tree, among mankind there are wives\nand wives, but mine is such a disagreeable one. Do me a service:\ngive me a handsome wife.\" The lime-tree said: \"Go home.\" The peasant\nwent. His wife came to meet him--such a beauty--blood and milk, and\nstore-rooms full of everything good. Well, the cottager began to\nlive comfortably with his young wife, and thought: \"It is a fine\nthing for us to live possessed of riches, but we're under a superior\nauthority. Is it impossible for me to be the superior authority\nmyself?\" He thought it over with his wife. He went again to the\nenchanted lime-tree.\n\n'He went into the wood, he struck it with his axe. \"What do you\nwant, peasant?\" \"What, indeed, Mother Lime-tree! It's a fine thing\nfor us to live in possession of riches; but we're under a superior\nauthority. Is it impossible for me to be head-borough myself?\" \"Very\nwell: go home; all shall be yours.\" No sooner had the cottager got\nhome, when a letter came for him--\"The cottager was to be\nhead-borough.\" The cottager got used to living as head-borough, and\nthought to himself: \"It's a fine thing to be head-borough; but all\nis under the control of the lord of the manor. Is it impossible for\nme to be the lord myself?\" He considered the matter with his wife,\nthey consulted together, and he went off again to the lime-tree.\n\n'He went up to it, and struck it with his axe. The tree asked him:\n\"What do you want?\" \"Thanks to you, mother, for all; but how not to\ndoff my cap before the lord, to become the lord myself?\" \"What is to\nbe done with you? Go home; it shall all be yours.\" Scarcely had he\ngot home, when up drove the lord-lieutenant, and brought him a\nletter from the king, that \"he was to be a gentleman.\" It was\nadvantageous to be a gentleman. He began to give entertainments and\nbanquets. \"It's a fine thing to be a gentleman, but without an\nofficial position! Was it impossible for him to become an official?\"\nThey thought and talked it over. He went off to the lime-tree and\nstruck it with his axe. \"What do you want, peasant?\" \"I thank you,\nmother, for all; but is it impossible for me to be an official?\"\n\"Well, then, go home!\" No sooner had he got home, when a royal\nletter arrived--he was invested with orders. \"It's a fine thing to\nbe decorated, but all is under the control of the lord-lieutenant.\nIs it impossible for me to be lord-lieutenant myself?\" He thought it\nover with his wife, went off into the wood to the enchanted tree,\nthe lime-tree.\n\n'He came to the lime-tree and struck it with his axe. It said: \"What\ndo you want, peasant? With what are you discontented?\" \"I thank you,\nmother, for everything; but is it impossible for me to be\nlord-lieutenant myself, and to have a rich patrimony?\" \"It is\ndifficult to effect this. But what is to be done with you? Go\nhome!\" The cottager had scarcely got home, when a letter\narrived--the cottager was to be lord-lieutenant, and was presented\nwith an estate of inheritance. The cottager became used to living as\nlord-lieutenant--indeed, by descent, he was not a peasant. \"It's a\nfine thing for me to live as lord-lieutenant, but all is under the\ncontrol of the king.\" He considered; he went off into the wood to\nthe enchanted tree, the lime-tree.\n\n'He came to it, and struck it with his axe. The tree inquired: \"What\ndo you want?\" \"All is excellent; I thank you for all; but is it\nimpossible for me to be king myself?\" The lime-tree began to try to\npersuade him. \"Foolish man, for what are you asking? Consider what\nyou were, and what you have become. From a cottager you have become\na man of high rank and everything; but an emperor[12] is chosen by\nGod.\" The lime-tree endeavoured to persuade him with all manner of\narguments that he had better not make the request, but all in vain.\nThe cottager would not budge, but insisted that it should make him\nemperor. The lime-tree said to him: \"It is impossible to effect\nthis, and it will not be done; you will lose, too, what you have\nalready obtained!\" But the cottager still insisted. The lime-tree\nsaid: \"Become a bear, and your wife a she-bear!\" And he became a\nbear, and she a she-bear. They went off bears.'\n\n    [12] Note the transition from king (_korol_) to emperor\n    (_tzar_).\n\nThe grandson inquired: 'Grandfather, can this be a true story?' 'In\nreality 'tis a fable. Do not desire what is impossible; be content\nwith a little. If you desire much, you will lose what you have\nobtained.'\n\n\n\n\nXXXIV.--ILYA OF MUROM AND NIGHTINGALE THE ROBBER.\n\n\nIn the famous city of Murom, in the village of Karatcharof, lived a\npeasant, Ivan Timofeewitch. He had an only child, Ilya Murometz. He\nsat as children do for thirty years, and when thirty years had\npassed, he began to walk firmly on his feet, became conscious of\nvast strength, made himself a warrior's equipment and a steel spear,\nand saddled a good horse, worthy of a hero. He went to his father\nand mother, and begged their blessing. 'My honoured father and\nmother, let me go to the famous city of Kief to perform my devotions\nto God, and to kneel to the Prince of Kief.' His father and mother\ngave him their blessing, laid upon him serious injunctions, and\nspoke to this effect: 'Ride straight to the city of Kief, straight\nto the city of Chernigof, and on your road do no injury, shed no\nChristian blood causelessly.' Ivan Murometz received the blessing of\nhis father and mother, prayed to God, took leave of his father and\nmother, and started on his journey.\n\nHe travelled far on into the gloomy forest, until he came to a\nrobbers' camp. The robbers espied Ilya Murometz, and their robber\nhearts burned for his heroic horse, and they began to talk together\nabout taking his horse from him, for they were not wont to see such\nhorses anywhere, and now an unknown man was riding on so good a\nhorse. And they arose to assail Ilya Murometz by tens and twenties.\nIlya Murometz halted his heroic horse, and took out of his quiver an\narrow of guelder-rosewood, and placed it on his tough bow. He shot\nthe arrow of guelder-rosewood along the ground, and it penetrated to\nthe distance of a fathom slanting. Seeing this, the robbers were\nterrified, collected into an orb, fell on their knees, and said:\n'You are our lord and father, valiant and good youth! We are guilty\nbefore you; take for such a fault as ours as much as you please of\ncoloured raiment and herds of horses.' Ilya smiled and said: 'I've\nnowhere to put it; but if you wish to live, don't venture any\nfurther!' and rode on his way to the famous city of Kief.\n\nHe rode on to the city of Chernigof, and under that city of\nChernigof were standing armies of heathen innumerable, and they were\nbesieging the city of Chernigof, and wanted to destroy it and ravage\nthe churches of God therein, and to take into captivity the Prince\nand Duke of Chernigof himself. Ilya Murometz was terrified at this\ngreat force; nevertheless, he committed himself to the Lord God, his\nCreator, and determined to risk his head for the Christian faith.\nIlya Murometz began to slaughter the heathen forces with his steel\nspear, and defeated all the pagan power, and took captive the\nheathen prince, and led him into the city of Chernigof. The citizens\ncame out of the city of Chernigof to meet him with honour; the\nPrince and Duke of Chernigof came himself. They received the good\nyouth with honour, and gave thanks to the Lord God, because the Lord\nunexpectedly sent deliverance to the city, and caused them not all\nto perish in vain at the hands of such a heathen host. They received\nhim into their houses, made him a great entertainment, and let him\nproceed on his journey.\n\nIlya Murometz rode off towards the city of Kief by the direct road\nfrom Chernigof, which had been beset for full thirty years by\nNightingale the robber, who allowed neither horseman nor\nfoot-traveller to pass, and slew them not by any weapon, but by his\nrobber whistling. Out rode Ilya Murometz into the open country, and\nespied the tracks of horses, and rode on upon them, and arrived at\nthe Branskian forest, at the muddy swamps, at the bridges of\nguelder-rosewood, and at the river Smorodinka. Nightingale the\nrobber forboded his end and a great misfortune, and before Ilya\nMurometz approached within twenty versts, began to whistle\nvigorously with his robber whistling; but the hero's heart was not\nterrified. Then, before he approached within ten versts, he began to\nwhistle still more violently, and from this whistling Ilya\nMurometz's horse tottered under him. Ilya Murometz rode up to the\nnest itself, which was constructed upon twelve oaks. Nightingale the\nrobber espied the hero of Holy Russia, whistled with all his might,\nand wanted to smite Ilya Murometz to death.\n\nIlya Murometz took down his tough bow, placed on it an arrow of\nguelder-rosewood, shot it at Nightingale's nest, struck his right\neye and knocked it out. Nightingale the robber tumbled down like a\nsack of oats. Ilya Murometz took Nightingale the robber, bound him\nfast to his steel stirrup, and rode on towards the famous city of\nKief. On the way stood a mansion belonging to Nightingale the\nrobber, and when Ilya Murometz came opposite the robber's mansion,\nthe windows thereof were open, and at these windows the robber's\nthree daughters were looking out. The youngest daughter saw him, and\ncried to her sisters: 'There's our father outside coming with booty,\nand leading to us a man bound to his steel stirrup.' But the eldest\ndaughter looked, and began to weep bitterly. 'That isn't our father\ncoming: it's an unknown man coming, and leading our father.' They\nbegan to scream to their husbands: 'Our dear husbands! ride and meet\nthe man, and take our father from him; do not let our family be put\nto such contempt.' Their husbands, strong heroes, rode against the\nhero of Holy Russia; their horses were good, their spears were\nsharp, and they were about to receive Ilya on their spears.\nNightingale the robber espied this, and said to them: 'My dear\nsons-in-law, do not cause yourselves to be put to shame, and do not\nprovoke so mighty a hero; rather with humility entreat him to drink\na cup of green wine in my house.' At the request of the sons-in-law,\nIlya turned into the house, not knowing their villainy. The eldest\ndaughter raised on chains an iron slab, which was placed over the\ndoor, in order to crush him. But Ilya observed her at the door,\nstruck her with his spear, and smote her to death.\n\nWhen Ilya Murometz arrived at Kief city, he rode straight to the\nprince's palace, and entered the house, which was of white stone,\nprayed to God, and knelt to the prince. The Prince of Kief asked\nhim: 'Tell me, good youth, how men name you, and of what city you\nare a native?' Ilya Murometz made reply: 'My lord, men call me\nLittle Ilya, but by my father's family I am an Ivanof; a native of\nthe city of Murom, of the village of Karatcharof.' The prince\ninquired: 'By what road did you ride from Murom?' 'By that of\nChernigof, and under the walls of Chernigof I defeated an\ninnumerable heathen host, and delivered the city of Chernigof.\nThence I proceeded by the direct road, and took captive the mighty\nhero, Nightingale the robber, and led him hither with me bound to my\nsteel stirrup.' The prince, becoming angry, said: 'What a lie you\nare telling!' When the heroes, Alesha Popovitch and Dobrynya\nNikititch, heard this, they flew to look, and assured the prince\nthat it really was so. The prince ordered a cup of green wine to be\nbrought to the good youth. The prince had a wish to listen to the\nrobber's whistling. Ilya enveloped the prince and princess in a\nsable mantle, placed them beneath his arms, summoned Nightingale,\nand commanded him to give the Nightingale whistle with half\nstrength. But Nightingale the robber whistled with his full robber\nwhistle, and deafened the heroes, so that they fell on the floor.\nFor this Ilya Murometz slew him.\n\nIlya Murometz made a brotherhood with Dobrynya Nikititch. They\nsaddled their good steeds, and rode into the open country to seek\nadventures; and they rode full three months without finding any\nadversary. But they rode on in the open country; there came a\nwandering beggar: the ragged dress upon his back weighed fifty\npoods, his hat nine poods, his staff was ten fathoms long. Ilya\nMurometz began to urge his horse toward him, and was about to match\nhis heroic strength with him. The wandering beggar recognised Ilya\nMurometz, and said: 'Oh! you are Ilya Murometz. If you remember, we\nlearnt to read and write together at one school, and now you are\nurging your horse against a poor cripple like me, as against an\nenemy. But this you don't know, that in the famous city of Kief a\ngreat misfortune has happened. An infidel, a mighty hero, the\nunclean Idolishtcha, has arrived. His head is as big as a beer\ncaldron, his shoulders are a fathom broad, the distance between his\neyebrows is a span, that between his ears is an arrow of\nguelder-rosewood; he eats an ox at a time, and drinks a caldron at a\ndraught; and the Prince of Kief is very grieved about you, because\nyou have left him in such perplexity.' Clothing himself in the\nbeggar's dress, Ilya Murometz went straight to the prince's court,\nand cried with heroic voice: 'Oh, is it you, Prince of Kief? Send me\nan alms, wandering beggar that I am.' The prince saw him, and spake\nas follows: 'Come into the palace to me, beggar; I will give you\nyour fill of food and drink, and gold for your journey.' And the\nbeggar entered the palace and stood by the stove; he looked on at\nwhat was occurring. Idolishtcha asked for something to eat. They\nbrought him a whole ox roasted, and he ate it up, bones and all.\nIdolishtcha asked for something to drink. They brought him a caldron\nof beer, carried by twenty men; he took it up by the handles, and\ndrank it all up. Ilya Murometz said: 'My father had a greedy mare;\nshe over-ate herself and died.' Idolishtcha didn't stand that, and\nsaid: 'Oh, it's you, wandering beggar! Why do you insult me? It's\nnothing to me to take you up in my hands. Nay, what are you? If such\nan one as Ilya Murometz was among you, I'd make a fight of it even\nwith him.' 'Then here's such an one as he,' said Ilya Murometz, and,\ntaking off his hat, struck him gently on the head with it.--But he\nbroke through the wall of the house, took the corpse of Idolishtcha,\nand threw it out by the rent. For this the prince honoured Ilya\nMurometz with great commendations, and placed him on the list of\nmighty heroes.\n\n\n\n\nSOUTHERN SLAVONIANS.\n\n\n\n\n_BULGARIAN STORIES._\n\n\nThe Bulgarians do not derive their name from a Slavonic origin, but\nfrom a small and warlike nation of horsemen, which in A.D. 679\ncrossed the Danube under a chief named Isperich, conquered the\ndisunited Slavonic tribes that had settled in M\u0153sia, and\nconsolidated them into a powerful realm. The conquerors melted into\nthe conquered, and lost their language, but gave their name to the\nstate and country. The Slavonic language of the people does not\nappear to have been affected by that of their Ugrian conquerors, but\nrather by the old Thracian language, which, conjointly with Latin,\nhas produced the present Roumanian. The peculiarities of the present\nBulgarian language are: (1) the loss of case-inflexions in nouns and\nadjectives, while the verbal system is most complete and complex;\n(2) the expression of the genitive and dative cases by prefixing the\npreposition _na_; (3) the post-positive article, which is also\nborrowed from the old Thracian language, which was akin to the\nIllyrian now spoken by the present Albanians and Epirots; (4) the\nloss of the infinitive mood, which is replaced by _da_ with the\nfinite verb. Baron Wenceslas Wratislaw, in describing his journey\nthrough Bulgaria in 1591, says of the people: 'They use a Slavonic\nlanguage, so that we Bohemians can converse with them.'\n\nThe Bulgarian tales themselves are curious, and some of them very\nbeautiful, as are also the songs, to which considerable space is\ndevoted by Mr. Morfill in his 'Slavonic Literature' (pp. 125-144).\nThere are old traditions as to the world and its inhabitants,\napparently of heathen origin (No. 35); a singular fusion of the\nhistory of Abraham and Isaac with some other, probably heathen,\ntradition (No. 36); a version of 'Cinderella' (No. 37), which,\ninvolving as it does the transmigration of souls, clearly exhibits\nan Indian origin; a beautiful story (No. 38), the latter part of\nwhich is a variant of the latter part of the Russian tale of 'Marya\nMorevna' (Ralston, p. 85), and No. 39, in the latter part of which\nmany people will recognise a variant of an old acquaintance.\n\n\n\n\nXXXV.--THE LORD GOD AS AN OLD MAN.\n\n\nIn the beginning, when man began to plough, when he had cut a furrow\nfrom one end to the other, he lifted his plough on to his shoulder,\nand when he had carried it back to the same end that he had begun\nfrom, he began again to plough thence. The Lord, in the form of an\nold man, passed by and said to him, 'Not thus, my son, but when you\nmake a furrow, turn your plough round at the same place to which you\nhave cut the furrow, and plough back to the end from which you\nbegan.' And thus the ploughman learnt to plough aright, as people\nplough at this day.\n\nThence the Lord went away in the form of an old man, and saw a woman\nwho was weaving at a loom, and putting the thread, three threads at\na time, into her mouth; she bit the thread off at one end, and began\nagain at the same side. The Lord said to her, 'Not thus, daughter;\nbut put the thread hither and thither with two hands without biting\nthe thread off.' And she learnt to weave as people weave at this\nday.\n\nThe next day the Lord again passed alongside of the ploughman in a\ndifferent guise, and asked him: 'Who taught you, my son, to plough\nthus?' He replied to him: 'The Lord God, in the form of an old man.'\nThe Lord blessed him, and said: 'A day to plough and a year to eat!'\nAfterwards he passed by the woman and asked her: 'Who taught you,\ndaughter, to weave thus?' She replied: 'Myself, my very own self,\nquickly, quite quickly.' Then the Lord said to her: 'A year to\nweave, that you may carry it under the arm!'\n\nThey say, moreover, that at that time men had command not only over\nall animals, but also over inanimate things; but later, they say, it\nwas altered when men became wicked. For instance, when a man had cut\nlogs of wood and piled them in a heap, he struck them with a stick,\nand they went of themselves whither they were required to go. But a\ncertain woman having cut logs and struck them to make them go, they\nstarted; but she, being tired of walking beside them on foot, seated\nherself at top, and the logs resisted. She struck them on one side,\nshe struck them on the other, but they didn't move any whither. Then\nshe unfastened her girdle, and put them on her back. On the way God\nshowed himself to her, and said to her: 'Since you are wicked,\ninstead of your riding on them, let them ride on you.'\n\nWhen the Lord walked about the earth and blessed it, he went first\nto a herdsman. He was lying on his back under a tree, a pear-tree;\nhis pitcher, in which he fetched water for himself, stood by empty.\nThe Lord, in the form of an old man, asked him: 'My son, is there\nany water in the pitcher?' He said to him: 'No.' The Lord said to\nhim: 'Go, my son, to fetch me a little water, that the old man may\ndrink.' The herdsman made a sign to him with his foot: 'There is\nwhere the spring is; if you're thirsty, go, drink.' The Lord then\ngave the word that all the herd should run off as if assailed by the\ngadfly; then, when they began all to run in one direction, the\nherdsman took his hat in his hand and started off, and as he ran\nafter them thought: 'How I have sinned against God!'\n\nThen the Lord went to a shepherd. The shepherd also had a pitcher.\nThe Lord asked him: 'My son, have you any water?' He replied to him:\n'There is water, old man, but I cannot go to fetch it myself, or the\nsheep will disperse.' Then said the Lord: 'Go, my son; I will watch\nthem.' When the shepherd went off for the water, the Lord took the\nshepherd's staff, and when he had stuck it into the ground, placed\nthe shepherd's cloak upon it, and blessed the sheep. They became\nquiet and tranquil in the shade. During the shepherd's absence up\ncame a wolf to obtain the appointed tribute which he received every\nday from the shepherd. The Lord gave him a lamb of little value. The\nwolf, discontented, did not choose to take it, but darted forward\nand seized another, which he liked. Then the Lord took the\nshepherd's trumpet, and struck him on the loins--on the spine. From\nthis it has remained a property of the wolf that his loins are just\nas weak as his neck is strong. But he carried off the lamb which he\nhad seized. The Lord took two little stones, threw them after the\nwolf and blessed them; they became two dogs, ran after the wolf, and\ntook away the lamb which the wolf had seized. The shepherd came up\nbringing the Lord cold water, and saw the sheep quiet, for they were\nstanding in the shade and the two dogs were frolicking round them.\nThe shepherd then asked the old man: 'Well, old man, now when the\nsheep are standing quiet, and are like blocks of wood, how shall I\ndrive them to pasture?' The Lord said to him: 'My son, take a copper\ntrumpet, and blow it to them; they will start off in the direction\nfrom which the wind blows gently.' From that time forth down to the\npresent day people drive their sheep to pasture blowing trumpets.\n\n\n\n\nXXXVI.--BULGARIAN HOSPITALITY.\n\n\nOnce upon a time, when the Lord had formed the world, he wished to\nsee how his people lived; he came down from heaven first of all on\nthe Balkan Mountains, took the form of a man with a long white beard\nand white clothes; took a staff in his hand, and went about the\nworld in the Bulgarian land; he travelled much, a whole day long,\nover desolate mountains. In the evening he came to a village to pass\nthe night. He went into the first house at the end of the village\nand sat down on the threshold, said nothing, but meditated by\nhimself. The mistress was in her house doing some work, and did not\nsee him. But now her husband came from the field, from his plough,\nespied the old man, was delighted, and said to him: 'Old man, you\nare very tired; you are a weary traveller. Come into the house; rest\nyourself, if it is but a poor one. I will entertain you with all\nthat the Lord has given me--only say the word.' The old man regarded\nhim with cheerful eyes, went into the house and sat down. The man\nand his wife quickly rose up and prepared a hospitable meal\naccording to what they possessed, and as nicely and as handsomely as\nthey could, and placed it on the table. The couple ate of their\nhomely meal, but the old man would not; he only smelt the homely\nbanquet, said nothing, but watched how the two persons enjoyed\nthemselves, and rejoiced. They urged him, they begged him. 'Old man,\nwhy don't you eat? You will remain hungry. Take, and taste, and try\nwhat you please. What we have is all here before you.' The old man\nonly said this: 'Eat you--eat; I am thinking of something.' When\nthey had eaten their fill, they rose. The mistress went out to feed\nthe child because it was crying. Then said the old man to her\nhusband: 'Do you know what, master, if you wish to entertain me? I\ncannot eat everything, but I wish for baked human flesh. Kill your\nlittle son, wash him nicely, and place him whole on the frying-pan\nin the oven; only look out that your wife does not see you, for she\nwill weep.' He replied: 'Is this all that you want, old man? Why did\nyou not tell me long before, that you might not have sat a hungry\nguest in the house? Did I not tell you that all was yours that the\nLord had given me? Indeed, I love you exceedingly, old man; my heart\ntells me that you are good and worthy, and now you shall see; only\nhave a little patience, till I get ready that which you desire.' The\nman went out of doors, and his wife had begun to do some work, and\nhad left her child to play by itself in the moonlight till it fell\nasleep, without knowing what was about to take place. Her husband\nstole the child, killed it with all haste, put it entire in the\nfrying-pan, and shut it up in the oven, that its mother might not\nsee it till it was cooked; he then went to the old man, sat down by\nhim and conversed cheerfully with him. They had not talked long,\nwhen the old man became silent, sniffed with his nose, and said to\nthe servant lad: 'Go, look at the baked meat; it smells nicely;\nperhaps it is cooked.'\n\nThe lad rose, went out, opened the oven to look at and take out the\nbaked meat. But what did he see? He was amazed and frightened at the\nwonder; all the oven and all the house was glittering with the\nbrightness of the child. The frying-pan and the child had become\ngold, and shone like the sun. The child was sitting in the\nfrying-pan like a big boy--handsome, cheerful, bright, and well. On\nhis head was a crown of pearls and precious stones; on the girdle at\nhis waist was a sword. In his right hand he held a book of\nblessing; in his left hand he had a wheatsheaf full of ears; and all\nthis was shining more than fire, because it had all become gold. He\nreturned to tell the old man what a wonder had taken place, and to\nask what was to be done; but the old man was no longer there; he had\ngone out in front of the house, and said to them: 'Fare ye well, and\nlive as ye have done till now, honourably and contentedly. Your good\nhearts will have good from field and cattle, and blessing and peace\nupon your children and children's children from the Lord. He will\nreceive you and entertain you in his heavenly house.' He then went\naway alone under cover of the night, no one knows whither.\n\n\n\n\nXXXVII.--CINDERELLA.\n\n\nOnce upon a time, a number of girls were assembled spinning round a\ndeep rift or chasm in the ground. As they spun they chattered\ntogether and told stories to each other. Up came a white-bearded old\nman, who said to them: 'Girls! as you spin and chatter, be\ncircumspect round this rift; or, if any of you drops her spindle\ninto it, her mother will be turned into a cow.' Thus saying he\ndeparted. The girls were astonished at his words, and crowded round\nthe rift to look into it. Unfortunately, one of them, the most\nbeautiful of all, dropped her spindle into it. Towards evening, when\nshe went home, she espied a cow--her mother--in front of the gate,\nand drove her out with the other cattle to pasture. After some time\nthe father of the girl married a widow, who brought a daughter with\nher into the house. The second wife had a spite at the man's first\ndaughter, especially because she was more beautiful and more\nindustrious than her own, and she allowed her neither to wash\nherself, nor to comb her hair, nor to change her clothes. One day\nshe sent her out with the cattle, gave her a bag full of tow, and\ntold her: 'If you don't spin this tow into yarn to-day, or if you\ndon't wind it into a ball, you had better not come home at\neventide--I shall kill you.' It was sad for the poor girl, as she\nwent after the cattle, endeavouring as well as she could to keep\nthem together. In the afternoon, when the cattle lay down to chew\nthe cud, she began to look at the bag to see how to perform her task\nupon it; but when she saw that she could not make out what to do\nwith it, she began to cry. When the cow which was her mother saw her\ncrying, she asked her why she was crying. She told her how it was,\nand what it was. Then said the cow to her: 'Don't be afraid; I will\nhelp you. I will take all the tow into my mouth, and will chew it,\nand yarn will come up into my ear. You must take it and reel it into\na ball, and you will finish it in good time.' As she said, so it\nwas. She began to chew the tow, piece after piece; yarn came up into\nher ear, and the girl wound and reeled it, and finished the task. In\nthe evening she departed and went to her stepmother, who was amazed\nat seeing so much work completed. The next time she gave her as much\ntow again. The girl spun till noon, and then in the afternoon, when\nthe cattle lay down to chew the cud, the cow came up to her and\nbegan to chew the tow; yarn came up into her ear, and the girl wound\nand reeled it, and finished in good time. In the evening she went\nhome and delivered to her stepmother all the tow spun and wound. She\nwas astonished at seeing so much work completed. The third time she\ngave her still more tow, and sent her own daughter to see who helped\nher. The daughter went and concealed herself apart, and saw how it\nwas and what it was, that the girl completed so much work in the\nday; she saw how the cow took the tow into her mouth, how yarn came\nup into her ear, and how the girl wound and reeled it. She went home\nto tell her mother. When she heard this from her daughter, she\nurged her husband to kill the cow. He endeavoured in every way to\npersuade her not to kill the cow, but could not over-persuade her.\nAt last, when he saw that there was no escape, he promised to kill\nit on a certain day. When the girl heard that they were going to\nkill the cow she began to cry, and told the cow secretly that they\nwere going to kill her. She said to the girl: 'Be quiet--don't cry!\nIf they kill me, you must not eat any of my flesh, but must collect\nthe bones and bury them behind the cottage. Then if need come to\nyou, you must go to the grave, and help will come to you thence.' On\nhearing this she went away.\n\nOne day they killed the cow and boiled her flesh, brought it into\nthe parlour, and began to eat. The girl alone did not eat of it,\naccording to the instructions she had received; but collected the\nbones, and then, without anybody seeing her, took them and buried\nthem behind the cottage, where the cow (her mother) had ordered her\nso to do. The girl was named Mary; but at length, when they had put\nall the work in the cottage upon her--that is to say, to sweep, to\nfetch water, to cook, to wash up the plates--she had become dirty\nand begrimed with ashes and cinders from excessive work at the\nfireplace; and therefore her stepmother nicknamed her Cinderella\n(Pepelezka), and this remained her name afterwards.\n\nOne Sunday her stepmother got ready to go to church with her\ndaughter, but, before starting, took a wooden dish of millet,\nscattered it on the ground in the cottage, and said to Cinderella:\n'Here you, Cinderella! if you don't pick up this millet, and if you\ndon't get dinner ready by the time that I return from church, don't\ncome before my eyes, or I shall put you to death.' Then they went\naway. Poor Cinderella, when she looked at all the millet, cried out\nweeping and wailing: 'I will cook, I will sweep, I will attend to\neverything, but what poor girl can pick up all this millet?' When\nshe had wept and spoken, immediately there came into her mind what\nthe cow had told her, to go to the grave, and there help would be\ngiven her in trouble. Cinderella went off to the grave. When there,\nwhat did she see? On the grave stood an open box, filled with all\nmanner of rich clothes, and on the lid were two pigeons, white as\nsnow. They said to her: 'Mary! take the clothes out, put them on,\nand go to church, and we will pick up the millet and get the dinner\nready.' She put out her hands and took the upper ones, which were of\npure silk and satin, put them on, and went to church. In the church\npeople great and small marvelled at her beauty and her dress,\nespecially because no one recognised her or knew who or what she\nwas. Most of all did the emperor's son marvel at her, and never took\nhis eyes off her. When service was ended, she stole away and ran\nquickly home, undressed immediately, and put the clothes in the box,\nand the box immediately vanished from sight. She went to the\nfireplace, and what did she see there? The millet picked up, dinner\nready--in one word, everything attended to! Soon afterwards, lo! her\nstepmother came with her daughter from church, saw everything in\nproper order, and was astounded.\n\nNext Sunday, when she was about to go to church, taking a larger\ndish of millet and scattering it on the ground, she threatened\nCinderella that she would kill her if she didn't pick it up and get\ndinner ready. The stepmother went off with her daughter to church,\nand Cinderella betook herself to the grave of the cow. On the grave\nshe found the two pigeons and the box with the dresses in it open.\nThey told her to dress herself and go to church, and they would pick\nup the millet and get dinner ready. Taking a dress of pure silver,\nshe dressed herself and went off to church. Now everybody, small and\ngreat, marvelled at her more than before, and the emperor's son did\nnot take his eyes off her for a moment. Service ended, she stole\noff amidst the multitude and got away home. There she undressed, and\nput the clothes in the box, and the box disappeared from sight. Soon\nafterwards, lo! her stepmother came and looked about; the millet was\npicked up, dinner was ready, and Cinderella was at the fireplace.\nShe was astonished at seeing so much work completed.\n\nThe third time her stepmother got ready to go to church, and before\nshe started, taking a dish of millet thrice as large, and scattering\nit on the ground, she said to Cinderella: 'Cinderella, if you don't\npick up all this millet before we return from church, and if you\ndon't get dinner ready, go and hide yourself; don't come before my\neyes--I shall kill you.' Then she went off to church. After this\nCinderella went to the grave of the cow, and found there the box\nopen and the two pigeons upon it. They told her to dress herself and\ngo to church; they would pick up the millet and get the dinner\nready. Taking a dress of pure gold, she dressed herself and went to\nchurch. There, when the people saw her, they marvelled, but no one\nknew who or what she was. The emperor's son never took his eyes off\nher, and planned, when service was over, to follow her closely, to\nsee whither she betook herself. Service ended, she stole off amidst\nthe crowd, hastening to get away before her stepmother; but as she\nwas pushing through the crowd, she lost one of her shoes, and the\nemperor's son took it up. She escaped from among them with one shoe,\nundressed very quickly, put the clothes in the box, and the box\nvanished. She went home and looked in the cottage; the millet was\npicked up, dinner was ready, and everything attended to. She sat\ndown at the fireplace, and, lo! her stepmother came and looked about\nthe cottage; everything was in order, the millet picked up, dinner\nready; she had nothing to find fault with her or scold her about.\n\nThe emperor's son left the people, disguised himself, took the\nshoe, and went from cottage to cottage to try it on, to find out\nwhose it was; and wherever he went he made inquiries, and tried it\non the foot of every girl, but it did not fit one. For some it was\ntoo large, and for others too small; for some too narrow, for others\ntoo broad. At last he came to Cinderella's cottage. As soon as her\nstepmother saw him, she concealed Cinderella under a trough. He\nasked whether there was any girl in the house. She replied that\nthere was, and brought her daughter to him. He tried the shoe on\nher, but it wouldn't even allow her toes to go in. He then asked\nwhether there wasn't another girl there, and she told him that there\nwasn't. The cock had flown on to the trough, and when she told the\nemperor's son that there was no other girl there, he crowed:\n'Cock-a-doodle-doo! pretty girl under trough!' The stepmother\nshrieked out: 'Shoo! eagles have brought you!'[13] But the emperor's\nson, on hearing the cock say this, went up and took the trough off;\nand there was, indeed, the girl that he had seen in the church with\nthose beautiful dresses, only on one foot she had no shoe. He tried\nthe shoe on her; it went on, and was exactly the same as that on the\nother foot. Then the emperor's son took her by the hand, conducted\nher to his court, married her, and punished her stepmother for her\nevil heart.\n\n    [13] Eagles are frequently supernatural messengers in Bulgarian\n    tales. One might have expected, 'Eagles take you!' but it is as\n    I have given it.\n\n\n\n\nXXXVIII.--THE GOLDEN APPLES AND THE NINE PEAHENS.\n\n\nThere was once upon a time an emperor who had three sons, and in his\nyard a golden apple-tree, which flowered and ripened every night;\nbut somebody robbed it, and the emperor was utterly unable to\ndiscover who the robber was. Once he was conversing with his sons,\nand said to them: 'I do not know whither goes the fruit from our\napple-tree.' Then the eldest son answered him: 'I will go to-night\nto see who takes it.' When it became dark, the eldest son did as he\nhad said: went out, and lay down under it. Well, when the apples\nbegan to ripen in the course of the night, slumber overtook him, and\nhe fell asleep; and when he awoke at dawn he looked--but where were\nthe apples? Taken away! When he saw this, he went and related all to\nhis father just as it really happened. The second son said to his\nfather: 'I will go to-night to watch, that I may see who takes it.'\nBut he, too, watched it even as the first one. About the time when\nthe apples began to ripen, he fell asleep. When he woke up in the\nmorning, where were the apples? Taken away! Now came the turn of the\nthird and youngest brother. He went out at eventide under the\napple-tree, placed a sofa there, lay down, and went to sleep. About\nmidnight, when the apples began to ripen, he woke up and looked at\nthe apple-tree. It had just begun to ripen, and illuminated all the\nyard from the brightness of its fruit. Just then up flew nine\npeahens, eight of which settled upon the apple-tree, and the ninth\non the ground beside his sofa, and, as soon as she had alighted,\nbecame a damsel, who shone with beauty like a bright sun. They\nconversed together while the other eight were rifling the tree, and\nwhen dawn came, she thanked him for the apples, and he begged her to\nleave just one behind her. She gave him two--one for himself, and\none to take to his father--transformed herself into a peahen, and\nflew away, followed by the other eight. In the morning the prince\nrose up, and took one apple to his father, who did not know what to\ndo for joy, and commended him without ceasing. The next evening the\nyoungest prince went out again to watch the apple-tree, and as soon\nas he had gone out, lay down as before, and watched it that night\nalso. In the morning he again brought his father an apple. This went\non for a few days, when his brothers began to envy him, because they\ncould not watch it, whereas he watched it successfully. They could\nnot make out how to discover the manner in which he watched the\napple-tree. So they sought out an old witch, who promised them to\nfind out how their young brother watched the apple-tree. At the\napproach of evening, when the youngest prince was about to go out to\nwatch the apple-tree, the accursed witch stole out and went off\nbefore him, lay down under his sofa, and there concealed herself.\nThe prince came, lay down without knowing that the old woman was\nunder his sofa, and went to sleep as previously. About midnight,\nwhen the prince had just woke up, the nine peahens arrived; eight of\nthem settled on the tree, and the other on the ground beside his\nsofa, transformed herself into a damsel, and they began to converse\ntogether. While these were talking to each other, the accursed old\nwitch softly raised herself up, and cut off a piece of the damsel's\nlong hair. As soon as she felt this, the damsel sprang on one side,\ntransformed herself into a peahen, and flew away, with the other\neight behind her. The prince, on seeing this, sprang off his sofa,\nand shouted: 'What is this?' He erelong espied the old woman under\nthe sofa, seized and hauled her from under it, and, when morning\ncame, ordered her to be fastened to the tails of two horses and torn\nasunder. The peahens came no more to the apple-tree, and the prince\nwas much grieved on this account, and wept and mourned day after\nday. At last he determined to go to seek them all over the world,\nand went and told his father what his intention was, and his father\nendeavoured to comfort him, and said: 'Stay, my son! I will find you\nanother damsel in my empire, such an one as you wish for.' But in\nvain; he would not follow his father's advice, and made\npreparations to go; took with him one of his servants, and went into\nthe world to find the peahen. When he had travelled a long time, he\ncame to a lake, in the midst of which was a rich palace, and in the\npalace an aged empress, who had one daughter. The prince, on coming\nto the old empress, asked her to tell him about the nine peahens, if\nshe knew about them; and the old woman replied that she did, and\nthat the nine peahens came daily to bathe in the lake. On telling\nhim this, she began to try to over-persuade him with these words:\n'Never mind those nine peahens, my son. I have a handsome damsel,\nand abundance of wealth--it will all remain yours.' But as soon as\nthe prince heard where the peahens were, he would not listen to her\ntalk, but in the morning ordered his servant to get the horses ready\nto go to the lake. Before they started for the lake, the old woman\ncalled his servant, bribed him, and gave him a little whistle,\nsaying to him: 'When the time approaches for the peahens to come to\nthe lake, do you secretly look out, and blow the whistle behind your\nmaster's neck; he will immediately fall asleep, and will not see\nthem.' The accursed servant hearkened to her, took the whistle, and\ndid as the old woman told him. When they arrived at the shore of the\nlake, he calculated the time when the peahens would arrive, blew the\nwhistle behind his master's neck, and he immediately fell as sound\nasleep as if he were dead. Scarcely had he fallen asleep, when the\npeahens arrived; eight of them settled on the lake, and the ninth\nperched upon his horse, and began to try to awaken him: 'Arise, my\nbirdie! arise, my lamb! arise, my dove!' But he heard nothing, but\nslept on as if dead. When the peahens had finished bathing, they all\nflew away, and he awoke, and asked his servant: 'What is it? Did\nthey come?' The servant replied: 'They did come,' and told him how\neight of them settled on the lake, and the ninth on his horse, and\nthat she tried to wake him. When the unhappy prince heard this from\nhis servant, he was ready to kill himself from pain and anger. The\nnext morning they visited the shore of the lake again, but his\naccursed servant calculated the time to blow the whistle behind his\nneck, and he immediately fell asleep as if he were dead. Scarcely\nhad he fallen asleep, when the nine peahens arrived; eight settled\non the lake, and the ninth on his horse, and began to try to awake\nhim: 'Arise, my birdie! arise, my lamb! arise, my dove!' But he\nslept on as if he were dead, hearing nothing. When the peahen failed\nto wake him, and they were about to fly away again, the one which\nhad been trying to wake him turned and said to his servant: 'When\nyour master wakes, tell him that to-morrow it will once more be\npossible for him to see us, but after that, never more.' On saying\nthis she took flight, and the others from the lake after her.\nScarcely had they flown away, when the prince awoke, and asked his\nservant: 'Did they come?' He told him: 'They did come, and eight of\nthem settled on the lake, and the ninth on your horse, and tried to\nwake you, but you slept soundly. As she departed, she told me to\ntell you that you will see her here once again to-morrow, and never\nmore.' When the prince heard this, he was ready to kill himself in\nhis unhappiness, and did not know what to do for sorrow. On the\nthird day he got ready to go to the lake, mounted his horse, went to\nthe shore, and, in order not to fall asleep, kept his horse\ncontinually in motion. But his wicked servant, as he followed him,\ncalculated the time, and blew the whistle behind his neck, and he\nimmediately leant forward on his horse and fell asleep. As soon as\nhe fell asleep, the nine peahens flew up; eight settled on the lake,\nand the ninth on his horse, and endeavoured to wake him: 'Arise, my\nbirdie! arise, my lamb! arise, my dove!' But he slept as if he were\ndead, and heard nothing. Then, when they were about to fly away\nagain, the one which had perched on his horse turned round, and said\nto his servant: 'When your master wakes up, tell him to roll the\nunder peg on the upper, and then he will find me.'[14] Then she flew\noff, and those from the lake after her. When they had flown away, he\nawoke again, and asked his servant: 'Did they come?' He replied:\n'They did; and the one that had perched on your horse told me to\ntell you to roll the upper peg on the under one, and then you would\nfind her.' When the prince heard this, he drew his sword, and cut\noff his servant's head. When he had done this, he started to travel\non alone. When he had travelled a long time, he came at dusk to the\ncottage of a hermit, and lodged there for the night. In the evening\nthe prince asked the hermit: 'Grandfather, have you heard of nine\ngolden peahens?' The hermit answered: 'Yes, my son; you are\nfortunate in having come to me to ask about them. They are not far\nhence; it is not more than half a day's journey to them from here.'\nIn the morning, when the prince departed to seek them, the hermit\ncame out to accompany him, and said to him: 'Go to the right, and\nyou will find a large gate. When you enter that gate, turn to the\nright, and then you will go right into their town, and in that town\nis their palace.' He went on his way according to the hermit's\nwords, and went on till he came to that gate; then turned to the\nright, and descried the town upon a hill. When he saw the town he\nwas much rejoiced. When he entered the town he inquired where the\npalace of the nine peahens was. It was pointed out to him. At the\ngate a watchman stopped him, and inquired whence and who he was. The\nprince told him all, whence he was and who he was. After this the\nwatchman went off to announce him to the empress. When she heard it,\nshe ran breathless, and stood in the form of a damsel before him,\ntook him by the hand, and led him upstairs. Then the two rejoiced\ntogether, and in a day or two were wedded.\n\n    [14] I do not understand this expression. It is afterwards\n    inverted by the servant. But it has no further bearing on the\n    story.\n\nWhen a few days had elapsed after their marriage, the empress\ndeparted to go on a journey, and the prince remained alone. When she\nwas about to start, she took out and gave him the keys of twelve\ncellars, and said to him: 'Open all the cellars, but do not have any\nnonsense with the twelfth.' She went away. When the prince remained\nalone in the palace, he bethought himself: 'What does this mean,\nthat I am to open all the cellars, but not to open the twelfth?\nGlory to the Lord God! what can there be in it?' He then began to\nopen them one after the other. He came to the twelfth, and at first\nwould not open it; but as he had no occupation, he began to brood\nand to say to himself: 'How can it be in this cellar that she told\nme not to open it?' At last he opened it too, and found standing in\nthe midst of it a cask bound with iron hoops, and a voice out of it\nwas heard, saying: 'I pray you, brother--I am athirst for\nwater--give me a cup of water.' On hearing this voice, the prince\ntook a cup of water, and sprinkled it on the bung; and as soon as he\nhad sprinkled it, one of the hoops of the cask burst. The voice then\ncried: 'Give me one more cup of water; I am athirst.' He took a cup\nof water and sprinkled it on the bung; and as soon as he had done\nso, another hoop burst on the cask. The voice then cried: 'I am\nathirst; give me, brother, one more cup of water.' The prince took\nanother cup of water and poured it on the bung; but as soon as he\nhad finished pouring it, the third hoop of the cask burst, the cask\nsplit asunder, and out of it flew a dragon, found the empress on her\nway, and carried her off. Thus it happened, and the attendants came\nand told their master that a dragon had carried the empress away.\nFinally he set off to seek her in the world. When he had travelled a\nlong time, he came to a marsh, and in that marsh espied a little\nfish, which was endeavouring to jump into the water, but was unable\nto do so. This little fish, on seeing the prince, addressed itself\nto him: 'I pray you, brother, do a good action: throw me into the\nwater; I shall some time be of use to you; only take a scale from\nme, and when you are in want of me, rub it between your fingers.' On\nhearing this he took a scale off it, threw the fish into the water,\nput the scale into a handkerchief, and went on his way. When he had\ngone a little further, he espied a fox caught in a trap. When the\nfox saw him, it called out: 'I pray you, brother, let me out of this\ntrap; I shall some day be of use to you; only take one or two hairs\nfrom my fur, and when I am wanted for you, rub them between your\nfingers.' He let it out of the trap, took one or two hairs from it,\nand went on his way. Thus he proceeded onwards, till, as he went, he\ncame to a hill, and found a crow caught in a trap just like the fox\nbefore. As soon as the crow saw him, it cried out: 'I pray you, be a\nbrother to me, traveller; let me out of this trap; I shall some day\nbe of use to you; only take a feather or two from me, and when you\nare in want of me, rub them between your fingers.' The prince took\none or two feathers from the crow, let it out of the trap, and then\nwent on his way. As he went on to find the empress, he met a man,\nand asked him: 'I pray you, brother, do you not know where is the\npalace of the dragon emperor?' The man showed him the way, and also\ntold him at what time he was at home, that he might find him. The\nprince thanked him, and said: 'Farewell.' He then went on, and\ngradually came to the palace of the dragon emperor. On his arrival\nthere he found his beloved, and when she saw him and he saw her,\nthey were both full of joy. Now they began to plan together how to\nescape. Finally they agreed to saddle their horses and take to\nflight. They saddled them, mounted, and off. When they had ridden\noff, the dragon arrived and looked about, but the empress was not to\nbe found. 'Now what shall we do?' said the dragon to his horse.\n'Shall we eat and drink, or pursue them?' The horse replied to him:\n'Don't trouble yourself; eat and drink.' When he had dined, the\ndragon mounted his horse and galloped after them, and in course of\ntime overtook them, and took the empress away, but said to the\nprince: 'Go in safety; this time you are forgiven, because you gave\nme water in the cellar; but do not come a second time if your life\nis dear to you.' The poor prince remained as if thunderstricken,\nthen started and proceeded a little way; but as he could not\novercome his heart, he returned to the dragon's palace. There he\nfound the empress weeping. When they saw each other and met, they\nbegan to consult how to get away so as to escape. Then said the\nprince to the empress: 'When the dragon comes, ask him from whom he\nbought that horse, and tell me, that I may obtain such another, that\nwe may escape.' After saying this to her he went out, that the\ndragon might not find him on his arrival. When the dragon came, the\nempress began to coax him and make herself agreeable to him, and\nsaid to him: 'What a swift horse yours is! From whom did you buy\nhim? Tell me, I pray you.' He answered: 'Where I bought him nobody\ncan make a purchase. On a certain hill lives an old woman who has\ntwelve horses in her stable, such that you don't know which is\nbetter than another. One of them is in the corner, and this one\nlooks skinny; but he is the best of all, and is brother of mine:\nthis one could fly to the sky. Whoever seeks to obtain a horse from\nthe old woman must serve her three days. The old woman has a mare\nwith a foal; whoever watches the mare successfully for three days,\nto him the old woman gives the choice of whichever horse he wishes.\nWhoever engages himself to watch the mare, and fails to watch her\nsuccessfully for three days and three nights, loses his life.' On\nthe morrow the dragon went away, and the prince came in. The empress\ntold him what the dragon had said. Then the prince started off and\nwent to the hill where the old woman was to be found. When he\nentered her house, he said to her: 'Good-day, old woman!' The old\nwoman replied: 'The Lord give you prosperity, my son!' She said to\nhim: 'What brings you here, my son?' He replied: 'I should like to\ntake service with you.' The old woman said to him: 'Very good, my\nson. I have a mare with a foal. If you watch her successfully for\nthree days, I will give you one of these twelve horses of mine to\ntake away, whichever you choose; but if you fail to watch her\nsuccessfully, I shall take off your head.' Then she took him into\nthe yard. In the yard post after post was fixed in the ground, and\non each was stuck a human head; only one remained vacant, and this\ncried out continually: 'Old woman, give me a head!' When the old\nwoman had shown him all, she said: 'Know that all these engaged to\nwatch the mare and the foal, but were unable to watch her\nsuccessfully.' But the prince was in no wise terrified thereby. In\nthe afternoon he mounted the mare and galloped uphill and downhill,\nand the foal galloped after her. Thus till midnight, and then, would\nhe nould he, sleep crept over him, and he fell asleep. When he woke\nup at dawn his arms were round a stump instead of the mare, but he\nheld the halter in his hand. When he perceived this, the poor fellow\nbecame dizzy from terror, and started off to look for her; and while\nhe was looking for her, came to a sheet of water, and when he came\nto the water, he remembered the little fish, unfolded the\nhandkerchief, and took out the scale and rubbed it between his\nfingers. Up sprang the little fish out of the water, and lay before\nhim. 'What is the matter, adopted brother?' said the fish. He\nreplied: 'The old woman's mare has escaped from me, and I don't know\nwhere she is.' The fish said to him: 'Here she is amongst us; she\nhas transformed herself into a fish, and her foal into a little\nfish; but do you flap the halter on the water, and call out: \"Coop!\ncoop! old woman's mare!\"' He flapped the water with the halter, and\ncalled out: 'Coop! coop! old woman's mare!' and immediately she\ntransformed herself again into a mare, and, pop! there she was on\nthe brink of the water before him! He put the halter on her and\nmounted her, and trot! trot! and at the old woman's. When he brought\nher in, the old woman gave him his dinner, but led the mare into the\nstable, scolded her, and said: 'Among the fish, good-for-nothing\nrogue?' The mare replied: 'I was among the fish, but they told of\nme, because they are his friends.' The old woman said to her: 'Go\namong the foxes.' The second day he mounted the mare, and galloped\nuphill and downhill, and the foal galloped after. Thus till\nmidnight. When it was about midnight sleep overcame him, and he fell\nasleep upon the mare's back. At dawn, when he awoke, his arms were\nround a stump, but he held the halter in his hand. When he perceived\nthis, he sprang off again to seek her. As he was seeking her, it\ncame at once into his head what the old woman had said to the mare\nwhen she was leading it into the stable. Then he unwrapped the fox's\nhairs out of the handkerchief, rubbed them between his fingers, and\nthe fox immediately jumped out before him. 'What is it, adopted\nbrother?' He replied: 'The old woman's mare has run away.' The fox\nsaid to him: 'Here she is amongst us; she has become a fox, and the\nfoal a fox-cub. But do you flap the ground with the halter, and call\nout: \"Coop! coop! old woman's mare!\"' He flapped and called, and the\nmare leaped out before him. Then he caught her and put the halter on\nher, mounted her, and rode to the old woman's. When he brought her\nhome, the old woman gave him his dinner, led the mare off to the\nstable, and said: 'Among the foxes, good-for-nothing rogue?' The\nmare replied: 'I was among them, but they are his friends, and told\nof me.' The old woman said to her: 'Be among the crows.' The third\nday the prince again mounted the mare, and galloped her uphill and\ndownhill, and the foal galloped after. Thus till midnight. About\nmidnight he became sleepy, and fell asleep, and woke up at dawn; but\nhis arms were round a stump, and he held the halter in his hand. As\nsoon as he perceived this, he darted off again to seek the mare, and\nas he was seeking her, it came into his head what the old woman had\nsaid the day before when scolding the mare. He took out the\nhandkerchief and unwrapped the crow's feathers, rubbed them between\nhis fingers, and, pop! the crow was before him. 'What is it, adopted\nbrother?' The prince replied: 'The old woman's mare has run away,\nand I don't know where she is.' The crow answered: 'Here she is\namongst us; she has become a crow, and the foal a young crow. But\nflap the halter in the air, and cry: \"Coop! coop! old woman's\nmare!\"' He flapped the halter in the air, and cried: 'Coop! coop!\nold woman's mare!' and the mare transformed herself from a crow into\na mare, just as she had been, and came before him. Then he put the\nhalter on her, and mounted her, and galloped off, the foal following\nbehind, to the old woman's. The old woman gave him his dinner,\ncaught the mare, led her into the stable, and said to her: 'Among\nthe crows, good-for-nothing rogue?' The mare replied: 'I was among\nthem, but they are his friends, and told of me.' Then when the old\nwoman came out, the prince said to her: 'Well, old woman, I have\nserved you honestly; now I ask you to give me that which we agreed\nupon.' The old woman replied: 'My son, what is agreed upon must be\ngiven. Here are twelve horses--choose whichever you please.' He\nreplied: 'Why shall I pick and choose? Give me that one where he is\nin the corner; there is none better in my eyes.' Then the old woman\nbegan to dissuade him: 'Why chose that skinny one when there are so\nmany good ones?' He then insisted once for all: 'Give me the one\nwhich I ask, for such was our agreement.' The old woman twisted,\nturned, and without more ado gave him the one which he asked for.\nThen he mounted it, and 'Farewell, old woman!' 'Good-bye, my son!'\nWhen he took it to a wood and groomed it, it glittered like gold.\nAfterwards, when he mounted it and gave it its head, it flew, flew\nlike a bird, and in a jiffy arrived at the dragon's palace. As soon\nas he entered the courtyard, he bade the empress to get ready for\nflight. She was not long in getting ready; they both mounted the\nhorse and set off. They had not long started in flight when the\ndragon arrived--looked about. No empress. Then he said to his horse:\n'Shall we eat and drink, or shall we pursue?' 'Eat or not, drink or\nnot, pursue or not, you won't catch him.' When the dragon heard\nthis, he immediately mounted his horse, and started to pursue them.\nWhen the prince and empress perceived that he was pursuing them,\nthey were terrified, and urged their horse to go quickly, but the\nhorse answered them: 'Never fear; there's no need to hurry.' The\ndragon came trot, trot, and the horse he rode called to that which\nbore the prince and the empress: 'Bless you, brother, wait! for I\nshall break my wind from pursuing you.' The other replied: 'Whose\nfault is it, if you're such a fool as to carry that spectre on your\nback? Buck, and throw him on the ground, and then follow me.' When\nthe dragon's horse heard this, up with his head, a jump with his\nhind-quarters, and bang went the dragon against a stone. The dragon\nwas smashed to pieces, and his horse followed the prince and\nempress. Then the empress caught and mounted it, and they arrived\nsafe and sound in the empress's dominions, and reigned honourably as\nlong as they lived.\n\n\n\n\nXXXIX.--THE LANGUAGE OF ANIMALS.\n\n\nA certain man had a shepherd, who served him faithfully and honestly\nfor many years. This shepherd, when he was once upon a time\nfollowing the sheep, heard a whistling on the hill, and, not knowing\nwhat it was, went off to see. When he got to the place, there was a\nconflagration, and in the middle of it a serpent was squeaking. When\nhe saw this, he waited to see how the serpent would act, for all\naround it was burning, and the fire had almost come close to it.\nWhen the serpent saw him, it screamed: 'Dear shepherd, do a good\naction: take me out of this fire.' The shepherd took pity on its\nwords, and reached it his crook, and it crawled out upon it. When it\nhad crawled out, it coiled itself round his neck. When the shepherd\nsaw this, he was frightened, and said: 'Indeed you are a wretch! Is\nthat the way you are going to thank me for rescuing you? So runs the\nproverb: \"Do good, and find evil.\"' The serpent answered him: 'Don't\nfear: I shall do you no harm; only carry me to my father; my father\nis the emperor of the serpents.' The shepherd begged pardon, and\nexcused himself: 'I can't carry you to your father, because I have\nno one to leave in charge of my sheep.' The serpent said to him:\n'Don't fear for your sheep; nothing will happen to them; only carry\nme to my father, and go quickly.' Then there was no help for it, so\nhe started with it over the hill. When he came to a door, which was\nformed of nothing but serpents intertwined, and went up to it, the\nserpent which was coiled round his neck gave a whistle, and the\nserpents, which had twined themselves into the form of a door,\nimmediately untwined, and made way for them to enter. As the\nshepherd and the serpent entered the palace, the serpent called to\nthe shepherd: 'Stop! let me tell you something: when you come into\nmy father's palace, he will promise you what you desire, silver and\ngold; but don't you accept anything, only ask him to give you such a\ntongue that you will be able to understand all animals. He will not\ngive you this readily, but at last grant it you he will.' The\nshepherd went with it into its father's palace, and its father, on\nseeing it, shed tears, and asked it: 'Hey, my son, where have you\nbeen till now?' It replied, and told him everything in order: what\nhad taken place, and how it had taken place, and how the shepherd\nhad rescued it. Then the emperor of the serpents turned to the\nshepherd, and said to him: 'Come, my son, what do you wish me to\ngive you in recompense for rescuing my child?' The shepherd replied\nto him: 'Nothing else, only give me such a tongue that I can\nunderstand all animals.' The emperor of the serpents said to him:\n'That is not a proper gift for you, my son, because, if I give you\nanything of the kind, you will betray yourself in somebody's\npresence by boasting of it, and then you will die immediately; ask\nsomething else.' The shepherd replied to him: 'I wish for nothing\nelse. If you will give it me, give it; if not, farewell!' He turned\nto go; but the emperor of the serpents cried out: 'Stay! Return! If\nyou ask this, come, that I may give it you. Open your mouth.' The\nshepherd opened his mouth, and the emperor of the serpents spat into\nit, and told him to spit also into his mouth. And thus they spat\nthrice into each other's mouths. When this was done, the emperor of\nthe serpents said to the shepherd: 'Now you have the tongue which\nyou desired; go, and farewell! But it is not permitted you to tell\nanybody, because, if you do, you will die. I am telling you the\ntruth.' The shepherd then departed. As he went over the hill, he\nunderstood the conversation of the birds, and, so to speak, of\neverything in the world. When he came to his sheep, he found them\ncorrect in number, and sat down to rest. But scarcely had he lain\ndown, when two crows flew up, perched on a tree hard by him, and\nbegan to converse in their language: 'If that shepherd knew that\njust where that black lamb lies a vault full of silver and gold is\nburied in the ground, he would take its contents.' When he heard\nthis, he went and told his master, and he brought a cart, and they\nbroke open the door of the vault, and took out its valuable\ncontents. His master was a righteous man, and said to him: 'Well, my\nson, this is all yours; the Lord has given it you. Go, provide a\nhouse, get married, and live comfortably.' The shepherd took the\nproperty, went away, provided a house, got married, and lived very\ncomfortably. This shepherd, after a little time, became so rich and\nprosperous that there was nobody richer than he in his own or the\nneighbouring villages. He had shepherds, cowherds, swineherds,\ngrooms, and everything on a handsome scale. Once upon a time this\nshepherd ordered his wife on New Year's Eve to provide wine, brandy,\nand everything requisite, and to go the next morning to his cattle,\nto take the provisions to the herdsmen, that they, too, might enjoy\nthemselves. His wife obeyed him, and did as her husband ordered her.\n\nThe next day they got up, got ready, and went. When they arrived\nwhere the cattle were, the master said to his shepherds: 'Lads,\nassemble together, and sit down to eat and drink your fill, and I\nwill watch the cattle to-night.' This was done; they assembled\ntogether, and he went out to sleep by the cattle. In the course of\nthe night, after some time, the wolves began to howl and speak in\ntheir language, and the dogs to bark and speak in theirs. The wolves\nsaid: 'Can we capture any young cattle?' The dogs answered in their\nlanguage: 'Come in, that we, too, may eat our fill of flesh.' But\namong the dogs there was one old dog, who had only two teeth left.\nThis dog spoke and answered the wolves: 'In faith, as long as these\ntwo teeth of mine last, you shan't come near to do harm to my\nmaster.' In the morning, when it dawned, the master called the\nherdsmen, and told them to kill all the dogs except that old one.\nHis servants began to implore him: 'Don't, master! Why? It's a sin.'\nBut he said to them: 'Do just as I ordered you, and not otherwise.'\n\nThen he and his wife mounted their horses and went off. His wife\nrode a mare, and he a horse. As they went, the master's horse\noutstripped the wife's mare, and began to say to her in their\nlanguage: 'Go quicker; why do you hang back?' The mare's reply in\ndefence of her lagging pace was so amusing that the man laughed out\nloud, turned his head, and looked behind him with a smile. His wife\nobserved him smiling, whipped her mare to catch him up, and then\nasked him to tell her why he smiled. He said to her: 'Well, suppose\nI did? Something came into my head.' This answer did not satisfy\nher, but she began to worry him to tell her why he smiled. He said\nthis and that to her to get out of it, but the more he said to get\nout of it, the more did she worry him. At length he said to her\nthat, if he told her, he would die immediately. But she had no dread\nof her husband's dying, and went on worrying him: 'There is no\nalternative, but tell me you must.' When they got home, they\ndismounted from their horses, and as soon as they had done so, her\nhusband ordered a grave to be dug for him. It was dug, and he lay\ndown in it, and said to his wife: 'Did you not press me to tell you\nwhy I smiled? Come now, that I may tell you; but I shall die\nimmediately.' On saying this, he gave one more look round him, and\nobserved that the old dog had come from the cattle. Seeing this, he\ntold his wife to give him a piece of bread. She gave it him, but the\ndog would not even look at it, but shed tears and wept; but the\ncock, seeing it, ran up and began to peck it. The dog was angry, and\nsaid: 'As if _you'd_ die hungry! Don't you see that our master is\ngoing to die?' 'What a fool he is! Let him die! Whose fault is it?\nI have a hundred wives. When I find a grain of millet, I call them\nall to me, and finally eat it myself. If one of them gets cross at\nthis, I give her one or two pecks, and she lowers her tail; but this\nman isn't equal to keeping one in order.' When the man heard the\ncock say this, he jumped up at once out of the grave, seized a\nstick, chased his wife over hill and dale, and at last settled her\ncompletely, so that it never entered her head any more to ask him\nwhy he smiled.\n\n\n\n\n_SERBIAN STORIES._\n\n\nThe Serbian is the most widely spread of the South Slavonic dialects,\nbeing spoken not only in Serbia proper, but also in Bosnia,\nHerzegovina, Croatia, Carniola, and a great part of South Hungary. It\nhas, like the Bulgarian, been affected by the old Thracian language,\nbut not to the same extent. The infinitive is very frequently\nrepresented by _da_ with the finite verb. Szafarzik includes the whole\nof the South Slavonic dialects, except the Bulgarian, under the common\nname 'Illyrian,' and subdivides them into the three divisions of\nSerbian, Croatian, and Carinthian-Slovenish.\n\nThe Serbian stories are generally good, particularly No. 40, which\nmay be compared with a very inferior variant in Grimm, 'The Golden\nBird.' No. 40 is one of the stories, the beauty of which set me to\nwork upon the present series of translations. In it is to be noticed\nthe _pobratimstvo_, or adoptive brotherhood, which plays so\nimportant a part in Serbian life, and of which we have just had a\nglimpse in the Bulgarian story, No. 38. No. 43 is a very good story,\ncontaining novel and interesting incidents. In No. 44 it must be\nobserved that 'Fate' is represented as a man, for the converse\nreason to that for which Death is represented as a woman in the\nMoravian story, No 8. _Usud_ (Fate) is masculine, while _Smrt_\n(Death) is feminine in Slavonic.\n\nThe Serbs possess actual epic poetry, of which an account is given\nby Mr. Morfill ('Slavonic Literature,' pp. 154-162).\n\n\n\n\nXL.--THE LAME FOX.\n\n\nThere was a man who had three sons--two intelligent, and one a\nsimpleton. This man's right eye was always laughing, while his left\neye was weeping and shedding tears. This man's sons agreed to go to\nhim one by one, and ask him why his right eye laughed and his left\neye shed tears.\n\nAccordingly the eldest went to his father by himself, and asked him:\n'Father, tell me truly what I am going to ask you. Why does your\nright eye always laugh and your left eye weep?' His father gave him\nno answer, but flew into a rage, seized a knife, and at him, and he\nfled out of doors, and the knife stuck in the door. The other two\nwere outside, anxiously expecting their brother, and when he came\nout, asked him what his father had said to him. But he answered\nthem: 'If you're not wiser than another, go, and you will hear.'\n\nThen the middle brother went to his father by himself, and asked\nhim: 'Father, tell me truly what I am going to ask you. Why does\nyour right eye always laugh and your left weep?' His father gave him\nno answer, but flew into a rage, seized a knife, and at him, and he\nfled out of doors, and the knife stuck in the door. When he came out\nto his brothers, his brothers asked him: 'Tell us, brother--so may\nhealth and prosperity attend you!--what our father has said to you.'\nHe answered them: 'If you're not wiser than another, go, and you\nwill hear.' But this he said to his elder brother on account of the\nsimpleton, that he, too, might go to his father to hear and see.\n\nThen the simpleton, too, went by himself to his father, and asked\nhim: 'Father, my two brothers won't tell me what you have said to\nthem; tell me why your right eye always laughs and your left eye\nweeps?' His father immediately flew into a rage, seized a knife, and\nbrandished the knife to pierce him through; but as he was standing,\nso he remained standing where he was, and wasn't frightened in the\nleast. When his father saw that, he came to him, and said: 'Well,\nyou're my true son, I will tell you; but those two are cowards. The\nreason why my right eye laughs is, that I rejoice and am glad\nbecause you children obey and serve me well. And why my left eye\nweeps, it weeps on this account: I had in my garden a vine, which\npoured forth a bucket of wine every hour, thus producing me\ntwenty-four buckets of wine every day and night. This vine has been\nstolen from me, and I have not been able to find it, nor do I know\nwho has taken it or where it is. And for this reason my left eye\nweeps, and will weep till I die, unless I find it.' When the\nsimpleton came out of doors, his brothers asked him what his father\nhad said, and he told them all in order.\n\nThen they prepared a drinking bout for their father and the\ndomestics, and set out on their journey. On the journey they came to\na cross-road, and three ways lay before them. The two elder\nconsulted together, and said to their youngest brother, the\nsimpleton: 'Come, brother, let us each choose a road, and let each\ngo by himself and seek his fortune.' 'Yes, brothers,' answered the\nsimpleton; 'you choose each a road; I will take that which remains\nto me.' The two elder took two roads which ran into each other,\nstarted on their way, and afterwards met, came out into the road,\nand said: 'Praise be to God that we're quit of that fool!' They then\nsat down to take their dinner. Scarcely had they sat down to eat,\nwhen up came a lame she-fox on three legs, which approached them,\nfawning and begging to obtain something to eat. But as soon as they\nsaw the fox: 'Here's a fox,' said they; 'come, let us kill it.'\nThen, stick in hand, and after it. The fox limped away in the best\nfashion it could, and barely escaped from them. Meanwhile,\nshepherd-dogs came to their wallet and ate up everything that they\nhad. When they returned to the wallet they had a sight to see.\n\nThe simpleton took the third road right on, and went forward till he\nbegan to feel hungry. Then he sat down on the grass under a\npear-tree, and took bread and bacon out of his wallet to eat.\nScarcely had he sat down to eat, when, lo! that very same lame fox\nwhich his two brothers had seen began to approach him, and to fawn\nand beg, limping on three feet. He had compassion on it because it\nwas so lame, and said: 'Come, fox, I know that you are hungry, and\nthat it is hard lines for you that you have not a fourth foot.' He\ngave it bread and bacon to eat, a portion for himself, and a portion\nfor the fox. When they had refreshed themselves a little, the fox\nsaid to him: 'But, brother, tell me the truth: whither are you\ngoing?' He said: 'Thus and thus: I have a father and us three\nbrothers; and one of my father's eyes always laughs, because we\nserve him well, and the other eye weeps, because there has been\nstolen from him a vine belonging to him, which poured forth a bucket\nof wine every hour; and now I am going to ask people all over the\nworld whether someone cannot inform me about this vine, that I may\nobtain it for my father, that his eye may not weep any longer.'\n\nThe fox said: 'Well, I know where the vine is; follow me.' He\nfollowed the fox, and they came to a large garden. Then the fox\nsaid: 'There is the vine of which you are in search; but it is\ndifficult to get to it. Do you now mark well what I am going to say\nto you. In the garden, before the vine is reached, it is necessary\nto pass twelve watches, and in each watch twelve warders. When the\nwarders are looking, you can pass them freely, because they sleep\nwith their eyes open. If they have their eyes closed, go not, for\nthey are awake, not sleeping, with their eyes closed. When you come\ninto the garden, there under the vine stand two shovels--one of\nwood, and the other of gold. But mind you don't take the golden\nshovel to dig up the vine, for the shovel will ring, and will wake\nup the watch; the watch will seize you, and you may fare badly. But\ntake the wooden shovel, and with it dig up the vine, and, when the\nwatch is looking, come quietly to me outside, and you will have\nobtained the vine.'\n\nHe went into the garden, arrived at the first watch; the warders\ndirected their eyes towards him; one would have thought they would\nhave looked him to powder. But he went past them as past a stone,\ncame to the second, third, and all the watches in succession, and\narrived in the garden at the vine itself. The vine poured forth a\nbucket of wine every hour. He was too lazy to dig with the wooden\nshovel, but took the golden one, and as soon as he struck it into\nthe ground, the shovel rang and woke the watch; the watch assembled,\nseized him, and delivered him to their lord.\n\nThe lord asked the simpleton: 'How did you dare to pass so many\nwatches, and come into the garden to take my vine away?' The\nsimpleton said: 'It is not your vine, but my father's; and my\nfather's left eye weeps, and will weep till I obtain him the vine,\nand I must do it; and if you don't give me my father's vine, I shall\ncome again, and the second time I shall take it away.' The lord\nsaid: 'I cannot give you the vine. But if you procure me the golden\napple-tree which blooms, ripens, and bears golden fruit every\ntwenty-four hours, I will give it you.'\n\nHe went out to the fox, and the fox asked him: 'Well, how is it?'\nHe answered: 'No how. I went past the watch, and began to dig up the\nvine with the wooden shovel; but it was too long a job, and I took\nthe golden shovel; the shovel rang and woke the watch; the watch\nseized me, and delivered me to their lord, and the lord promised to\ngive me the vine, if I procured him the golden apple-tree which,\nevery twenty-four hours, blooms, ripens, and bears golden fruit.'\nThe fox said: 'But why did you not obey me? You see how nice it\nwould have been to go to your father with the vine.' He shook his\nhead: 'I see that I have done wrong; but I will do so no more.' The\nfox said: 'Come! now let us go to the golden apple-tree.' The fox\nled him to a far handsomer garden than the first one, and told him\nthat he must pass similarly through twelve similar watches. 'And\nwhen you come in the garden,' said she, 'to where the golden\napple-tree is, two very long poles stand there--one of gold, and the\nother of wood. Don't take the golden one to beat the golden\napple-tree, for the golden branch will emit a whistling sound, and\nwill wake the watch, and you will fare ill; but take the wooden pole\nto beat the golden apple-tree, and then mind you come out\nimmediately to me. If you do not obey me, I will not help you\nfurther.' He said: 'I will, fox, only that it may be mine to acquire\nthe golden apple-tree to purchase the vine; I am impatient to go to\nmy father.' He went into the garden, and the fox stayed waiting for\nhim outside. He passed the twelve watches, and also arrived at the\napple-tree. But when he saw the apple-tree, and the golden apples on\nthe apple-tree, he forgot for joy where he was, and hastily took the\ngolden pole to beat the golden apple-tree. As soon as he had\nstripped a golden branch with the pole, the golden branch emitted a\nwhistling sound, and woke the watch; the watch hastened up, seized\nand delivered him to the lord of the golden apple-tree.\n\nThe lord asked the simpleton: 'How did you dare, and how were you\nable, to go into my garden in face of so many watches of mine, to\nbeat the golden apple-trees?' The simpleton said: 'Thus and thus: my\nfather's left eye weeps because a vine has been stolen from him,\nwhich poured forth a bucket of wine every hour. That vine is kept in\nsuch and such a garden, and the lord of the garden and the vine said\nto me: \"If you procure me the golden apple-tree which, every\ntwenty-four hours, blooms, ripens, and produces golden fruit, I will\ngive you the vine.\" And, therefore, I have come to beat the golden\napple-tree, to give the apple-tree for the vine, and to carry the\nvine to my father, that his left eye may not weep. And if you do not\ngive me the golden apple-tree now, I shall come again to steal it.'\n\nThe lord said: 'It is good, if it is so. Go you and procure me the\ngolden horse which, in twenty-four hours, goes over the world, and I\nwill give you the golden apple-tree; give the apple-tree for the\nvine, and take the vine to your father, that he may weep no more.'\n\nThen he went outside, and the fox, awaiting him, said: 'Now, then;\nhow is it?' 'Not very well. The golden apple-trees are so beautiful\nthat you can't look at them for beauty. I forgot myself, and\ncouldn't take the wooden pole, as you told me, but took the golden\npole to beat the golden apple-tree; the branch emitted a whistling\nsound, and woke the watch; the watch seized me, and delivered me to\ntheir lord, and the lord told me, if I procured him the golden horse\nwhich goes over the world in twenty-four hours, he would give me the\ngolden apple-tree, that I may give the apple-tree for the vine to\ntake to my father, that he may weep no more.'\n\nAgain the fox began to scold and reproach him: 'Why did you not obey\nme? You see that you would have been by now at your father's. And\nthus you torment both yourself and me.' He said to the fox: 'Only\nprocure me the horse, fox, and I will always henceforth obey you.'\n\nThe fox led him to a large and horrible forest, and in the forest\nthey found a farmyard. In this farmyard twelve watches, as in the\ncase of the vine and the apple-tree, guarded the golden horse. The\nfox said: 'Now you will pass the watches as before; go if they are\nlooking; do not go if they have their eyes shut. When you enter the\nstable, there stands the golden horse, equipped with golden\ntrappings. By the horse are two bridles--one of gold, and the other\nplaited of tow. Mind you don't take the golden bridle, but the one\nof tow; if you bridle him with the golden bridle, the horse will\nneigh and will wake the watch; the watch will seize you, and who\nwill be worse off than you? Don't come into my sight without the\nhorse!' 'I won't, fox,' said he, and went. He passed all the\nwatches, and entered the stable where the horse was. When he was\nthere, golden horse! golden wings! so beautiful, good heavens! that\nyou couldn't look at them for beauty! He saw the golden bridle; it\nwas beautiful and ornamented; he saw also that of tow; it was dirty,\nand couldn't be worse. Now he thought long what to do and how to do.\n'I can't put that nasty thing' (the tow bridle)--'it's so nasty!--on\nthat beauty; I had rather not have him at all than put such a horse\nto shame.' He took the golden bridle, bridled the golden horse, and\nmounted him. But the horse neighed, and woke the watch; the watch\nseized him and delivered him to their lord.\n\nThen the lord said: 'How did you have resolution to pass my numerous\nwarders into my stable to take away my golden horse?' The simpleton\nreplied: 'Need drove me; I have a father at home, and his left eye\ncontinually weeps, and will weep till I obtain for him a vine which\nin a day and night poured forth twenty-four buckets of wine; this\nvine has been stolen from him. Well, I have found it, and it has\nbeen told me that I shall obtain the vine if I procure the golden\napple-tree for the lord of the vine. And the lord of the golden\napple-tree said if I procured him the golden horse, he would give me\nthe golden apple-tree. And I came from him to take away the golden\nhorse, that I might give the golden horse for the golden apple-tree,\nand the golden apple-tree for the vine, to take it home and give it\nmy father, that he may weep no more.' The lord said: 'Good; if it is\nso, I will give you my golden horse, if you procure me the golden\ndamsel in her cradle, who has never yet seen either the sun or the\nmoon, so that her face is not tanned.' And the simpleton said: 'I\nwill procure you the golden damsel, but you must give me your golden\nhorse, on which to seek the golden damsel and bring her to you. And\na golden horse properly appertains to a golden damsel.' The lord:\n'And how will you guarantee that you will return to me again?' The\nsimpleton: 'Behold, I swear to you by my father's eyesight, that I\nwill return to you again, and either bring the horse, if I do not\nfind the damsel, or give you the damsel, if I find her, for the\nhorse.' To this the lord agreed, and gave him the golden horse; he\nbridled it with the golden bridle, and came outside to the fox. The\nfox was impatiently expecting him, to know what had happened.\n\nThe fox: 'Well, have you obtained the horse?' The simpleton: 'I\nhave, but on condition that I procure for him the golden damsel in\nher cradle, who has never yet seen the sun or the moon, so that her\nface is not tanned. But if you know what need is, good friend, in\nthe world, say whether she is anywhere, and whether you know of such\na damsel.' The fox said: 'I know where the damsel is; only follow\nme.' He followed, and they came to a large cavern. Now the fox said:\n'There the damsel is. You will go into that cavern, deep into the\nearth. You will pass the watches as before. In the last chamber lies\nthe golden damsel in a golden cradle. By the damsel stands a huge\nspectre, which says: \"No! No! No!\" Now, don't be at all afraid; it\ncannot do anything to you in any wise; but her wicked mother has\nplaced it beside her daughter, that no one may venture to approach\nher to take her away. And the damsel is impatiently waiting to be\nreleased and freed from her mother's cruelty. When you come back\nwith the damsel in the cradle, push all the doors to behind you,\nthat they may be shut, that the watch may not be able to come out\nafter you in pursuit.' He did so. He passed all the watches, entered\nthe last chamber, and in the chamber was the damsel, rocking herself\nin a golden cradle, and on the way to the cradle stood a huge\nspectre, which said: 'No! No! No!' But he paid no attention to it.\nHe took the cradle in his hands, seated himself with the cradle on\nthe horse, and proceeded, pushed the doors to, and the doors closed\nfrom the first to the last, and out he flew with the damsel in the\ncradle before the fox. The fox was anxiously expecting him.\n\nNow the fox said to him: 'Are you not sorry to give so beautiful a\ndamsel for the golden horse? But you will not otherwise be able to\nacquire the golden horse, because you have sworn by your father's\neyesight. But come! let me try whether I can't be the golden\ndamsel.' She bounded hither and thither, and transformed herself\ninto a golden damsel; everything about her was damsel-like, only her\neyes were shaped like a fox's eyes. He put her into the golden\ncradle, and left the real damsel under a tree to take charge of the\ngolden horse. He went, he took away the golden cradle, and in the\ncradle the fox-damsel, delivered her to the lord of the golden\nhorse, and absolved himself from the oath by his father's eyesight.\nHe returned to the horse and the damsel. Now that same lord of the\ngolden horse, full of joy at acquiring the golden damsel, assembled\nall his lordship, prepared a grand banquet for their entertainment,\nand showed them what he had acquired in exchange for his golden\nhorse. While the guests were gazing at the damsel, one of them\nscrutinized her attentively, and said: 'All is damsel-like, and she\nis very beautiful, but her eyes are shaped like a fox's eyes.' No\nsooner had he said this, when up sprang the fox and ran away. The\nlord and the guests were enraged that he had said 'fox's eyes,' and\nput him to death.\n\nThe fox ran to the simpleton, and on they went to give the golden\nhorse for the golden apple-tree. They arrived at the place. Here\nagain the fox said: 'Now, you see, you have got possession of the\ngolden damsel, but the golden horse properly appertains to the\ngolden damsel. Are you sorry to give the golden horse?' 'Yes, fox;\nbut though I am sorry, yet I wish my father not to weep.' The fox:\n'But stay; let me try whether I can be the golden horse.' She\nbounded hither and thither, and transformed herself into a golden\nhorse, only she had a fox's tail. Then she said: 'Now lead me; let\nthem give you the golden apple-tree, and I know when I shall come to\nyou.'\n\nHe led off the fox-horse, delivered it to the lord of the golden\napple-tree, and obtained the golden apple-tree. Now, the lord of the\ngolden apple-tree was delighted at having acquired so beautiful a\nhorse, and invited his whole lordship to a feast, to boast to them\nwhat a horse he had acquired. The guests began to gaze at the horse,\nand to wonder how beautiful he was. All at once one scrutinized his\ntail attentively, and said: 'All is beautiful and all pleases me,\nonly I should say that it is a fox's tail!' The moment he said that,\nthe fox jumped up and ran away. But the guests were enraged at him\nfor using the expression 'fox's tail,' and put him to death. The\nfox came to the simpleton, and proceeded with the golden damsel, the\nhorse, and the golden apple-tree to the vine.\n\nNow again the fox said: 'You see, now you have acquired the golden\napple-tree. But the golden damsel is not appropriate without the\ngolden horse, or the golden horse without the golden apple-tree. Are\nyou sorry to give the golden apple-tree?' The simpleton: 'Yes, fox;\nbut I must, to obtain the vine, that my father may not weep. I had\nrather that my father did not weep than all that I have.' The fox\nsaid: 'Stay! I will try whether I can be the golden apple-tree.' She\nbounded hither and thither, and transformed herself into a golden\napple-tree, and told him to take it away and give it for the vine.\nHe took off the golden fox-apple-tree, and gave it to the lord of\nthe vine, obtained the vine, and went away.\n\nThe lord for joy assembled his whole lordship, and prepared a grand\nfeast, to display what a golden apple-tree he had acquired. The\nguests assembled and began to gaze at the apple-tree. But one\nscrutinized it attentively, and said: 'All is beautiful, and cannot\nbe more beautiful, only the fruit is in shape a fox's head, and not\nlike other apples.' No sooner had he said this when up jumped the\nfox and ran away. But they were enraged at him and slew him, because\nhe had said 'fox's head.'\n\nNow the simpleton took leave of the fox and went home, having with\nhim the golden damsel, the golden horse, the golden apple-tree, and\nthe vine. When he arrived at the cross-road, where he had parted\nfrom his brothers when he went from home to seek the vine, he saw a\nmultitude of people assembled, and he, too, went thither to see what\nwas the matter. When he got there, his two brothers were standing\ncondemned, and the people were going to hang them. He told the\ndamsel that they were his brothers, and that he would like to\nransom them. The damsel took a large quantity of treasure out of her\nbosom, and he ransomed his brothers, the malefactors, who had\nthought to acquire the vine by slaying, burning, and plundering.\nThey envied him, but could not help themselves. They proceeded home.\nThe simpleton planted the vine in the garden where it had been; the\nvine began to pour forth wine, and his father's left eye ceased to\nweep and began to laugh. The apple-tree began to blossom, the golden\nhorse to neigh, the damsel to sing, and there was love and beauty at\nthe farmhouse. Everything was merry, everything was rejoicing and\nmaking progress.\n\nAll at once the father sent his sons to bring him from the country\nthree ears of rye, that he might see what manner of season it would\nbe. When they came to a well in the country, they told their\nsimpleton brother to get them some water to drink. He stooped over\nthe well to reach the water for them; they pushed him into the water\nand he was drowned. Immediately the vine ceased to pour forth wine,\nthe father's eye began to weep, the apple-tree drooped, the horse\nceased to neigh, the damsel began to weep, and everything lost its\ncheerful appearance. Thereupon that self-same lame fox came up, got\ndown into the well, gently drew her adopted brother out, poured the\nwater out of him, placed him on the fresh grass, and he revived. As\nsoon as he revived the fox was transformed into a very beautiful\ndamsel. Then she related to him how her mother had cursed her\nbecause she had rescued her greatest enemy from death. She was\ncursed, and was transformed into a cunning fox, and limped on three\nfeet until she should rescue her benefactor from a watery death.\n'And, lo! I have rescued you, my adopted brother. Now, adieu!' She\nwent her way, and the simpleton his way to his father, and when he\narrived at the farmhouse the vine began again to pour forth wine,\nhis father's eye to laugh [the golden apple-tree to bloom], the\ngolden horse to neigh, and the golden damsel to sing. He told his\nfather what his brothers had done to him on the way, and how a\ndamsel had rescued him and freed herself from a curse. When his\nfather heard this he drove the two villains into the world. But he\nmarried the simpleton to the golden damsel, with whom he lived long\nin happiness and content.\n\n\n\n\nXLI.--THE SONS' OATH TO THEIR DYING FATHER.\n\n\nThere was an old man who had three sons and one daughter. When the\ntime came for the old man to die, he summoned all his three sons,\nand made them promise under oath to give their sister to the first\nwho came to ask for her, whoever he might be. When some time had\nelapsed after the father's death, an old man arrived in a\ntwo-wheeler, and asked for the maiden in marriage. The two elder\nbrothers would not give her to him immediately, because he was old\nand poor; but the youngest insisted that they should give her to\nhim, reminding them of the oath they had sworn to their father. And\nso they gave her in marriage to the old man, and the old man took\nher away to his home. After some time, the elder brother went on a\nvisit to his sister. When he got there, it was a large house, and\ncouldn't be better. The sister was greatly delighted when she saw\nher brother, and when he inquired of her how she was getting on, she\nreplied: 'Excellently; it can't be better.' When the brother arrived\nat his sister's, the old man was not at home, but soon afterwards\narrived, and was very pleased when he saw his wife's brother, and\nsaid to him: 'We will feast and be merry; but first you shall go on\nmy horse to fetch him some grass, but you must cut it where the\nhorse paws with his foot, and not where you please.' His wife's\nbrother said to him: 'Good! brother-in-law, I will.' He then mounted\nthe horse and went off. As on he went, he came to a silver bridge.\nWhen he espied the bridge and saw that it was all of silver, he\nbecame covetous, dismounted, and pulled off a silver plate, saying:\n'I may benefit myself.' Afterwards he cut grass where he pleased,\nwithout waiting till the horse pawed with his foot, mounted the\nhorse again, and returned back. On arriving at the house, he put the\nhorse in the stable, placed the grass before him, and went off into\nthe house. When he arrived in the house, the old man asked him\nwhether he had satisfied the horse, and whether the horse was eating\nthe grass. He replied, 'Yes,' and that the horse was eating. The old\nman said: 'It is good that I also look.' He then went into the\nstable. When he got there, the horse had not touched it. The old man\nunderstood that the grass had not been cut where he had told him; he\ntherefore at once sent off his brother-in-law supperless, to go back\nwhence he had come. On reaching home, he didn't tell his brothers\nhow he had fared at his brother-in-law's, but said to the middle\nbrother: 'Our brother-in-law salutes you, and wishes you to go to be\nhis guest.' After some time, the middle brother went on a visit to\nhis sister; but he, too, fared even as the first one. His sister's\nhusband sent him, too, for grass, and when he got to the silver\nbridge, he, too, became covetous, like the first, pulled off a\nsilver plate, and did not cut the grass as his brother-in-law told\nhim, but where he thought fit. When he came back to his\nbrother-in-law's house, his brother-in-law caught him, too, out in a\nlie, and sent him home supperless, like the first one. When he got\nhome, he told nobody how he had fared at his brother-in-law's, but\nsaid to the youngest brother: 'Our brother-in-law salutes you, and\nwishes you to go to visit him.'\n\nAfter some time, the youngest brother, too, went off. When his\nsister espied him, she said to him: 'Only, brother, be sure not to\ndo as our two brothers have done.' He didn't know what they had\ndone, and his sister would not tell him anything more. When his\nsister's husband came home, he, too, was delighted with his wife's\nbrother, and said to him: 'We will feast and be merry, only go first\non my horse and fetch him some grass; but you will cut it there\nwhere the horse paws with his foot, and not where you please.' He\nmounted the horse and went off for the grass. When he arrived at the\nbridge, he was astonished at its beauty, but was quite sorry that it\nhadn't those two plates; and when he came to the middle, he looked\non one side and the other, and saw under it, where water was\nbubbling in a huge caldron, and human heads boiling in it, and\neagles pecking them from above. Afterwards, having passed over the\nbridge, he came to a village, and, as he passed through it, saw that\nthere everything was sad and sorrowful, and wondered thereat, and\nasked a man: 'How is this, brother, that all is so sorrowful with\nyou?' He replied: 'How should it not be sorrowful, when hail smites\nus every hour, and we have nothing.' When he came out of the\nvillage, he found two pigs on the road, and they were fighting\nwithout ceasing. He tried to part them, but in vain, and, being\nunable to part them, went on further. Thus proceeding, he came to\nanother village, and, as he went through, heard on all sides singing\nand merriment, and said to someone: 'I went through one village and\nfound everything sorrowful, and why is all so merry with you?' The\nvillager answered him: 'Why should it not be so, when every hour is\nproductive to us, and we have all in abundance?' Finally, the horse\ncarried him to a very beautiful meadow. When they were in the middle\nof the meadow, the horse stood still and pawed with his foot, and he\ndismounted and cut grass, and returned back to the house. When he\ngot to the house, he led the horse into the stable, laid the grass\nbefore him, and the horse immediately began to eat. When his\nsister's husband saw that he had satisfied the horse, he was very\npleased, and said to him: 'You are my true brother-in-law; now let\nus be merry and feast.' Then they sat down to table and began to\nsup. At supper the old man said to him: 'Now, tell me what you have\nseen.' He answered him: 'Oh, my brother-in-law! what I have seen\ncannot be expressed. First I saw a very beautiful silver bridge, but\nit was disfigured where it wanted a pair of plates. Whoever took\nthese away, the living God hath slain him!' The old man thereupon\ntold him: 'Your two brothers stole them. As they have done, so have\nthey fared. But tell me what you saw next.' His wife's brother\nreplied: 'At the middle under the bridge I saw a huge caldron, where\nit was bubbling, and in it the heads of dead people, and eagles were\npecking them from above.' Thereupon his sister's husband said:\n'Those are the eternal torments in that world. What did you see\nmore?' His wife's brother continued: 'I saw a village, and in it\neverything miserable.' The old man said to him: 'There there is no\nunion and no truth, nor knowledge of God. What did you see further?'\nHis wife's brother said to him further: 'I saw two pigs fighting\nwithout ceasing.' His sister's husband replied: 'Those are two\nbrothers who do not live in concord. What did you see further?' 'I\nsaw another village, and in it all was cheerful.' His sister's\nhusband said to that: 'Those are people after God's will; they\ngladly welcome and entertain everybody, and do not drive the poor\nempty-handed from before their houses. Tell me what you saw\nfurther.' His wife's brother said to him: 'I saw a very beautiful\nmeadow. I would stay there three days to view such beauty.' His\nsister's husband replied: 'That is the paradise of that world, but\nit is difficult to attain to it.' After this they enjoyed each\nother's society for many days. Finally, the wife's brother declared\nthat he must go home, and his sister's husband presented him with a\nlarge gift, and told him that he recognised him immediately for an\nhonourable man, because he had insisted that his father's\ndirections, which he had sworn to observe, should be carried out,\nand that he would be prosperous, and his two brothers unprosperous.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nN.B.--There are two words for 'brother-in-law' in Servian: _shura_,\nthe wife's brother, and _zet_, the sister's husband. This makes the\ntale read better in Servian than in English.\n\n\n\n\nXLII.--THE WONDERFUL HAIR.\n\n\nThere was a man who was very poor, but so well supplied with\nchildren that he was utterly unable to maintain them, and one\nmorning more than once prepared to kill them, in order not to see\ntheir misery in dying from hunger, but his wife prevented him. One\nnight a child came to him in his sleep, and said to him: 'Man! I see\nthat you are making up your mind to destroy and to kill your poor\nlittle children, and I know that you are distressed thereat; but in\nthe morning you will find under your pillow a mirror, a red\nkerchief, and an embroidered pocket-handkerchief; take all three\nsecretly and tell nobody; then go to such a hill; by it you will\nfind a stream; go along it till you come to its fountain-head; there\nyou will find a damsel as bright as the sun, with her hair hanging\ndown over her back, and without a scrap of clothing. Be on your\nguard, that the ferocious she-dragon do not coil round you; do not\nconverse with her if she speaks; for if you converse with her, she\nwill poison you, and turn you into a fish, or something else, and\nwill then devour you; but if she bids you examine her head, examine\nit, and as you turn over her hair, look, and you will find one hair\nas red as blood; pull it out and run back again; then, if she\nsuspects and begins to run after you, throw her first the\nembroidered pocket-handkerchief, then the kerchief, and, lastly, the\nmirror; then she will find occupation for herself. And sell that\nhair to some rich man; but don't let them cheat you, for that hair\nis worth countless wealth; and you will thus enrich yourself and\nmaintain your children.'\n\nWhen the poor man awoke, he found everything under his pillow, just\nas the child had told him in his sleep; and then he went to the\nhill. When there, he found the stream, went on and on alongside of\nit, till he came to the fountain-head. Having looked about him to\nsee where the damsel was, he espied her above a piece of water, like\nsunbeams threaded on a needle, and she was embroidering at a frame\non stuff, the threads of which were young men's hair. As soon as he\nsaw her, he made a reverence to her, and she stood on her feet and\nquestioned him: 'Whence are you, unknown young man?' But he held his\ntongue. She questioned him again: 'Who are you? Why have you come?'\nand much else of all sorts; but he was as mute as a stone, making\nsigns with his hands, as if he were deaf and wanted help. Then she\ntold him to sit down on her skirt. He did not wait for any more\norders, but sat down, and she bent down her head to him, that he\nmight examine it. Turning over the hair of her head, as if to\nexamine it, he was not long in finding that red hair, and separated\nit from the other hair, pulled it out, jumped off her skirt and ran\naway back as he best could. She noticed it, and ran at his heels\nfull speed after him. He looked round, and seeing that she was about\nto overtake him, threw, as he was told, the embroidered\npocket-handkerchief on the way, and when she saw the\npocket-handkerchief, she stooped and began to overhaul it in every\ndirection, admiring the embroidery, till he had got a good way off.\nThen the damsel placed the pocket-handkerchief in her bosom, and ran\nafter him again. When he saw that she was about to overtake him, he\nthrew the red kerchief, and she again occupied herself, admiring and\ngazing, till the poor man had again got a good way off. Then the\ndamsel became exasperated, and threw both the pocket-handkerchief\nand the kerchief on the way, and ran after him in pursuit. Again,\nwhen he saw that she was about to overtake him, he threw the mirror.\nWhen the damsel came to the mirror, the like of which she had never\nseen before, she lifted it up, and when she saw herself in it, not\nknowing that it was herself, but thinking that it was somebody else,\nshe, as it were, fell in love with herself in the mirror, and the\nman got so far off that she was no longer able to overtake him. When\nshe saw that she could not catch him, she turned back, and the man\nreached his home safe and sound. After arriving at his home, he\nshowed his wife the hair, and told her all that had happened to him,\nbut she began to jeer and laugh at him. But he paid no attention to\nher, and went to a town to sell the hair. A crowd of all sorts of\npeople and merchants collected round him; one offered a sequin,\nanother two, and so on, higher and higher, till they came to a\nhundred gold sequins. Just then the emperor heard of the hair,\nsummoned the man into his presence, and said to him that he would\ngive him a thousand sequins for it, and he sold it to him. What was\nthe hair? The emperor split it in two from top to bottom, and found\nregistered in it in writing many remarkable things, which had\nhappened in the olden time since the beginning of the world. Thus\nthe man became rich and lived on with his wife and children. And\nthat child, that came to him in his sleep, was an angel sent by the\nLord God, whose will it was to aid the poor man, and to reveal\nsecrets which had not been revealed till then.\n\n\n\n\nXLIII.--THE DRAGON AND THE PRINCE.\n\n\nThere was an emperor who had three sons. One day the eldest son went\nout hunting, and when he got outside the town, up sprang a hare out\nof a bush, and he after it, and hither and thither, till the hare\nfled into a water-mill, and the prince after it. But it was not a\nhare, but a dragon, and it waited for the prince and devoured him.\nWhen several days had elapsed and the prince did not return home,\npeople began to wonder why it was that he was not to be found. Then\nthe middle son went hunting, and as he issued from the town, a hare\nsprang out of a bush, and the prince after it, and hither and\nthither, till the hare fled into the water-mill and the prince after\nit; but it was not a hare, but a dragon, which waited for and\ndevoured him. When some days had elapsed and the princes did not\nreturn, either of them, the whole court was in sorrow. Then the\nthird son went hunting, to see whether he could not find his\nbrothers. When he issued from the town, again up sprang a hare out\nof a bush, and the prince after it, and hither and thither, till the\nhare fled into the water-mill. But the prince did not choose to\nfollow it, but went to find other game, saying to himself: 'When I\nreturn I shall find you.' After this he went for a long time up and\ndown the hill, but found nothing, and then returned to the\nwater-mill; but when he got there, there was only an old woman in\nthe mill. The prince invoked God in addressing her: 'God help you,\nold woman!' The old woman replied: 'God help you, my son!' Then the\nprince asked her: 'Where, old woman, is my hare?' She replied: 'My\nson, that was not a hare, but a dragon. It kills and throttles many\npeople.' Hearing this, the prince was somewhat disturbed, and said\nto the old woman: 'What shall we do now? Doubtless my two brothers\nalso have perished here.' The old woman answered: 'They have\nindeed; but there's no help for it. Go home, my son, lest you follow\nthem.' Then he said to her: 'Dear old woman, do you know what? I\nknow that you will be glad to liberate yourself from that pest.' The\nold woman interrupted him: 'How should I not? It captured me, too,\nin this way, but now I have no means of escape.' Then he proceeded:\n'Listen well to what I am going to say to you. Ask it whither it\ngoes and where its strength is; then kiss all that place where it\ntells you its strength is, as if from love, till you ascertain it,\nand afterwards tell me when I come.' Then the prince went off to the\npalace, and the old woman remained in the water-mill. When the\ndragon came in, the old woman began to question it: 'Where in God's\nname have you been? Whither do you go so far? You will never tell me\nwhither you go.' The dragon replied: 'Well, my dear old woman, I do\ngo far.' Then the old woman began to coax it: 'And why do you go so\nfar? Tell me where your strength is. If I knew where your strength\nis, I don't know what I should do for love; I would kiss all that\nplace.' Thereupon the dragon smiled and said to her: 'Yonder is my\nstrength, in that fireplace.' Then the old woman began to fondle and\nkiss the fireplace, and the dragon on seeing it burst into a laugh,\nand said to her: 'Silly old woman, my strength isn't there; my\nstrength is in that tree-fungus in front of the house.' Then the old\nwoman began again to fondle and kiss the tree, and the dragon again\nlaughed, and said to her: 'Away, old woman! my strength isn't\nthere.' Then the old woman inquired: 'Where is it?' The dragon began\nto give an account in detail: 'My strength is a long way off, and\nyou cannot go thither. Far in another empire under the emperor's\ncity is a lake, in that lake is a dragon, and in the dragon a boar,\nand in the boar a pigeon, and in that is my strength.' The next\nmorning when the dragon went away from the mill, the prince came to\nthe old woman, and the old woman told him all that she had heard\nfrom the dragon. Then he left his home, and disguised himself; he\nput shepherd's boots on his feet, took a shepherd's staff in his\nhand, and went into the world. As he went on thus from village to\nvillage, and from town to town, at last he came into another empire\nand into the imperial city, in a lake under which the dragon was. On\ngoing into the town, he began to inquire who wanted a shepherd. The\ncitizens told him that the emperor did. Then he went straight to the\nemperor. After he announced himself, the emperor admitted him into\nhis presence, and asked him: 'Do you wish to keep sheep?' He\nreplied: 'I do, illustrious crown!' Then the emperor engaged him,\nand began to inform and instruct him: 'There is here a lake, and\nalongside of the lake very beautiful pasture, and when you call the\nsheep out, they go thither at once, and spread themselves round the\nlake; but whatever shepherd goes off there, that shepherd returns\nback no more. Therefore, my son, I tell you, don't let the sheep\nhave their own way and go where _they_ will, but keep them where\n_you_ will.' The prince thanked the emperor, got himself ready, and\ncalled out the sheep, taking with him, moreover, two hounds that\ncould catch a boar in the open country, and a falcon that could\ncapture any bird, and carrying also a pair of bagpipes. When he\ncalled out the sheep he let them go at once to the lake, and when\nthe sheep arrived at the lake, they immediately spread round it, and\nthe prince placed the falcon on a stump, and the hounds and bagpipes\nunder the stump, then tucked up his hose and sleeves, waded into the\nlake, and began to shout 'Dragon! dragon! come out to single combat\nwith me to-day that we may measure ourselves together, unless you're\na woman.'[15] The dragon called out in reply, 'I will do so now,\nprince--now!' Erelong, behold the dragon! it is large, it is\nterrible, it is disgusting! When the dragon came out, it seized him\nby the waist, and they wrestled a summer day till afternoon. But\nwhen the heat of afternoon came on, the dragon said: 'Let me go,\nprince, that I may moisten my parched head in the lake, and toss you\nto the sky.' But the prince replied: 'Come, dragon, don't talk\nnonsense; if I had the emperor's daughter to kiss me on the\nforehead, I would toss you still higher.' Thereupon the dragon\nsuddenly let go of him, and went off into the lake. On the approach\nof evening, he washed and got himself up nicely, placed the falcon\non his arm, the hounds behind him, and the bagpipes under his arm,\nthen drove the sheep and went into the town playing on the bagpipes.\nWhen he arrived at the town, the whole town assembled as to see a\nwondrous sight because he had come, whereas previously no shepherd\nhad been able to come from the lake. The next day the prince got\nready again, and went with his sheep straight to the lake. But the\nemperor sent two grooms after him to go stealthily and see what he\ndid, and they placed themselves on a high hill whence they could\nhave a good view. When the shepherd arrived, he put the hounds and\nbagpipes under the stump and the falcon upon it, then tucked up his\nhose and sleeves, waded into the lake and shouted: 'Dragon, dragon!\ncome out to single combat with me, that we may measure ourselves\nonce more together, unless you are a woman!' The dragon replied: 'I\nwill do so, prince; now, now!' Erelong, behold the dragon! it was\nlarge, it was terrible, it was disgusting! And it seized him by the\nwaist and wrestled with him a summer's day till afternoon. But when\nthe afternoon heat came on, the dragon said: 'Let me go, prince,\nthat I may moisten my parched head in the lake, and may toss you to\nthe sky.' The prince replied: 'Come, dragon, don't talk nonsense;\nif I had the emperor's daughter to kiss me on the forehead, I would\ntoss you still higher.' Thereupon the dragon suddenly left hold of\nhim, and went off into the lake. When night approached the prince\ndrove the sheep as before, and went home playing the bagpipes. When\nhe arrived at the town, the whole town was astir and began to wonder\nbecause the shepherd came home every evening, which no one had been\nable to do before. Those two grooms had already arrived at the\npalace before the prince, and related to the emperor in order\neverything that they had heard and seen. Now when the emperor saw\nthat the shepherd returned home, he immediately summoned his\ndaughter into his presence and told her all, what it was and how it\nwas. 'But,' said he, 'to-morrow you must go with the shepherd to the\nlake and kiss him on the forehead.' When she heard this she burst\ninto tears and began to entreat her father. 'You have no one but me,\nand I am your only daughter, and you don't care about me if I\nperish.' Then the emperor began to persuade and encourage her:\n'Don't fear, my daughter; you see, we have had so many changes of\nshepherds, and of all that went out to the lake not one has\nreturned; but _he_ has been contending with the dragon for two whole\ndays and it has done him no hurt. I assure you, in God's name, that\nhe is able to overcome the dragon, only go to-morrow with him to see\nwhether he will free us from this mischief which has destroyed so\nmany people.'\n\n    [15] This is intended as an insult. 'Azhdaja,' a dragon, is\n    feminine in Servian.\n\nWhen, on the morrow, the day dawned, the day dawned and the sun came\nforth, up rose the shepherd, up rose the maiden too, to begin to\nprepare for going to the lake. The shepherd was cheerful, more\ncheerful than ever, but the emperor's daughter was sad, and shed\ntears. The shepherd comforted her: 'Lady sister, I pray you, do not\nweep, but do what I tell you. When it is time, run up and kiss me,\nand fear not.' As he went and drove the sheep, the shepherd was\nthoroughly cheery, and played a merry tune on his bagpipes; but the\ndamsel did nothing but weep as she went beside him, and he several\ntimes left off playing and turned towards her: 'Weep not, golden\none; fear nought.' When they arrived at the lake, the sheep\nimmediately spread round it, and the prince placed the falcon on the\nstump, and the hounds and bagpipes under it, then tucked up his hose\nand sleeves, waded into the water, and shouted: 'Dragon! dragon!\nCome out to single combat with me; let us measure ourselves once\nmore, unless you're a woman!' The dragon replied: 'I will, prince;\nnow, now!' Erelong, there was the dragon! it was huge, it was\nterrible, it was disgusting! When it came out, they seized each\nother by the middle, and wrestled a summer's day till afternoon. But\nwhen the afternoon heat came on, the dragon said: 'Let me go,\nprince, that I may moisten my parched head in the lake, and toss you\nto the skies.' The prince replied: 'Come, dragon, don't talk\nnonsense; if I had the emperor's daughter to kiss me on the\nforehead, I would toss you much higher.' When he said this, the\nemperor's daughter ran up and kissed him on the face, on the eye,\nand on the forehead. Then he swung the dragon, and tossed it high\ninto the air, and when it fell to the ground it burst into pieces.\nBut as it burst into pieces, out of it sprang a wild boar, and\nstarted to run away. But the prince shouted to his shepherd dogs:\n'Hold it! don't let it go!' and the dogs sprang up and after it,\ncaught it, and soon tore it to pieces. But out of the boar flew a\npigeon, and the prince loosed the falcon, and the falcon caught the\npigeon and brought it into the prince's hands. The prince said to\nit: 'Tell me now, where are my brothers?' The pigeon replied: 'I\nwill; only do me no harm. Immediately behind your father's town is a\nwater-mill, and in the water-mill are three wands that have sprouted\nup. Cut these three wands up from below, and strike with them upon\ntheir root; an iron door will immediately open into a large vault.\nIn that vault are many people, old and young, rich and poor, small\nand great, wives and maidens, so that you could settle a populous\nempire; there, too, are your brothers.' When the pigeon had told him\nall this, the prince immediately wrung its neck.\n\nThe emperor had gone out in person, and posted himself on the hill\nfrom which the grooms had viewed the shepherd, and he, too, was a\nspectator of all that had taken place. After the shepherd had thus\nobtained the dragon's head, twilight began to approach. He washed\nhimself nicely, took the falcon on his shoulder, the hounds behind\nhim, and the bagpipes under his arm, played as he went, drove the\nsheep, and proceeded to the emperor's palace, with the damsel at his\nside still in terror. When they came to the town, all the town\nassembled as to see a wonder. The emperor, who had seen all his\nheroism from the hill, called him into his presence, and gave him\nhis daughter, went immediately to church, had them married, and held\na wedding festival for a week. After this the prince told him who\nand whence he was, and the emperor and the whole town rejoiced still\nmore. Then, as the prince was urgent to go to his own home, the\nemperor gave him a large escort, and equipped him for the journey.\nWhen they were in the neighbourhood of the water-mill, the prince\nhalted his attendants, went inside, cut up the three wands, and\nstruck the root with them, and the iron door opened at once. In the\nvault was a vast multitude of people. The prince ordered them to\ncome out one by one, and go whither each would, and stood himself at\nthe door. They came out thus one after another, and lo! there were\nhis brothers also, whom he embraced and kissed. When the whole\nmultitude had come out, they thanked him for releasing and\ndelivering them, and went each to his own home. But he went to his\nfather's house with his brothers and bride, and there lived and\nreigned to the end of his days.\n\n\n\n\nXLIV.--FATE.\n\n\nThere were two brothers living together in a house, one of whom did all\nthe work, while the other did nothing but idle, and eat and drink what\nwas ready at hand. And God gave them prosperity in everything--in\ncattle, in horses, in sheep, in swine, in bees, and in everything else.\nThe one that worked one day began to think to himself: 'Why should I\nwork for that lazybones as well? It is better that we should separate,\nand that I should work for myself, and he do as he likes.' So one day\nhe said to his brother: 'Brother, it isn't right. I do all the work,\nand you don't help in anything, but merely eat and drink what's ready.\nI have made up my mind that we separate.' The other began to dissuade\nhim: 'Don't, brother; it is good for us to be tenants in common; you\nhave everything in your hands, both your own and mine, and I am content\nwhatever you do.' But the first abode by his determination, so the\nsecond gave way, and said to him: 'If it is so, take your own course;\nmake the division yourself, as you know how.' Then he divided\neverything in order, and took everything that was his before him. The\ndo-nothing engaged a herdsman for his cattle, a horsekeeper for his\nhorses, a shepherd for his sheep, a goatherd for his goats, a swineherd\nfor his swine, a beeman for his bees, and said to them: 'I leave all my\nproperty in your hands and God's,' and began to live at home as before.\nThe first took pains about his property himself as before, watched and\noverlooked, but saw no prosperity, but all loss. From day to day\neverything went worse, till he became so poverty-stricken, that he\nhadn't shoes to his feet, but went barefoot. Then said he to himself:\n'I will go to my brother, and see how it is with him.' He did so, and\nas he went came to a flock of sheep in a meadow, and with the sheep\nthere was no shepherd, but a very beautiful damsel was sitting there\nspinning golden thread. He addressed her: 'God help you!' and inquired\nwhose the sheep were. She replied: 'The sheep belong to the person to\nwhom I belong.' He asked her further: 'To whom do you belong?' She\nanswered: 'I am your brother's luck.' He was put out, and said to her:\n'And where is my luck?' The damsel answered him: 'Your luck is far from\nyou.' 'But can I find it?' inquired he, and she replied: 'You can; go,\nseek for it.' When he heard this, and saw that his brother's sheep were\ngood--so good, that they could not be better, he didn't care about\ngoing further to see other cattle, but went off straight to his\nbrother. When his brother saw him, he had compassion on him, and began\nto weep: 'Where have you been so long a time?' Then, seeing him\nbarehead and barefoot, he gave him at once a pair of boots and some\nmoney. Afterwards, when they had enjoyed each other's company for some\ndays, the visitor rose up to go to his own house. When he got home, he\ntook a wallet on his back, some bread in it, and a staff in his hand,\nand went into the world to look for his luck. As he travelled, he came\nto a large wood, and as he went through it, he saw a gray-haired old\nmaid asleep under a bush, and reached out his staff to give her a push.\nShe barely raised herself up, and, hardly opening her eyes for the\nrheum, addressed him: 'Thank God that I fell asleep, for, if I had been\nawake, you wouldn't have obtained even that pair of boots.' Then he\nsaid to her: 'Who are you, that I shouldn't even have obtained this\npair of boots?' She replied: 'I am your luck.' When he heard this, he\nbegan to beat his breast: 'If you are my luck, God slay you! Who gave\nyou to me?' She quickly rejoined: 'Fate gave me to you.' He then\ninquired: 'And where is this Fate?' She answered: 'Go and look for\nhim.' And that instant she disappeared. Then the man went on to look\nfor Fate. As he journeyed, he came to a village, and saw in the village\na large farmhouse, and in it a large fire, and said to himself: 'Here\nthere is surely some merry-making or festival,' and went in. When he\nwent in, on the fire was a large caldron, in which supper was cooking,\nand in front of the fire sat the master of the house. The traveller, on\ngoing into the house, addressed the master: 'Good-evening!' The master\nreplied: 'God give you prosperity!' and bade him sit down with him, and\nthen began to ask him whence he came, and whither he was going. He\nrelated to him everything: how he had been a master, how he had become\nimpoverished, and how he was now going to Fate to ask him why he was so\npoor. Then he inquired of the master of the house why he was preparing\nso large a quantity of food, and the master said to him: 'Well, my\nbrother, I am master here, and have enough of everything, but I cannot\nanyhow satisfy my people; it is quite as if a dragon were in their\nstomachs. You'll see, when we begin to sup, what they will do.' When\nthey sat down to sup, everybody snatched and grabbed from everybody\nelse, and that large caldron of food was empty in no time. After\nsupper, a maidservant came in, put all the bones in a heap, and threw\nthem behind the stove; and he began to wonder why the young woman threw\nthe bones behind the stove, till all at once out came two old\npoverty-stricken spectres, as dry as ghosts, and began to suck the\nbones. Then he asked the master of the house: 'What's this, brother,\nbehind the stove?' He replied: 'Those, brother, are my father and\nmother; just as if they were fettered to this world, they will not\nquit it.' The next day, at his departure, the master of the house said\nto him: 'Brother, remember me, too, if anywhere you find Fate, and ask\nhim what manner of misfortune it is that I cannot satisfy my people,\nand why my father and mother do not die.' He promised to ask him the\nquestion, took leave of him, and went on to look for Fate. As on he\nwent, he came, after a long time, to another village, and begged at a\ncertain house that they would take him in for a night's lodging. They\ndid so, and asked him whither he was going; and he told them all in\norder, what it was, and how it was. Then they began to say to him: 'In\nGod's name, brother, when you get there, ask him with regard to us too,\nwhy our cattle are not productive, but the contrary.' He promised them\nto ask Fate the question, and the next day went on. As he went, he came\nto a stream of water, and began to shout: 'Water! water! carry me\nacross.' The water asked him: 'Whither are you going?' He told it\nwhither he was going. Then the water carried him across, and said to\nhim: 'I pray you, brother, ask Fate why I have no offspring.' He\npromised the stream to ask the question, and then went on. He went on\nfor a long time, and at last came to a wood, where he found a hermit,\nwhom he asked whether he could tell him anything about Fate. The hermit\nanswered: 'Go over the hill yonder, and you will come right in front of\nhis abode; but when you come into Fate's presence, do not say a word,\nbut do exactly what he does, until he questions you himself.' The man\nthanked the hermit, and went over the hill. When he came to Fate's\nabode, there was something for him to see. It was just as if it were an\nemperor's palace; there were men-servants and maid-servants there;\neverything was in good order, and Fate himself was sitting at a golden\ndinner-table at supper. When the man saw this, he, too, sat down to\ntable, and began to sup. After supper, Fate lay down to sleep, and he\nlay down too. About midnight a terrible noise arose, and out of the\nnoise a voice was heard: 'Fate! Fate! so many souls have been born\nto-day; assign them what you will.' Then Fate arose, and opened a chest\nwith money in it, and began to throw nothing but ducats behind him,\nsaying: 'As to me to-day, so to them for life!' When on the morrow day\ndawned, that large palace was no more, but instead of it a\nmoderate-sized house; but in it again there was enough of everything.\n\nAt the approach of evening Fate sat down to supper; and he, too, sat\ndown with him, but neither spoke a single word. After supper they\nlay down to sleep. About midnight a terrible noise began, and out of\nthe noise was heard a voice: 'Fate! Fate! so many souls have been\nborn to-day; assign them what you will.' Then Fate arose, and opened\nthe money-chest; but there were not ducats in it, but silver coins,\nwith an occasional ducat. Fate began to scatter the coins behind\nhim, saying: 'As to me to-day, so to them for life.' When, on the\nmorrow, day dawned, that house was no more, but instead of it there\nstood a smaller one. Thus did Fate every night, and his house became\nsmaller every morning, till, finally, nothing remained of it but a\nlittle cottage. Fate took a mattock, and began to dig; the man, too,\ntook a mattock and began to dig, and thus they dug all day. When it\nwas eventide, Fate took a piece of bread, broke off half of it, and\ngave it to him. Thus they supped, and, after supper, lay down to\nsleep. About midnight, again, a terrible noise began, and out of the\nnoise was heard a voice: 'Fate! Fate! so many souls have been born\nto-day; assign them what you will.' Then Fate arose, opened the\nchest, and began to scatter behind him nothing but bits of rag, and\nhere and there a day-labourer's wage-penny,[16] shouting: 'As to me\nto-day, so to them for life.' When he arose on the morrow, the\ncottage was transformed into a large palace, like that which had\nbeen there the first day. Then Fate asked him: 'Why have you come?'\nHe detailed to him all his distress, and said that he had come to\nask him why he gave him evil luck. Fate then said to him: 'You saw\nhow the first night I scattered ducats, and what took place\nafterwards. As it was to me the night when anyone was born, so will\nit be to him for life. You were born on an unlucky night, you will\nbe poor for life; but your brother was born on a lucky night, and he\nwill be lucky for life. But, as you have been so resolute, and have\ntaken so much trouble, I will tell you how you may help yourself.\nYour brother has a daughter, Militza, who is lucky, just as her\nfather is; adopt her, and, whatever you acquire, say that it is all\nhers.' Then he thanked Fate, and said to him again: 'In such a\nvillage there is a wealthy peasant, who has enough of everything;\nbut he is unlucky in this, that his people can never be satisfied:\nthey eat up a caldron full of food at a single meal, and even that\nis too little for them. And this peasant's father and mother are, as\nit were, fettered to this world; they are old and discoloured, and\ndried up like ghosts, but cannot die. He begged me, Fate, when I\nlodged with him for the night, to ask you why that was the case.'\nThen Fate replied: 'All that is because he does not honour his\nfather and mother, throwing their food behind the stove; but, if he\nputs them in the best place at table, and if he gives them the first\ncup of brandy, and the first cup of wine, his servants would not eat\nhalf so much, and his parents' souls would be set at liberty.' After\nthis he again questioned Fate: 'In such a village, when I spent the\nnight in a house, the householder complained to me that his cattle\nwere not productive, but the contrary, and he begged me to ask you\nwhy this was the case.' Fate replied: 'That is because on the\nfestival of his name-day he slaughters the worst animals; but if he\nslaughtered the best he has, his cattle would all become\nproductive.' Then he asked him the question about the stream of\nwater: 'Why should it be that that stream of water has no\noffspring?' Fate replied: 'Because it has never drowned a human\nbeing; but don't have any nonsense; don't tell it till it carries\nyou across, for if you tell it, it will immediately drown you.' Then\nhe thanked Fate, and went home. When he came to the water, the water\nasked him: 'What is the news from Fate?' He replied: 'Carry me over,\nand then I will tell you.' When the water had carried him over, he\nran on a little, and, when he had got a little way off, turned and\nshouted to the water: 'Water! Water! you have never drowned a human\nbeing, therefore you have no offspring.' When the water heard that,\nit overflowed its banks, and after him; but he ran, and barely\nescaped. When he came to the man whose cattle were unproductive, he\nwas impatiently waiting for him. 'What news, brother, in God's name?\nHave you asked Fate the question?' He replied: 'I have; and Fate\nsays when you celebrate the festival of your name-day, you slaughter\nthe worst animals; but if you slaughter the best you have, all your\ncattle will be productive.' When he heard this, he said to him:\n'Stay, brother, with us; it isn't three days to my name-day, and, if\nit is really true, I will give you an apple.'[17] He stayed till the\nname-day. When the name-day arrived, the householder slaughtered his\nbest ox, and from that time forth his cattle became productive.\nAfter this, the householder presented him with five head of cattle.\nHe thanked him, and proceeded on his way. When he came to the\nvillage of the householder who had the insatiable servants, the\nhouseholder was impatiently expecting him. 'How is it, brother, in\nGod's name? What says Fate?' He replied: 'Fate says you do not\nhonour your father and mother, but throw their food behind the stove\nfor them to eat; if you put them in the best place at table, and\ngive them the first cup of brandy, and the first cup of wine, your\npeople will not eat half as much, and your father and mother will be\ncontent.' When the householder heard this, he told his wife, and she\nimmediately washed and combed her father and mother in law, and put\nnice shoes on their feet; and, when evening came, the householder\nput them in the best place at table, and gave them the first cup of\nbrandy and the first cup of wine. From that time forth the household\ncould not eat half what they did before, and on the morrow both the\nfather and the mother departed this life. Then the householder gave\nhim two oxen; he thanked him, and went home. When he came to his\nplace of abode, his acquaintances began to congratulate him, and ask\nhim: 'Whose are these cattle?' He replied to everybody: 'Brother,\nthey are my niece Militza's.' When he got home he immediately went\noff to his brother, and began to beg and pray him: 'Give me,\nbrother, your daughter Militza to be my daughter. You see that I\nhave no one.' His brother replied: 'It is good, brother; Militza is\nyours.' He took Militza, and conducted her home, and afterwards\nacquired much, but said, with regard to everything, that it was\nMilitza's. Once he went out into the field to go round some rye; the\nrye was beautiful; it could not be better. Thereupon a traveller\nhappened to come up, and asked him: 'Whose is this rye?' He forgot\nhimself, and said: 'Mine.' The moment he said that, the rye caught\nfire and began to burn. When he saw this, he ran after the man:\n'Stop, brother! it is not mine; it belongs to Militza, my niece.'\nThen the fire in the rye went out, and he remained lucky with\nMilitza.\n\n    [16] A 'marjush,' a small coin with the image of the Virgin Mary\n    on it.\n\n    [17] _I.e._, a good present.\n\n\n\n\n_SERBIAN STORIES FROM BOSNIA._\n\n\nThe Bosnian stories are not written in the Cyrillic, but in the\nLatin character. This indicates that the Christian inhabitants of\nBosnia belong to the Latin rather than to the Greek Church. The\nSerbians of the Kingdom of Serbia would, no doubt, gladly absorb\nBosnia, but it is very doubtful whether the Bosnians would be\nequally glad to be absorbed by them. In Bosnia the landed\nproprietors are extensively Mahometans, and neither they nor the\nLatin Christians would be very willing to place themselves under the\ndomination of the Orthodox Greek Church, without much stronger\nguarantees than the Serbians of the kingdom, as at present\nconstituted, are likely to be able or willing to give them.\n\n\n\n\nXLV.--THE BIRDCATCHER.\n\n\nNear Constantinople there lived a man who knew no other occupation\nbut that of catching birds; his neighbours called him the\nbirdcatcher. Some he used to sell, others served him for food, and\nthus he maintained himself. One day he caught a crow, and wanted to\nlet it go, but then he had nothing to take home. 'If I can't catch\nanything to-day, I'll take my children the crow, that they may\namuse themselves; and they have no other birds at hand.' So he\nintended, and so he did. His wife, on seeing the crow, said: 'What\nmischief have you brought me? Wring the worthless thing's neck!' The\ncrow, on hearing that sentence, besought the birdcatcher to let her\ngo, and promised to be always at his service. 'I will bring birds to\nyou; through me you will become prosperous.' 'Even if you're lying,\nit's no great loss,' said the birdcatcher to himself, and set the\ncrow at liberty.\n\nOn the morrow the birdcatcher went out birdcatching as usual, and\nthe crow kept her word; she brought him two nightingales; he caught\nthem both, and took them home. The nightingales were not long with\nthe birdcatcher, for the grand vizier heard of them, sent for the\nbirdcatcher, took the two nightingales from him, and placed them in\nthe new mosque. The nightingales were able to sing sweetly and\nagreeably; the people collected in front of the mosque and listened\nto their beautiful singing; and the wonder came to the ears of the\nemperor. The emperor summoned the grand vizier, took the birds from\nhim, and inquired whence he had got them. When the emperor had\nthought the matter over, he sent his cavasses, and they summoned the\nbirdcatcher. 'It's no joke to go before the emperor! I know why he\nsummons me; no half torture will be mine. I am guilty of nothing, I\nowe nothing; but the emperor's will, that's my crime!' said the\nbirdcatcher, and went into the emperor's presence all pale with\nfear. 'Birdcatcher, sirrah! are you the catcher of those\nnightingales which were at the new mosque?' 'Padishah! both father\nand mother! where your slipper is, there is my face!--I am.'\n'Sirrah!' again said the emperor, 'I wish you to find their mother;\ndoubtless your reward will be forthcoming. But do you hear? You may\nbe quite sure of it; if you don't, there will be no head on your\nshoulders. I'm not joking.' Now the poor fellow went out of the\nemperor's presence, and how he got home he didn't know; a good two\nhours afterwards he came to himself and began to lament. 'I'm a\nfool! I thought my trade led no-whither, and not to misfortune for\nme; but now see! To find the mother of the birds--none but a fool\ncould imagine it--and to catch her!' To this lamentation there was\nneither limit nor end. It was getting dark, and his wife summoned\nhim to supper; just then the crow was at the window: 'What's this?'\nthe crow asked. 'What are these lamentations? What's the distress?'\n'Let me alone; don't add to my torture; I'm done for owing to you!'\nsaid the birdcatcher, and told her all, what it was and how it was.\n'That's easy,' answered she; 'go to the emperor to-morrow, and ask\nfor a thousand loads of wheat; then pile up the corn in one heap,\nand I will inform the birds that the emperor gives them a feast;\nthey will all assemble; _their_ mother, too, will doubtless come;\nthe one with regard to which I give you a sign is she; bring a cage,\nput the two nightingales in it; the mother, seeing her two young\nbirds, will fly up; let your snare be ready, and then we shall find\nand catch her.' As the crow instructed him, so he did. The emperor\ngave him the corn; he feasted the birds, caught the mother of the\nnightingales, and took her to the emperor. He received a handsome\nreward, but he would gladly have gone without such reward when he\nremembered how many tears he had shed. The crow, too, received a\nreward, for she persuaded the birdcatcher to give his wife a good\nbeating, which he did, to the satisfaction of the crow, in her\npresence.\n\nTime after time, behold some of the emperor's cavasses! 'Come, the\nemperor summons you!' sounded from the door. 'A new misfortune! a\nnew sorrow!' thought the birdcatcher in his heart, and went before\nthe emperor. 'Do you hear, sirrah? Just now I paid you a good\nrecompense, now a greater one awaits you. I wish you to seek the\nmistress of those birds, otherwise, valah! bilah! your head will be\nin danger! Do you understand me?' At these words of the emperor the\nbirdcatcher either could not or dared not utter a word; he shrugged\nhis shoulders and went out of his presence. As he went home he\ntalked to himself weeping: 'I see that he is determined to destroy\nme, and some devil has put it into his head to torture me first.' On\narriving at home he found his crow at the window: 'Has some\nmisfortune again occurred to you?' 'Don't ask,' replied the\nbirdcatcher; 'one still blacker and more miserable!' and told her\nall in detail, what it was and how it was. 'Don't trouble your head\nmuch about that,' said the crow. 'Be quick; ask the emperor for a\nboat full of all manner of wares. Then we will push off on the deep\nsea; when people hear that the emperor's agent is bringing wares,\nthe people will assemble, and that lady is sure to come; the one on\nwhich I perch is she; up anchor and off with the boat!' This the\nbirdcatcher remembered well. What he asked of the emperor, that he\ngave him, and he pushed the boat over the sea; his bringing wares\nfor sale went from mouth to mouth; people came and purchased the\nwares. At last came the mistress of the birds also, and began to\nexamine the wares; the crow perched on her shoulder; the anchor was\nraised, and in a short time the birdcatcher brought the boat to\nunder the emperor's quay. When the birdcatcher brought her before\nthe emperor, the emperor was astounded. He didn't know which to\nadmire most, the birdcatcher's cleverness or her beauty. Her beauty\noverpowered the emperor's mind; he rewarded the birdcatcher\nhandsomely, and placed the sultana in his house. 'You are the\ndearest to me of all,' said the emperor several times to her; 'if I\nwere to banish all the sultanas, you should never go out of my\nseraglio.'\n\nThe birdcatcher was again in evil case. The new sultana was in a\nperpetual state of irritation, for it was poor luck to be obliged to\nbe affectionate to an elderly longbeard. The emperor comforted her,\nand asked her what failed her, when she had everything in abundance\nwith him. A woman's revenge is worse than a cat's. Not daring to\ntell the emperor the truth, she wanted to revenge herself on the\npoor birdcatcher. 'Dear Padishah, I had a valuable ring on my hand\nwhen that birdcatcher deluded me into the boat, and pushed it from\nthe shore. I began to wring my hands in distress, the ring broke,\nand one half fell into the sea, just where it was my hap to be. But,\ndear sultan, if I am a little dear to you, send that birdcatcher,\nlet him seek that half for me, that I may unite it to this one.'\n'All shall be done,' said the emperor; and the cavasses soon brought\nthe birdcatcher. 'My son,' said the emperor, 'if you do not intend\nto lose my love and favour, hearken to me once more. At the place\nwhere you captured that lady, she broke a ring; it fell into the\nsea. I know that you can do so--find her that half; your reward will\nnot fail; otherwise, you know....' When the poor fellow got home, a\nfit of laughter seized him from distress. 'I knew that the devil was\nteaching him how to torment and torture me before he put me to\ndeath. If hell were to open, all the devils wouldn't find it!'\n'What's the matter, friend?' said the crow. 'Till now you were\nweeping and complaining, and now in a rage you are laughing.' He\ntold her all--what it was, and how it was. 'Don't fret yourself,'\ncontinued the crow. 'Have you given your wife a good thrashing? I\nwish you to give her a good hiding again, when we go down to the\nsea. And now come, ask the emperor for a thousand barrels of oil.'\nThe emperor had stores of oil and felt; he gave him as much as he\nrequired. Everybody thought that he was going to trade with the oil.\nWhen he arrived at the place where he captured the young lady, the\ncrow gave the word of command, and they poured out all the oil into\nthe sea. The sea became violently agitated, the crow darted in, and\nfound the missing fragment of the ring. The birdcatcher took the\nboat back thence under the emperor's palace, and delivered the ring\nto the emperor, he passed it on to the lady, and she fitted it to\nthe other half. Both she and the emperor were astonished at the\nbirdcatcher's cleverness, commended him, and sent him home with a\npresent.\n\nThe emperor wished by every means to induce the young lady to marry\nhim, and to have a formal wedding. She for a long time declined, but\nat last said: 'If it is your will, I consent, but only on condition\nthat before our wedding you destroy that birdcatcher.' The emperor\nnow found himself between two fires. It was agony to destroy his\nbenefactor, it was worse agony not to be able to withstand his\nheart, and to give up the love of the young lady. Love is eternal,\nand is often stronger even than truth. He summoned the birdcatcher,\ncommended him for having so often fulfilled his will, and told him\nthat he deserved to sit in the grand vizier's seat.... 'But there is\nnothing else for it, but you must go home, take leave of your wife,\nchildren, and friends, of whom I will undertake the care; in the\nafternoon come; you must of necessity jump into the fire.' He went\nhome, and the crow came to meet him. He told her all that was to be\ndone with him in the afternoon, and said to her: 'If you do not help\nme as usual now, I am done for, not through my fault, nor through\nthe emperor's, but owing to you.' The crow informed him what to do,\nbut before he went, he was to give his wife a thoroughly good\nbeating. His wife departed this life from so many blows. A fire was\nflaming before the great mosque, the Turks came out of the mosque,\nthe emperor came, the people swarmed round the fire. The birdcatcher\ncame cheerfully before the emperor. Everyone deemed him a\nmalefactor. 'Fortunate Padishah, it is your pleasure to burn me to\ndeath. I am happy to be able to be a sacrifice for you. It has\noccurred to my mind, I am anxious to have a ride on a good horse:\npermit me so to do before I jump into the fire.' The emperor smiled,\nand ordered his best horse to be brought for him. He mounted, and\nmade the horse gallop well; when the horse sweated, he dismounted,\nanointed himself with the horse's foam, remounted, darted up to the\nfire, then dismounted, and darted into the fire. The people looked\non; five times, six times did he cross the flames, sprang out of the\nfire, and stood before the emperor as a youth of twenty years of\nage, sound, young, goodly, and handsome. The people cried: 'Mercy,\nemperor! He has fulfilled his penalty.' And the emperor graciously\npardoned him. The emperor now longed to become young and handsome\nalso. He made the birdcatcher grand vizier, merely that he might\ntell him the secret. He said to him: 'My lord, it is easy. Take a\ngood horse, gallop about an hour as I did, dismount when the horse\nsweats, anoint yourself with his perspiration, jump into the fire,\nand you will come out such as I am.' Friday dawned; the emperor's\nbest horse was saddled for him; everybody thought that he was going\nto the mosque. A fire was burning furiously in front of the mosque.\nThe people said: 'There's somebody going to jump in again,' and they\nwere under no delusion. The emperor darted up to the fire all alone,\nthe people looked on to see what was going to happen. The emperor\ndismounted with great speed, and sprang into the fire.... The people\ncrowded to rescue the emperor--'twas all in vain. The emperor was\nburned to death. 'He was crazy!' shouted the chief men and soldiers.\nThey conducted the birdcatcher into the mosque, and girt him with\nthe emperor's sword. Then the birdcatcher became emperor, the damsel\nhe selected sultana, and the crow the chief lady at court.\n\n\n\n\nXLVI.--THE TWO BROTHERS.\n\n\nThere was a man who had a wife but no sons, a female hound but no\npuppies, and a mare but no foal. 'What in the world shall I do?'\nsaid he to himself. 'Come, let me go away from home to seek my\nfortune in the world, as I haven't any at home.' As he thought, so\nhe did, and went out by himself into the white world as a bee from\nflower to flower. One day, when it was about dinner-time, he came to\na spring, took down his knapsack, took out his provisions for the\njourney, and began to eat his dinner. Just then a traveller appeared\nin front of him, and sat down beside the spring to rest; he invited\nhim to sit down by him that they might eat together. When they had\ninquired after each other's health and shaken hands, then the second\ncomer asked the first on what business he was travelling about the\nworld. He said to him: 'I have no luck at home, therefore I am going\nfrom home; my wife has no children, my hound has no puppies, and my\nmare has never had a foal; I am going about the white world as a bee\nfrom flower to flower.' When they had had a good dinner, and got up\nto travel further, then the one who had arrived last thanked the\nfirst for his dinner, and offered him an apple, saying: 'Here is\nthis apple for you'--if I am not mistaken it was a Frederic\npippin--'and return home at once; peel the apple and give the peel\nto your hound and mare; cut the apple in two, give half to your wife\nto eat, and eat the other half yourself. What has hitherto been\nunproductive will henceforth be productive. And as for the two pips\nwhich you will find in the apple, plant them on the top of your\nhouse.' The man thanked him for the apple; they rose up and parted,\nthe one going onwards and the other back to his house. He peeled the\napple and did everything as the other had instructed him. As time\nwent on his wife became the mother of two sons, his hound of two\npuppies, and his mare of two foals, and, moreover, out of the house\ngrew two apple-trees. While the two brothers were growing up, the\nyoung horses grew up, and the hounds became fit for hunting. After a\nshort time the father and mother died, and the two sons, being now\nleft alone like a tree cut down on a hill, agreed to go out into the\nworld to seek their fortune. Even so they did: each brother took a\nhorse and a hound, they cut down the two apple-trees, and made\nthemselves a spear apiece, and went out into the wide world. I can't\ntell you for certain how many days they travelled together; this I\ndo know, that at the first parting of the road they separated. Here\nthey saw it written up: 'If you go by the upper road you will not\nsee the world for five years; if you go by the lower road, you will\nnot see the world for three years.' Here they parted, one going by\nthe upper and the other by the lower road. The one that went by the\nlower road, after three years of travelling through another world,\ncame to a lake, beside which there was written on a post: 'If you go\nin, you will repent it; if you don't go in, you will repent it.' 'If\nit is so,' thought he to himself, 'let me take whatever God gives,'\nand swam across the lake. And lo! a wonder! he, his horse, and his\nhound were all gilded with gold. After this he speedily arrived at a\nvery large and spacious city. He went up to the emperor's palace and\ninquired for an inn where he might pass the night. They told him, up\nthere, yon large tower, that was an inn. In front of this tower he\ndismounted; servants came out and welcomed him, and conducted him\ninto the presence of their master in the courtyard. But it was not\nan innkeeper, but the king of the province himself. The king\nwelcomed and entertained him handsomely. The next day he began to\nprepare to set forth on his journey. The evening before, the king's\nonly daughter, when she saw him go in front of her apartments, had\nobserved him well, and fixed her eyes upon him. This she did because\nsuch a golden traveller had never before arrived, and consequently\nshe was unable to close her eyes the whole night. Her heart thumped,\nas it were; and it was fortunate that the summer night was brief,\nfor if it had been a winter one, she could hardly have waited for\nthe dawn. It all seemed to her and whirled in her brain as if the\nking was calling her to receive a ring and an apple; the poor thing\nwould fly to the door, but it was shut and there was nobody at hand.\nAlthough the night was a short one, it seemed to her that three had\npassed one after another. When she observed in the morning that the\ntraveller was getting ready to go, she flew to her father, implored\nhim not to let that traveller quit his court, but to detain him and\nto give her to him in marriage. The king was good-natured, and could\neasily be won over by entreaties; what his daughter begged for, she\nalso obtained. The traveller was detained and offered marriage with\nthe king's daughter. The traveller did not hesitate long, kissed the\nking's hand, presented a ring to the maiden, and she a handkerchief\nto him, and thus they were betrothed. Methinks they did not wait for\npublication of banns. Erelong they were wedded; the wedding feast\nand festival were very prolonged, but came to an end in due course.\nOne morning after all this the bridegroom was looking in somewhat\nmelancholy fashion down on the country through a window in the\ntower. His young wife asked him what ailed him? He told her that he\nwas longing for a hunt, and she told him to take three servants and\ngo while the dew was still on the grass. Her husband would not take\na single servant, but mounting his gilded horse and calling his\ngilded hound, went down into the country to hunt. The hound soon\nfound scent, and put up a stag with gilded horns. The stag began to\nrun straight for a tower, the hound after him, and the hunter after\nthe hound, and he overtook the stag in the gate of the courtyard,\nand was going to cut off its head. He had drawn his sword, when a\ndamsel cried through the window: 'Don't kill my stag, but come\nupstairs: let us play at draughts for a wager. If you win, take the\nstag; if I win, you shall give me the hound.' He was as ready for\nthis as an old woman for a scolding match, went up into the tower,\nand on to the balcony, staked the hound against the stag, and they\nbegan to play. The hunter was on the point of beating her, when some\ndamsels began to sing: 'A king, a king, I've gained a king!' He\nlooked round, she altered the position of the draughtsmen, beat him\nand took the hound. Again they began to play a second time, she\nstaking the hound and he his horse. She cheated him the second time\nalso. The third time they began to play, she wagered the horse, and\nhe himself. When the game was nearly over, and he was already on the\npoint of beating her, the damsels began to sing this time too, just\nas they had done the first and second times. He looked round, she\ncheated and beat him, took a cord, bound him, and put him in a\ndungeon.\n\nThe brother, who went by the upper road, came to the lake, forded\nit, and came out all golden--himself, his horse, and his hound. He\nwent for a night's lodging to the king's tower; the servants came\nout and welcomed him. His father-in-law asked him whether he was\ntired, and whether he had had any success in hunting; but the king's\ndaughter paid special attention to him, frequently kissing and\nembracing him. He couldn't wonder enough how it was that everybody\nrecognised him; finally, he felt satisfied that it was his brother,\nwho was very like him, that had been there and got married. The\nking's daughter could not wonder enough, and it was very distressing\nto her, that her newly-married husband was so soon tired of her, for\nthe more affectionate she was to him, the more did he repulse her.\nWhen the morrow came, he got ready to go out to look for his\nbrother. The king, his daughter, and all the courtiers, begged him\nto take a rest. 'Why,' said they to him, 'you only returned\nyesterday from hunting, and do you want to go again so soon?' All\nwas in vain; he refused to take the thirty servants whom they\noffered him, but went down into the country by himself. When he was\nin the midst of the country, his hound put up a stag, and he after\nthem on his horse, and drove it up to a tower; he raised his sword\nto kill the stag, but a damsel cried through a window: 'Don't meddle\nwith my stag, but come upstairs that we may have a game at draughts,\nthen let the one that wins take off the stakes, either you my hound,\nor I yours.' When he went into the basement, in it was a hound and a\nhorse--the hounds and horses recognised each other--and he felt sure\nthat his brother had fallen into prison there. They began the game\nat draughts, and when the damsel saw that he was going to beat her,\nsome damsels began to sing behind them: 'A king! a king! I've gained\na king!' He took no notice, but kept his eye on the draughtsmen;\nthen the damsel, like a she-devil, began to make eyes and wink at\nthe young man. He gave her a flip with his coat behind the ears:\n'Play now!' and thus beat her. The second game they both staked a\nhorse. She couldn't cheat him; he took both the hound and the horse\nfrom her. The third and last time they played, he staking himself\nand she herself; and after giving her a slap in her face for her\nwinking and making of eyes, he won the third game. He took\npossession of her, brought his brother out of the dungeon, and they\nwent to the town.\n\nNow the brother, who had been in prison, began to think within\nhimself: 'He was yesterday with my wife, and who knows whether she\ndoes not prefer him to me?' He drew his sword to kill him, but the\ndraught-player defended him. He darted before his brother into the\ncourtyard, and as he stepped on to the passage from the tower, his\nwife threw her arms round his neck and began to scold him\naffectionately for having driven her from him overnight, and\nconversed so coldly with her. Then he repented of having so\nfoolishly suspected his brother, who had, moreover, released him\nfrom prison, and of having wanted to kill him; but his brother was a\nconsiderate person and forgave him. They kissed each other and were\nreconciled. He retained his wife and her kingdom with her, and his\nbrother took the draught-player and her kingdom with her. And thus\nthey attained to greater fortune than they could ever have even\nhoped for.\n\n\n\n\n_SERBIAN STORIES FROM CARNIOLA._\n\n\nIn these we come to a very singular mythological being, _Kurent_,\nwho has not, as yet, found a place in the writings of Slavonic\nmythologists. With respect to Kurent, Professor Krek writes as\nfollows: 'The question as to the nature of the Slovinish Kurent is\nvery difficult, especially as the tradition about him is, in my\njudgment, very corrupt. So far as I know, no one has hitherto\ndiscussed it scientifically, and what I am now writing to you is my\nown subjective opinion, rapidly formed. The name itself does not\nappear to be indigenous, but I think it is of Romance, perhaps of\nmedi\u00e6val Latin origin, though I am not yet able to say what its\nsignification is. In a mythological point of view, there is to be\nobserved in the stories about Kurent a certain mixture of\nheathen-Slavonic and Christian elements; but I think the basis is\nentirely indigenous. If I mistake not, Kurent is essentially of\nDionysiac signification, which is indicated by the fact that the\nSlovinish stories connect him closely with the vine-stock, and with\nwine in general, just as is the case with the Greek Dionysos. It is\nnoteworthy that the Little Russians have the word \"Kurent\" in the\nsense of a merry wedding tune (Zhelechovskij, i. 391), and that the\nSlovinish tradition frequently puts Kurent in the place of \"Pust,\"\nso that both represent the same mythological idea. With regard to\n\"Pust,\" there is no doubt that, with his orgiastic system, he is\njust like the Greek Dionysos, although his name is recent, and rests\nupon alien conceptions; indeed, here the fact is of more decisive\nimport than the name. The name is not connected with the old\nSlavonic \"pust,\" _desertus_, but with \"pust\" in the old Slavonic\n\"mesopust,\" in Bohemian \"masopust,\" which are identical with the\nGreek \u1f00\u03c0\u03cc\u03ba\u03c1\u03b5\u03c9\u03db, in Latin \"carnisprivium.\" Of what original names\n\"Kurent\" and \"Pust\" have occupied the place, it will now never\nbe possible to determine. It is just in mythological matters, that\nall manner of old traditions are unsatisfactory, as everybody knows\nwho has busied himself at all closely with this subject. Much that\nis Christian has similarly become mingled with the original pagan\nconceptions in the case of Kurent also, and it is not easy to\nseparate them from later accretions. I think that the Slovintzes\nhonoured Kurent with a special solemnity or festival at the same\ntime that the other Slavonians celebrated the regeneration of\nwinter, nature, and the birth of the solar deity. This mythological\nphenomenon has its analogy in the myths of other Ario-European\nnations, a matter so generally known that there is no need of\ndilating upon it now. What I wish to draw attention to is this: that\nthe Slovinish \"Kurent,\" as also his representative \"Pust\" is of\nDionysiac signification, and I don't know to what to compare him\nmore properly than to the Greek Dionysos. Circumspection is\nespecially necessary in mythological matters, but I venture to\naffirm that my opinion will hold its ground before severe criticism.\nI purpose treating at greater length of this matter at a later time,\nbut I do not think I shall find it necessary to retract any portion\nof my opinion.'\n\nMr. Morfill informs me, moreover, that _Kurenta grati_ is given by\nZhelikovskij in the sense 'to play the Kurent,' _i.e._, the air so\ncalled.\n\n\n\n\nXLVII.--THE ORIGIN OF MAN.\n\n\nIn the beginning there was nothing but God, and God slept and\ndreamed. For ages and ages did this dream last. But it was fated\nthat he should wake up. Having roused himself from sleep, he looked\nround about him, and every glance transformed itself into a star.\nGod was amazed, and began to travel, to see what he had created with\nhis eyes. He travelled and travelled, but nowhere was there either\nend or limit. As he travelled, he arrived at our earth also; but he\nwas already weary; sweat clung to his brow. On the earth fell a drop\nof sweat: the drop became alive, and here you have the first man. He\nis God's kin, but he was not created for pleasure: he was produced\nfrom sweat; already in the beginning it was fated for him to toil\nand sweat.\n\n\n\n\nXLVIII.--GOD'S COCK.\n\n\nThe earth was waste: nowhere was there aught but stone. God was\nsorry for this, and sent his cock to make the earth fruitful, as he\nknew how to do. The cock came down into a cave in the rock, and\nfetched out an egg of wondrous power and purpose. The egg chipped,\nand seven rivers trickled out of it. The rivers irrigated the\nneighbourhood, and soon all was green: there were all manner of\nflowers and fruits; the land, without man's labour, produced wheat,\nthe trees not only apples and figs, but also the whitest and\nsweetest bread. In this paradise men lived without care, working,\nnot from need, but for amusement and merriment. Round the paradise\nwere lofty mountains, so that there was no violence to fear, nor\ndevilish storm to dread. But further: that men, otherwise their own\nmasters, and free, might not, from ignorance, suffer damage, God's\ncock hovered high in the sky, and crowed to them every day, when to\nget up, when to take their meals, and what to do, and when to do it.\nThe nation was happy, only God's cock annoyed them by his continual\ncrowing. Men began to murmur, and pray God to deliver them from the\nrestless creature: 'Let us now settle for ourselves,' said they,\n'when to eat, to work, and to rise.' God hearkened to them; the cock\ndescended from the sky, but crowed to them just once more: 'Woe is\nme! Beware of the lake!' Men rejoiced, and said that it was never\nbetter; no one any more interfered with their freedom. After ancient\ncustom, they ate, worked, and rose, all in the best order, as the\ncock had taught them. But, little by little, individuals began to\nthink that it was unsuitable for a free people to obey the cock's\ncrowing so slavishly, and began to live after their own fashion,\nobserving no manner of order. Through this arose illnesses, and all\nkinds of distress; men looked again longingly to the sky, but God's\ncock was gone for ever. They wished, at any rate, to pay regard to\nhis last words. But they did not know how to fathom their meaning.\nThe cock had warned them to dread the lake, but why? for they hadn't\nit in their valley; there flowed quietly, in their own channel, the\nseven rivers which had burst out of the egg. Men therefore\nconjectured that there was a dangerous lake somewhere on the other\nside of the mountains, and sent a man every day to the top of a hill\nto see whether he espied aught. But there was danger from no\nquarter; the man went in vain, and people calmed themselves again.\nTheir pride became greater and greater; the women made brooms from\nthe wheat-ears, and the men straw mattrasses. They would not go any\nmore to the tree to gather bread, but set it on fire from below,\nthat it might fall, and that they might collect it without trouble.\nWhen they had eaten their fill, they lay down by the rivers,\nconversed, and spoke all manner of blasphemies. One cast his eyes on\nthe water, wagged his head, and jabbered: 'Eh! brothers! A wondrous\nwonder! I should like to know, at any rate, why the water is exactly\nso much, neither more nor less.' 'This, too,' another answered, 'was\na craze of the cock's; it is disgraceful enough for us to be\nlistening to orders to beware of a lake, which never was, and never\nwill be. If my opinion is followed, the watcher will go to-day for\nthe last time. As regards the rivers, I think it would be better if\nthere were more water.' His neighbour at first agreed, but thought,\nagain, that there was water in abundance; if more, there would be\ntoo much. A corpulent fellow put in energetically that undoubtedly\nboth were right; it would, therefore, be the most sensible thing to\nbreak the egg up, and drive just as much water as was wanted into\neach man's land, and there was certainly no need of a watchman to\nlook out for the lake. Scarcely had these sentiments been delivered,\nwhen an outcry arose in the valley; all rushed to the egg to break\nit to pieces; all men deplored nothing but this, that the\ndisgraceful look-out could not be put a stop to before the morrow.\nThe people stood round the egg, the corpulent man took up a stone,\nand banged it against the egg. It split up with a clap of thunder,\nand so much water burst out of it that almost the whole human race\nperished. The paradise was filled with water, and became one great\nlake. God's cock warned truly, but in vain, for the lawless people\ndid not understand him. The flood now reached the highest mountains,\njust to the place where the watchman was standing, who was the only\nsurvivor from the destruction of mankind. Seeing the increasing\nwaters, he began to flee.\n\n\n\n\nXLIX.--KURENT THE PRESERVER.\n\n\nMankind perished by the flood, and there was only one who survived,\nand this was Kranyatz. Kranyatz fled higher and higher, till the\nwater flooded the last mountain. The poor wretch saw how the pines\nand shrubs were covered; one vine, and one only, was still dry. To\nit he fled, and quickly seized hold of it, not from necessity, but\nfrom excessive terror; but how could it help him, being so slender\nand weak? Kurent observed this, for the vine was his stick, when he\nwalked through the wide world. It was agreeable to him that man\nshould be thought to seek help from him. It is true that Kurent was\na great joker; but he was also of a kindly nature, and was always\nglad to deliver anyone from distress. Hearing Kranyatz lamenting, he\nstraightened the vine, his stick, and lengthened it more and more,\ntill it became higher than the clouds. After nine years the flood\nceased, and the earth became dry again. But Kranyatz preserved\nhimself by hanging on the vine, and nourishing himself by its grapes\nand wine. When all became dry, he got down, and thanked Kurent as\nhis preserver. But this didn't please Kurent. 'It was the vine that\nrescued you,' said he to Kranyatz; 'thank the vine, and make a\ncovenant with it, and bind yourself and your posterity, under a\ncurse, that you will always speak its praises and love its wine more\nthan any other food and drink.' Very willingly did the grateful\nKranyatz make the engagement for both himself and his posterity, and\nto this day his descendants still keep faith, according to his\npromise, loving wine above all things, and joyfully commemorating\nKurent, their ancient benefactor.\n\n\n\n\nL.--KURENT AND MAN.\n\n\nKurent and man contended which should rule the earth. Neither Kurent\nwould yield to man nor man to Kurent, for he (man) was so\ngigantic--he wouldn't even have noticed it, if nine of the people of\nthe present day had danced up and down his nostrils. 'Come,' said\nKurent, 'let us see which is the stronger; whether it is I or you\nthat is to rule the earth. Yonder is a broad sea; the one that\nsprings across it best shall have both the earth and all that is on\nthe other side of the sea, and that is, in faith, a hundred times\nmore valuable than this wilderness.' Man agreed. Kurent took off his\ncoat and jumped across the sea, so that just one foot was wetted\nwhen he sprang on to dry land. Now he began to jeer at the man; but\nthe man held his tongue, didn't get out of temper, neither did he\ntake off his coat, but stepped without effort and quite easily over\nthe sea, as over a brook, and came on to dry land without even\nwetting a foot. 'I'm the stronger,' said man to Kurent; 'see how my\nfoot is dry and yours is wet.' 'The first time you have overcome\nme,' answered Kurent; 'yours are the plains, yours is the sea, and\nwhat is beyond the sea; but that isn't all the earth, there is also\nsome beneath us and above us; come, then, let us see a second time\nwhich is the stronger.' Kurent stood on a hollow rock, and stamped\non it with his foot, so that it burst with a noise like thunder, and\nsplit in pieces. The rock broke up, and a cavern was seen where\ndragons were brooding. Now the man also stamped, and the earth\nquaked and broke up right to the bottom, just where pure gold flowed\nlike a broad river, and the dragons fell down and were drowned in\nthe river. 'This trial, too, is yours,' said Kurent; 'but I don't\nacknowledge you emperor till you overpower me in a third fierce\ncontest. Yonder is a very lofty mountain. It rises above the clouds;\nit reaches to the celestial table, where the cock sits and watches\nGod's provisions. Now, then, take you an arrow and shoot, and so\nwill I; the one which shoots highest is the stronger, and his is the\nearth, and all that is beneath and above it.' Kurent shot, and his\narrow wasn't back for eight days; then the man shot, and his arrow\nflew for nine days, and when, on the tenth day, it fell, the\ncelestial cock that guarded God's provisions fell also, spitted upon\nit. 'You are emperor,' said cunning Kurent. 'I make obeisance to\nyou, as befits a subject.' But the man was good-natured, and made a\ncovenant of adoptive brotherhood with Kurent, and went off to enjoy\nhis imperial dignity. Kurent, too, went off, but he was annoyed that\nthe man had put him to shame; where he could not prevail by\nstrength, he determined to succeed by craft. 'You are a hero, man,'\nhe would say, 'I am witness thereto; but beware of me, if you are a\nhero also in simplicity; I go to bring you a gift, that I have\ndevised entirely by myself.'\n\nHe said and squeezed the vine, his stick, and pure red wine burst\nout of it. 'Here's a gift for you; now, then, where are you?' He\nfound the man on the earth the other side of the sea, where he was\nenjoying a bowl of sweet stirabout. 'What are you doing, my lord?'\nsaid Kurent. 'I've mixed a bowl of stirabout from white wheat and\nred fruit, and, see, here I am eating it and drinking water.' 'My\npoor lord! you are emperor of the world and drinking water! hand me\na cup, that I may present you with better drink, which I, your\nhumble servant, have prepared for you myself.' The man was deceived,\ntook the cup with red wine, and drank some of it. 'Thank you,\nadopted brother; you are very kind, but your drink is naught.'\nKurent was disgusted, went off again, and thought and thought how to\ncheat the man. Again he squeezed his stick, again red wine burst\nforth from it, but Kurent did not allow it to remain pure, but the\nrascal mixed hellebore with it, which Vilas and prophetesses pluck\nby moonlight to nourish themselves with. A second time he went in\nsearch of the man, and found him at the bottom of the earth, where\nthe pure gold was flowing like a broad river. 'What are you doing,\nmy lord?' asked Kurent. 'I am getting myself a golden shirt, and I\nam tired and very thirsty; but there's no water here, and it's a\nlong way to the world--seven years' journey.' 'I am at your\nservice,' said Kurent; 'here's a cup of wine for you; better never\nsaw the red sun.' The man was deceived, took it, and drank it up.\n'Thank you, Kurent; you are good, and your drink is good, too.'\nKurent was going to pour him out a fresh cupful, but the man would\nnot allow it, for his nature was still sober and sensible. Kurent\nwas disgusted, and went off to see whether he could not devise\nsomething better. For the third time he squeezed his stick; wine\nburst out more strongly, but this time it did not remain pure nor\nwithout sin. The rascal applied an arrow, opened a vein and let some\nblack blood flow into the wine. Again he went in search of the man,\nand found him on the high mountain at God's table, where he was\nfeasting on roast meat, which had not been roasted for him, but for\nGod himself. 'What are you doing, my lord?' asked Kurent in\namazement and joy, when he saw that the man was sinning abominably.\n'Here I am, sitting and eating roast meat; but take yourself off,\nfor I am afraid of God, lest he should come up and smite me.' 'Never\nfear!' was Kurent's advice; 'how do you like God's roast meat?'\n'It's nice, but it's heavy. I can scarcely swallow it.' 'I am at\nyour service,' said Kurent; 'here is wine for you, the like of which\nisn't on earth or in heaven, but only with me.' The third time the\nman was deceived, but cruelly. 'Thank you, Kurent,' he said; 'you\nare good, but your drink is better; draw me some more, as becomes a\nfaithful servant.' Kurent did so, and the man's eye became dim and\nhis mind became dim, and he thought no more of God, but remained at\ntable. Suddenly God returned, and seeing the man dozing and eating\nroast meat at his table, became angry, and smote him down the\nmountain with his mighty hand, where he lay, half dead, for many\nyears, all bruised and hurt. When he got well again his strength had\ndiminished; he could neither step across the sea, nor go down to the\nbottom of the earth, nor uphill to the celestial table. Thus Kurent\nruled the world and man, and mankind have been weak and dwarfed from\nthat time forth.\n\n\n\n\nLI.--THE HUNDRED-LEAVED ROSE.\n\n\nThe man contended with Kurent for the earth. Unable to decide their\ndispute by agreement, they seized each other, and struggled together up\nand down the earth for full seven years; but neither could Kurent\novercome the man, nor the man Kurent. At that time they kicked the\nearth about and broke it up, so that it became such as it now is: where\nthere was formerly nothing but wide plains, they dug out ravines with\ntheir heels, and piled up mountains and hills. When they were wearied\nwith fighting, they both fell down like dead corpses, and lay for a\nhundred and a hundred years; and the mighty Dobrin hastened to the\nearth, bound both the man and Kurent, and ruled the world. But the two\nwoke up, and, looking about them, observed Dobrin's cords, and wondered\nwho had thrown spider's webs over them. Raising themselves, they broke\ntheir bonds as mere spiders' webs, seized Dobrin, bound him with golden\nfetters, and handed him over to a fiery dragon, to plait the\nlady-dragon's hair and wash her white hands. Then said Kurent to the\nman: 'See, by quarrelling we got tired out, and fell asleep, and a\ngood-for-nothing came to us and ruled the world. We have handed him\nover to the fiery dragon, but if we contend as before, a stronger than\nDobrin will come to us, and will conquer both me and you, and we shall\nsuffer like silly Dobrin. But let us give up disputing; you are a hero,\nand I think I am, too; the hills and abysses are our witnesses, when\nthey crashed under our heels. Hear, therefore, and follow my advice. I\nhave a garden, and in my garden is a mysterious plant, the\nhundred-leaved rose. By the root it is attached to the bottom of the\nearth, imprisoning a terrible creature--the living fire. In vain does\nthe creature endeavour to release and free itself from its bonds, the\nroots. But woe to us, if you pull up the hundred-leaved rose out of the\nearth! The creature 'living-fire' would force its way through, and the\nearth, and all that is in it, would become nothing but a mighty desert\nwhere the water has dried up. Such is the root of the hundred-leaved\nrose. But don't seize hold of its top, either. It is in your power to\npull it off, it is neither too strong nor lofty, but it conceals within\nit wondrous powers--lightning and thunder. They would knock to pieces\nboth you and the earth, and all that is beneath it and above it; the\nhundred-leaved rose would alone remain; but a hundred and a hundred of\nGod's years would elapse before a new earth grew up around it, and a\nliving race was again produced. Such is the garden of the\nhundred-leaved rose. But it also possesses extraordinary petals. I have\noften sat a day at a time under them, and the petals would comfort me,\nand sing songs sweeter than even the slender throat of a Vila singing\never uttered. But from the petals there is no danger; pluck them, and\nnext morning they will sprout forth handsomer than ever. But up to the\npresent time I have not injured them, but have noticed in the night,\nhow they fell and raised themselves again; and I easily understood how\nthe stars and the moon go round, for all came up in the sky just like\nthe petals of the hundred-leaved rose. Come, then; let us ask the\nwondrous plant, and then make peace together. The first petal is yours,\nthe second mine, the third belongs to neither of us, and so on till we\npluck all the petals: let him who pulls off the last petal be ruler on\nthe earth, but not for ever, for that would be a disgrace to a hero,\nbut for one of God's hours, a hundred terrestrial years; and when the\nhour passes, let that one rule again to whom that luck does not fall\nthe first time, whether it be I or you, so that we may arrange to\nsucceed each other in a friendly manner without dispute and dangerous\ndiscord. But the beginning is difficult; let us have no suspicion,\neither I as to you, or you as to me, but let all be of goodwill, and\nwithout trickery; let us ask the hundred-leaved rose, with whom there\nis no unrighteousness.' The man agreed to what Kurent said; one hero\ntrusted the other. They went off to the garden, and asked the\nhundred-leaved rose. The man pulled a petal, Kurent pulled one, and the\nthird petal remained unowned. 'I am yours,' 'you are mine,' 'each is\nhis own;' 'I am yours,' 'you are mine,' 'each is his own;' so said both\nheroes, as they pulled the mysterious petals. But it was not the will\nof the hundred-leaved rose that one autocrat should rule the earth.\nThere were still three petals, the first belonging to the man, the\nsecond to Kurent, and the third to neither, and this was the only one\nremaining on the hundred-leaved rose. Kurent and the man saw that it\nwas not destined for either to rule or to humble himself; they parted\nin grief, and roamed through the wide world, each afraid of the other,\nso that they did not venture even to go to sleep at night. An hour of\nGod, a hundred terrestrial years, elapsed, and then both heroes met\nagain. For the second time they consulted the hundred-leaved rose, and\nit arranged it so, that Kurent was to humble himself, and the man, who\npulled off the last petal, was to rule. The hero humbled himself to\nhim, but the man did not know how to rule, but allowed himself to be\ndeluded, and lay down on a plain to rest and sleep. Thus he lay for a\nwhole hour of God, a hundred terrestrial years, and the wild beasts\ncame up and made game of him: foxes littered in his ear, and\npredaceous kites nested in his thick hair. The man was a great\nsimpleton, but also a mighty hero, as tall, as a plain, the end of\nwhich you cannot see, is long, and as shaggy as a wooded mountain. But\nthe hour of God had elapsed, and Kurent came to the sleeper, and woke\nhim up in no agreeable fashion. The man saw that he had slept through\nhis term of rule, and that it was his, according to the agreement, to\nserve during an hour of God, a hundred terrestrial years. Kurent began\nto rule, but he didn't go to sleep, but made use of his rule, and\nexercised his power to the full. He invited the man to dinner, and\ntreated him in a courteous and friendly manner, that he might soon\nforget his servitude. Kurent kept this in view, and drew him a cup of\nwine straight from his own vineyard. The simpleton was tricked, and\ndrank it up; but it tasted sour to him, so he grumbled: 'Bad drink at a\nbad host's!' Kurent did not get angry at this, but drew him a second\ncup of old red wine: 'Drink, and don't find fault with what is God's.'\nThe second time the man was tricked and drank it up. It did not taste\nsour to him, but he said: 'Wondrous drink at a wondrous host's!' Kurent\ndrew him a third cup, of wonderful wine, which the first plant, the\nfirst planted, yielded, of the first autumn in the first created year.\nThe third time the man was tricked, but for ever. After drinking it up,\nhe threw his arms round Kurent's neck, and cried out: 'Oh, good drink\nat a good host's! Treat me with this wine, and rule both my body and\nsoul, not only for one hour of God, but from henceforth for evermore.'\nKurent was delighted, and plied the man with sweet wine, and the man\ndrank, and cried without ceasing, that he had no need of freedom so\nlong as there was wine to be had with Kurent. Kurent laughed at him,\nseeing how the man's powers had decayed through wine, and that nobody\ncould any more contend with him for the sovereignty of the earth.\n\n\n\n\n_CROATIAN STORIES._\n\n\nThe Croats are believed to take their name from their former abode\nin the ancient Chrobatia, north of the Carpathian Mountains, whose\nname retains the same root, CRB(or P)T. Among them we meet with a\nwonderful hero, 'Marko' (No. 52), the account of whose _buzdovan_,\nor mace, the southern representative of Thor's hammer, may be\ncompared with 'Little Rolling-pea's _bulava_ (No. 22), and that of\nIvan Popyalof' (Ralston, p. 66). Marko appears to have been a very\nunprincipled hero, with very slight ideas of honesty and fair-play.\nHe is represented as gaining his vast strength from a superhuman\nsource--a Vila, of whom more anon. In No. 53, we are carried into\ncloudland, and meet with representatives of the Clashing Rocks'\n(Symplegades), through which the good ship _Argo_ had to pass before\nshe could make her way into the Black Sea, and which, till their\nreappearance in this story, seem to have dropped altogether out of\nfolklore. From this story, and also from several incidents in No.\n52, we perceive that the Vilas of the South Slavonians are not\ndenizens of the earth, the waters, or the woods, but of the clouds,\nand thus a journey has to be made into cloudland to find the\ndaughter of their king.[18] No. 54 will remind us of Aladdin and\nhis wonderful ring and lamp, although animals play a part in it\nunknown to the Oriental tale. No. 55 introduces us to the singular\nrelations supposed to exist between human beings and wolves, and No.\n56 exhibits a curious mixture of destiny and ingenuity.\n\n    [18] It must also be noticed that the hero is represented as\n    catching the Storm-mare, just as Bellerophon does the horse\n    Pegasus by the fountain Peirene.\n\n\n\n\nLII.--KRALJEVITCH MARKO.\n\n\nThere was once upon a time a mother who gave birth to Kraljevitch\nMarko. She reared him, and placed him in a position to become a\nhero. When Marko was growing up he was obliged to feed swine, but he\nwas then weakly, and so dwarfish a lad that his comrades were able\nto beat him, and wanted him to be a sort of servant for them and\ntend their swine. But he was not willing to do this, so they beat\nhim and lugged him by the hair, so that he was obliged to run away\nfrom them. He got away, and went into the fields, and there roamed\nabout, thinking: 'They would be beating me all day, now one, now\nanother of them; but as it is, when I go to them in the evening,\nthey will only beat me once.' As he roamed about, he came up to a\nbaby. He saw that it was a handsome one, and that it was lying in\nthe sun. He made it a cool shade with branches, and went a little\nway off and sat down. As he thus sat, up came a Vila, and said to\nherself: 'Gracious God! who has done this? Let him ask me for\nanything in the world; I will give it him.' He heard this,\napproached, and said: 'Sister, I have done this for you.' 'You have\ndone it, little brother? Come! what do you ask of me in return, that\nI may reward you for being so good as to make a cool shade for my\nbaby?' 'Ah, dear sister! what I should ask you, you could not give\nme.' 'Well, what is such a mighty matter? only tell me.' He was\nthinking of this, that his comrades might not beat him at the\npasture; therefore he said that he should wish that they should not\nbeat him. She replied: 'Well, if that is what you wish for, come and\nsuck my breast.' He obeyed her, went and sucked. When he had\nfinished sucking, the Vila said to him: 'Well, go now and heave yon\nstone, and try whether you can heave it up.' The stone was twelve\nhundredweight. He went to heave it, but could not stir it from its\nplace. Then the Vila said to him: 'Come and suck again; when you\nhave done sucking, go and heave it.' He went to suck, and when he\nhad finished, went to heave it, but only lifted it a little. Then he\nwent again to suck, with such effect that he could already cast it a\nlittle way. He went to suck once more. Then he was already able to\ncast it to a great height and over hills, so that it was no more to\nbe found. Once more she bade him come to suck. He sucked his fill,\nand then she said to him: 'Go now whithersoever you will; no one\nwill beat you any more--no, not your comrades.' He went merrily to\nthe herdsmen, and they called to him: 'Where have you been that we\nare obliged to tend your swine?' and rushed upon him to beat him. He\nonly waited for them. When they came up to him, he seized one,\nknocked them down, and the one who was in his hands was quite\nsquashed, with such force had he taken hold of him. The other\nshepherds, who saw what he did, ran to the home of those whom he had\nknocked down, saying: 'Marko has knocked down your son, and\nso-and-so's, and so-and-so's.' They all went to his mother: 'What\nmanner of son is this that you have reared up?--a brigand, who kills\nour children!' She was terrified out of her wits, thinking what her\nson had done. She began to revile him: 'Sonny, never did my eye see\nthat you did anything; wherefore do you thus to me, that other\npeople come to revile me because of your doings? Go! I shall be glad\nif my eye never sees you more. Why do you put me to shame?' 'Well,\nthen, good! if so you say, I will go into the world.' 'Only go that\nI may never see you.' 'Well, then, good! go I will.'\n\nHe went. Now, he thought to himself: 'What shall I do? I am a hero,\nbut I have not what a hero requires.' Then he went to a smith, at\nwhose smithy were five-and-twenty smiths. 'God help you, smith!'\n'God help you, Kraljevitch Marko! why have you come to me?' 'I have\ncome to you that you may forge me a sword weighing twelve\nhundredweight; then you shall also forge me a mace, if you make the\nsword well; but you must know that it must be stronger than your\nanvil. If it cuts it through, you shall receive payment; otherwise,\nnot. Have you understood me?' 'Yes.' 'Well, then make it now.' All\nfive-and-twenty smiths went immediately and forged the sword. When\nit was ready, Marko came. 'Well, smith, have you got it ready?'\n'Yes, Marko.' 'Now come, let me see.' Marko struck, but the sword\nbroke into two pieces, and not the anvil. 'Ah! friend smith, you've\nnot done it well; you get no pay.' He went on to another smith. 'God\nhelp you, smith!' 'God help you, Kraljevitch Marko! What work do you\nwant done?' 'I have come to you to make me a sword weighing twelve\nhundredweight, and to make it stronger than your anvil, because, if\nit cuts through your anvil, you will receive payment; if not, you\nwill get nothing. Have you understood me?' 'Yes.' 'Then make it.'\nThen up came the thirty smiths, worked at the sword, and worked\nuntil they had finished forging it. Marko came: 'Well, smith, is the\nsword ready?' 'It is, Marko.' 'Show it me that I may see it.' Marko\ntook it, struck, cut through the anvil, and cut right into the\nblock. 'Well, smith, you've made it well. Now that you've made me a\nsword, make me also a sheath for the sword, and also a club, that\nis, a mace, weighing twelve hundredweight, then I will pay you all\nat once. But when I throw the mace, it must not break; if it\nbreaks, then you get no payment.' He made him a mace also, but did\nnot make it well. When Marko threw it, he let it fall upon himself,\nand the mace broke. Then said Marko: 'You have made me the sword\nwell, but not the mace. Reach out your hand that I may pay you for\nthe sword.' The smith reached out his hand, and Marko cut it off\nwith the sword, saying: 'There's your payment, smith, for the sword,\nthat you may no more make such swords for any hero.' Then he went to\na third smith, with whom thirty-eight smiths were at work, and said:\n'God help you, smith!' 'God requite you, Marko! why have you come to\nme?' 'I have come to you to make me a club, that is, a mace,\nweighing twelve hundredweight; I tell you the truth, if I throw it\nup on high, and it breaks when it falls, you get no payment.' All\nthirty-eight smiths worked till they forged it. Marko came: 'Well,\nis the mace ready?' 'It is, Marko.' 'Show it, that I may see it.'\nWhen he gave it him, he threw it so high into the air that it was\nthree days and three nights in the sky. When it came down, Marko\npresented his back; it fell upon him, and cast him to the ground,\nand blood flowed from his nose and teeth, but the mace remained\nsound. But Marko sprang up quickly, and said to the smith: 'Ah! dear\nsmith! you've made it well for me; reach out your hand that I may\npay you.' He reached out his hand to him, and he cut his hand off\nwith his sword. 'Let this be your payment, smith, that you may no\nmore make such staves for any hero.'\n\nThen he went off to his mother and said to her: 'Mother, you see in\nme a hero; if you revile me, I shall go about the world.' Then his\nmother began to scold him: 'Why are you like this? Why don't you\nlive like other people? You have oxen; go, then, on to the green\nhill and plough the fallows and pastures, and thereby support your\nold mother.' Marko obeyed her, took the oxen, and went. But he\ndidn't go on to the green hill, to plough the fallows and pastures,\nbut he went and ploughed the emperor's highroads. When the Turks saw\nthis, they went to Marko--three hundred Turks, all chosen\nwarriors--and said to him: 'Why, Marko, do you plough the emperor's\nhighroads? you have the fallows and pastures!' Then at him, to cut\nhim down. When Marko saw this, he hadn't with him either his sword\nor his mace, so seized his plough and felled all three hundred\nTurks. Then said he: 'Ah! gracious God! a wondrous hero!' Then he\ntook the Turks' gold from them, left his plough, unyoked the oxen,\nand turned them loose on the green hill: 'Go, little oxen, on to the\ngreen hill, and feed and graze from pine to pine, like the cuckoo;\nMarko has not managed to plough with you, and now never will he\nmore.' And home he went singing: 'Here, mother, you have gold\nenough, live upon it, and I will go into the world, that your eye\nmay see me no more.'\n\nHe took his mace and sword, went and came to an inn, where some\nTurks were drinking red wine and conversing. 'We should be glad to\nmake the acquaintance of Kraljevitch Marko and see him. We have\nheard that he is a celebrated hero. His brother Andro is in Stambol\nhere. He is a hero, but they say that _he_ is a still greater hero.'\n'In whose service is Andro Kraljevitch?' 'In that of a pasha; he\nwill soon come riding past here.' 'Good; I will wait for him.' Up\ncame Andro Kraljevitch, riding with the pasha. Marko called out to\nhim: 'Eh, adopted brother, Kraljevitch Andro!' 'Thanks, unknown\nhero, perhaps you are Kraljevitch Marko?' 'Quite true, I am\nKraljevitch Marko.' 'Good; let us go into the inn to drink a cup of\nwine, that love and the fortune of heroes may thus unite us. Now we\nare not afraid of going into combat against any empire.' So they\nwent on the way to an inn. Kraljevitch Marko said: 'Prithee, sing me\na song, Andro.' 'Dear brother, I dare not. The Vila of the cloud\nwould shoot me.' 'Don't be afraid; I am here.' Andro obeyed, and\nsang so that all the branches began to fall. All at once a spear\nflew against Andro and struck him down. Marko looked about to see\nwhence it came, and espied a Vila in the cloud; he seized his mace\nand threw it at the Vila, so that it at once struck her to the\nground. The Vila began to shriek: 'Let me go, Marko! I will bring\nAndro back to life, and will give you a wondrous horse, so that you\nwill be able to fly in the air.' Marko agreed, and she took certain\ngrasses, and brought Andro back to life. Marko obtained the wondrous\nhorse, and both rode off to an inn and drank red wine. But in the\ninn there was a wicked harlot. She became enamoured of Andro, but he\nwould not even look at her. She therefore put sweet honey into his\nwine, that he might drink the wine. Marko went out for a short time,\nand the wicked woman murdered Andro. But when Marko came in he\nseized the wicked woman, and spitted her on his sword: 'Take that,\nwretch, for murdering my brother Andro.'\n\nHe went on into the world. He roamed hither and thither, and when he\nmet with any hero, he tried the fortune of combat with him, as in\nhis encounter with black Arapin. Arapin built a tower beside the\nlevel sea. When he had built it handsomely and raised it high, he\nsaid thus to it: 'Handsomely, my tower, handsomely have I built\nthee, and high have I raised thee, for I have no father nor mother,\nno brother nor sister, nor even my beloved, to walk about in thee.\nBut I have a love, the daughter of the emperor Soliman. I will write\nhim the leaf of a white book, and send up to him by a black Tatar;\nfor if he will not give her to me, let him meet me in single\ncombat.' He wrote the leaf of a white book and sent it by a black\nTatar. When Soliman read over the leaf of the white book, he shed\ntears abundantly, and his empress Solimanitza came to him and\nquestioned him: 'Why do you weep, emperor Soliman? Ofttimes have\nletters come for you, and you have not shed abundant tears; what\ndistress is tormenting you?' He told her this, that black Arapin had\nwritten to him, that, if he did not give him his daughter, he must\nmeet him in single combat; and how could he meet him in single\ncombat? She advised him to write the leaf of a white book to\nKraljevitch Marko to come, promising to give him three loads of\nmoney. He wrote the leaf of a white book and sent it by a black\nTatar. When Kraljevitch Marko read over the leaf of the book, he\nbegan to laugh greatly: 'Yes, i' faith, emperor Soliman! what will\nyour money do for me, if black Arapin severs my head from my\nshoulders?' And he said not whether he would go or not go. The\nemperor Soliman was anxiously expecting the Tatar, who brought to\nhim the words, that Marko neither said that he would come, nor that\nhe would not come. Thereupon the emperor was sorrowful, for he had\nno such man who would deliver his daughter. There arrived a second\nletter from black Arapin, that he must give him his daughter; if he\ndid not give her, he must meet him in single combat. As he read it,\nhe shed abundant tears. Thereupon his only daughter came to him and\nasked him: 'Why do you weep, emperor Soliman? Letters have ofttimes\narrived for you, and you have not shed abundant tears.' He replied\nto her: 'Dear daughter! You see that black Arapin writes to me,\nthat, if I do not give you to him, I must meet him in single combat;\nand how shall I, poor man that I am, meet him?' 'You know, dear\nfather, that there is one hero, Kraljevitch Marko. Write to him,\nthat you will give him nine loads of money, if he will come and meet\nhim in single combat.' The emperor Soliman wrote to Kraljevitch\nMarko the leaf of a white book, and sent it to him by a black Tatar.\nWhen he read over the leaf of the white book he laughed greatly:\n'I' faith, emperor Soliman! what will your money be to me, if black\nArapin severs my head from my shoulders?' Thereupon he did not say\nwhether he would come or not come. Sorrowful thereat, the emperor\ndid not know what to do. Then came a third letter from black Arapin,\nthat he was coming, and that he must prepare, would he, nould he, to\ngive him his daughter, and that all inns and shops must be shut for\nfear of him. Thereupon the emperor Soliman shed abundant tears as he\nread it. His daughter came to him: 'Why do you weep, emperor\nSoliman? Letters have ofttimes arrived for you, and you have not\nshed abundant tears. What distress is assailing you?' 'You see, dear\ndaughter, that black Arapin writes to me, that if I don't give you\nto him, I must meet him in single combat! But how shall I, poor man,\nmeet him?' 'Write, dear father, to Kraljevitch Marko to come, and\noffer him twelve loads of money, and a shirt which is neither spun\nnor woven nor bleached, but made of nothing but pure gold, and a\nserpent that holds a tray in its mouth, and on the tray a golden\ncasket, and in the casket a precious stone, by aid of which you can\nsup at midnight just as well as at mid-day.' He wrote the leaf of a\nwhite book and sent it to Kraljevitch Marko by a black Tatar, and\noffered him all that his daughter told him. When Marko read the leaf\nof the white book, he laughed greatly, and said: 'I' faith, emperor\nSoliman! what will your money do for me, if black Arapin severs my\nhead from my shoulders?' And then, too, he did not say that he would\ncome or not come. Thereupon came the leaf of a white book from black\nArapin, that Arapin had now got ready three hundred heroes, all in\nsilver armour, and all chosen warriors. Then said Kraljevitch Marko\nto his piebald horse: 'Eh! piebald horse, my pearl! you know well\nthat you must be faithful to me, for, if not, I shall cut off your\nfeet at the knees, and that you must bear yourself valiantly.' And\nthe piebald horse replied that he must saddle and mount with speed\nto go soon, and that black Arapin was already near. Marko saddled\nand mounted him, and went to the city where the emperor Soliman\nreigned.\n\nNow, when he had ascertained by which road Arapin's men were coming,\nhe presented himself to a young innkeeper, and said, knocking at the\ndoor: 'Open, and bring some wine.' But he excused himself, saying\nthat he dared not draw any, for all inns and shops were obliged to\nbe shut for fear of black Arapin. But the hero said to him: 'You\nmust bring some for me, or I shall cleave your head to the\nshoulders.' The innkeeper saw that it could not be otherwise, and\nwas obliged to bring him a cup of wine. Marko drank half, and gave\nhalf to his piebald horse. Then he brought two cups, one for Marko,\nand one for the horse. Meanwhile, Marko went into the garden to look\nabout him. When he got there, he saw by the side of a brook a damsel\nin sorrow, and wondered what ailed her that she wept so piteously,\nsaying: 'Ah! my rivulet! I would rather abide in you, than lie\nbehind black Arapin's back.' When Marko saw that it was Soliman's\ndaughter, he said: 'What ails you, damsel, that you weep so\npiteously?' She replied to him: 'Go hence, unknown hero! As to what\nyou ask me, you cannot aid me.' 'Now, only tell me; maybe I shall\naid you.' 'Black Arapin will come, and will take me away from my\nfather and mother; but I had a man, who could have set me free, but\nhe will not. I offered him twelve loads of money, and a shirt, which\nis neither spun nor bleached, but is made of pure gold; and a\nserpent, that holds in its mouth a tray, and on the tray a golden\ncasket, and in the casket a precious stone, by aid of which he could\nsup at midnight, as well as at mid-day; but he won't. The sun has\nnot seen him, neither has the moon thrown its light upon him, nor\nhas he seen his mother more, nor has a bird sung to him.' Marko\nanswered her: 'Don't chatter, don't chatter; but go and say that I\nhave arrived. I am Marko; and let him dress and furnish you\nhandsomely, and give you all that is requisite for Arapin, and all\nthat he shall desire.' Then she ran to her father, and told him all\nthat Marko said. Meanwhile, while Marko was conversing with the\ndamsel, Arapin arrived, saw an inn open, and a horse in front of it\nstanding tethered at the entrance. He said: 'Who is this, that is\nnot afraid of my terror?' And thereupon he said that he would soon\nteach him to be afraid of him. After this, he shouted an order to\nthe bedelija; the bedelija (such is the [Turkish] name for a horse)\nwould not stir. 'Well, I'll go thither; I won't make quarrels; maybe\nI shall obtain possession of the damsel without any disturbance.'\nAnd, in fact, thither he went, obtained possession of the damsel,\nand all that he needed was given him. Then he went again to the inn,\nand saw the horse again standing there. Again he was about to go to\nthe innkeeper to slay him; but he shouted to the horse, the horse\nwouldn't stir. Said Arapin: 'Well, I won't make quarrels, now that I\nhave obtained the damsel without any quarrel.' When Arapin proceeded\non his way, Marko came out of the garden, and his piebald horse said\nto him: 'Where have you been so long, that Arapin might easily have\nkilled me?' 'Now don't fear, my piebald; we shall soon kill him,\nplease God, not he you.' Then he called for one more cup of wine for\nhimself, and one for his piebald. When they had finished drinking,\nthey started on their way, and in pursuit of Arapin. Arapin had\nalready told his chief officer to look round to see whether any dark\nfog came out behind them. He looked round, but saw nothing. But when\nhe afterwards looked round a second time, he espied a dark fog, and\nsaid to Arapin: 'Yes, my lord, a dark foul fog is coming behind\nus.' Scarcely had he said this, when Marko attacked, and began to\nslaughter, his rearguard. Arapin said to him: 'Don't be silly,\nMarko; why are you playing the fool with us? I don't know whether\nyou are jesting, or playing the fool.' 'I am neither jesting nor\nplaying the fool, but am in earnest.' 'Do, then, what you can; throw\nwhat you have.' 'I won't; but throw you your mace.' Marko's piebald\nthrew himself down, and Arapin's mace went over Marko's head. Then\nMarko threw his mace, and felled Arapin to the ground, and the\npiebald leapt to Arapin, and said to Marko: 'Come, see that you cut\noff Arapin's head.' When the piebald leapt, Marko, too, struck with\nhis sword, and cut off Arapin's head, and the piebald quickly leapt\nbackwards thirty paces. Then he left Arapin's carcase on the ground,\ngave the head to the damsel, and said: 'Kiss him, now that he is\ndead, though you wouldn't when he was living.' They went home, and\nthe emperor caused a great entertainment to be prepared, and all\nMarko's friends, and his father and mother, to be invited, and Marko\nobtained his promised reward.\n\nSo, too, he tried the fortune of combat with Musa Urbanusa.[19] He\nhad three hearts. Marko fought with him for three nights and three\nwhite days without cessation, so that red foam already issued from\nMarko, while not even white foam came from Musa Urbanusa. Then\nKraljevitch Marko shouted: 'Eh! sister Vila!' The Vila replied: 'I\ncannot help you, because the baby has fallen asleep in my arms; but\ndon't you know your secret weapon?' Then said Kraljevitch Marko:\n'Look, Musa Urbanusa, whether the sun is now rising or setting.'\nMusa looked at the sun, and Marko drew his knife, and ripped Musa\nup. Musa seized hold of him so powerfully that he barely dug his way\nout from under Musa, whom he had ripped up. There he lay, and Marko\npushed himself sideways, and when he had extricated himself, went to\nlook what there was in this man that was so strong. He saw that Musa\nhad three hearts, one was beating, the second was beginning to beat\na little, and the third did not yet know aught about it. On the\nthird he saw a snake lying, and the snake said to Marko: 'Thank God\nthat I didn't know of it; you wouldn't have done what you have done.\nBut open your mouth, Marko, that I may enter into you, that you,\ntoo, may be as strong as he was.' Marko became angry, and cut the\nsnake to pieces, saying: 'I don't need such a foul creature as you\nare.'\n\n    [19] Musa, the Albanian, more properly Arbanasian.\n\nThen he proceeded on his way, and went about till firearms were\ninvented. He went up to a shepherd, who was shooting birds. Then\nMarko asked him: 'What's this that you are doing?' 'Eh! you see, I'm\nshooting birds; and I could shoot you, also.' 'And how would you\nkill me with this thing? Heroes have not killed me; could you do\nso?' Then he reached his hand to him, and said: 'Shoot into my hand\nhere.' He shot, and shot through his hand. Then said Marko: 'It is\nnot worth my while to live any longer in the world; now any cuckoo\ncould slay me; I had rather quit it.' He went into a cavern, and\nlives there still at the present day. Into this cavern a man was\ncompelled to go, who was let down by a rope in a chest. When he\narrived within, the Vila immediately stepped up to him, and said:\n'Christian soul, why come you here?' He told her why and how. But\nMarko heard that somebody was conversing, and immediately asked the\nVila who it was that had come in. She told him that a soul from that\nworld had come to see what was in the cavern. Marko immediately said\nthat he must come to him, that he might see how strong people in the\nworld still were, and he must give him his hand. But she gave him a\nred-hot iron, and Marko took it, and squeezed it in his hands so\nthat water spirted out of it, and said: 'Ah, ah! I could still live\nin the world if no one would talk about me for three days.' He also\ncommissioned him to tell the lords that he should come there. He\ngave him a letter, too, and sealed it with his own hand, and allowed\nhim to go up. He shook the rope, and got into the chest. Then they\npulled him up, and he gave the letter to the lords; but, for fear of\nMarko's coming, the lords did not make the letter public for people\nto know how Marko had gone into the cavern. The footprints of his\nhorse are still recognised.\n\n\n\n\nLIII.--THE DAUGHTER OF THE KING OF THE VILAS.\n\n\nThere was a mother, who was expecting. As she once upon a time came\nout of church from mass, her pains fell upon her. Whither should she\ngo? She concealed herself under a bridge, and became the happy\nmother of a son. The three Royenitzes also came thither. They are\nhags, who determine by what death every child is to pass from this\nworld. One said: 'Let us kill him at once.' The second said: 'Not\nso; but when he grows up, then let us kill him, that his mother's\nsorrow for him may be greater.' But the third said: 'Let us not do\nso; but if he does not take the daughter of the king of the Vilas to\nwife, then let us kill him.' And so it was settled.\n\nWhen he had grown up, he said to his mother: 'Mamma, I should like\nto marry.' 'Ah, my son, you say that you would like to marry; but\nthere is no one to be married to you.' He asked her: 'Why not?' She\ntold him: 'Yes; the Suyenitzes have pronounced your fate, that if\nyou do not take the daughter of the king of the Vilas to wife, they\nwill put you to death.' He then said: 'Well, I'll go in search of\nher; but first I'll go to ask a certain old smith; maybe he'll be\nable to tell me where she is.' The smith said: 'My son, it will be\ndifficult for you to find out; but go to the mother of the moon; if\nshe can't tell you, I don't know who will be better able to tell you\nthan she.' He also gave him three pairs of iron shoes, and sent him\noff to the mother of the moon. 'Only, when you come to her, take her\nby the arm, then she will ask you at once what you want, and tell\nher without delay.' He went off, and just as he was on the point of\nwearing out the shoes, he came to the moon's mother, and took her by\nthe arm. She asked him immediately what he wanted. He said: 'I want\nto find the daughter of the king of the Vilas.' She said: 'Well, my\nson, I don't know; but maybe my son knows. Wait till he comes home,\nand then you can ask him. But he mustn't find you; he would tear you\nto pieces at once. When he comes home, he will notice that you are\nhere. I will conceal you, and when he asks for the third time where\nthe Christian soul is, then say to him: \"Here I am!\" and he won't be\nable to do anything to you.' The old woman hid him under a trough.\nThe moon came home, and asked: 'Mamma, you have a Christian soul\nhere.' And when he asked for the third time where the Christian soul\nwas, he announced himself: 'Here I am.' And then he could do nothing\nto him, otherwise he would have crushed him to powder. He asked him\nwhat he wanted. He said: 'I want to find the daughter of the king of\nthe Vilas.' The moon: 'I don't know, but if the sun's mother doesn't\nknow, I don't know who else does.' And he showed him the way by\nwhich he must go.\n\nHe put on the second pair of shoes, and when he was just on the\npoint of wearing them out, he came to the sun's mother, and took her\nby the arm. She said to him at once: 'What do you want?' He said to\nher that, if she knew where the Vilas' castles were, he wanted to\nobtain the daughter of the king of the Vilas. She then said to him:\n'Ah, my son, I don't know; but if my son doesn't know, I don't know\nwho else does. Wait a little till he comes home.' She, too,\nconcealed him under a trough, and he announced himself the third\ntime that the sun asked: 'Mother, you have a Christian soul here:'\nsaying, 'Here I am.' Neither could the sun do anything to him, but\nasked him what he wanted. He replied that he was in search of the\nVilas' castles, and the daughter of the king of the Vilas. Then the\nsun said to him: 'Ah, I don't know; but if the storm-mare (that is,\nthe storm or wind) doesn't know, then I don't know who will know.'\nThen he showed him the road, and said: 'When you come to a meadow\nwhere the grass is up to your knees, there the storm-mare is. If you\ndon't find her there, wait for her; she will come to feed. Don't go\ndirectly to her, but hide behind a tree or in a hole, and when she\ncomes, take her at once by the bridle, otherwise it will not be good\nfor you.'\n\nHe went off, and put on the third pair of shoes, then went and went,\nand arrived at the meadow. When he got there, the storm-mare was not\nthere till dawn. He hid himself under a bridge, and when she came to\nthe bridge to drink water, he seized her by the bridle, and she\nasked him what he wanted. He replied that he wanted to find the\ndaughter of the king of the Vilas. She answered him: 'Mount on my\nback.' He mounted, and she then said to him: 'But you mustn't fall\noff.' She reared; he almost fell off, but kept himself on with his\nfoot. She reared a second time, and then, too, he almost fell off. A\nthird time she reared, and then, too, he almost fell off, only he\nkept himself on with his knee. Then she said to him: 'This will be\nharmful to me.' She went off with him like a bird, and sped and sped\nup to two steps. When she came near them, the steps split in twain\nfrom the gust, but speedily closed again, and tore off a piece of\nthe mare's tail. Then the mare said to him: 'You see how you harmed\nme when you almost fell off.' Then they went on till they arrived at\nthe Vilas' castles. Then she said: 'Don't get drunk or forget, so as\nnot to come to me.' He said that he would come, and went off\nupwards. They received and entertained him, and he asked them at\nonce to give him the king's daughter. They promised that they would\ngive her to him. Then they feasted, and ate and drank till darkness\ncame on. And when evening arrived, he said that he must go out on\nhis own account, and would return directly. He went off to the\nstorm-mare. They had brought her a hundred quintals of hay. He\nconcealed himself in the mare's tail. They sought him, and couldn't\nfind him; but nevertheless they almost found him at dawn; but a cock\nbegan to crow, and then they could do nothing to him. Afterwards he\nwent indoors, and they gave him again to eat and drink, and asked\nhim where he had been. He replied: 'I slept under a hedge; I fell\ndown, and soon fell asleep on the spot.' They gave the mare a\nhundred quintals of hay and several measures of oats. They enjoyed\nthemselves the whole day till evening. He went out again and hid\nhimself in the mare's mane. They sought him all night long, but\ncouldn't find him; but at dawn an old witch told them that he was in\nthe mane. They would almost have found him there, but the cocks\nbegan to crow, and they couldn't kill him now. But afterwards they\nkilled all the cocks in the whole village. He went again into the\ncastle. They gave him what he wanted to eat and drink, and the mare,\nas usual, a hundred quintals of hay and several measures of oats,\nand said to him: 'You must not go out anywhere in the evening; we\nwill prepare everything for you that you require.' When evening\ncame, they were on friendly terms with him, but nevertheless\ndispersed. He went out, and went to the mare. Where did she bestow\nhim? She hid him under her foot in her shoe, for she had a large\nfoot. They went to seek him again. But during the day he took two\neggs, and the mare hatched them by evening in her throat, and they\nhad almost grown up by evening. When they sought him again, they\ncouldn't find him. At dawn they consulted the old witch. She told\nthem that he was under the mare's hoof. They wanted now to take him\nout, but the cockerels which the mare had hatched in her throat\nbegan to crow. They could do nothing to him, but they wrung the two\ncockerels' necks. Now he said that they must give him the king's\ndaughter, that he might depart. But the king said that he wouldn't\ngive her to him, because he had not slept where he had prepared a\nbed for him. He declared that he had been drunk and had gone out,\nhad fallen down, and gone to sleep on the spot. But the king would\nnot believe him. Now he begged him to bring his daughter to him,\nthat he might at any rate give her a kiss. But beforehand the mare\ninstructed him that, when she came to kiss him, he was to seize her\nand pull her on to her (the mare), and they would escape with her.\nAnd he was also to take a brush with which horses are cleaned, a\ncomb with which horses are combed, and a glass of water, and make\ngood preparations for himself. But when the king granted his request\nthat his daughter should come for him to kiss her, she stood on his\nfoot in the stirrup, and as she stood to give the kiss, off started\nthe mare, and made her way through the gate, and on and on she went.\nThe king saw this, called for his horse, and after them. They were\nalready far on their way. All of a sudden the mare said: 'Look round\nto see whether anyone is coming behind us.' He looked round and\nsaid: 'There is; he is all but catching you by the tail.' The mare\nsaid: 'Throw the brush!' He threw the brush, and a forest placed\nitself behind them, so that he could scarcely make his way through;\nthe poor king could scarcely get through for thorn bushes. And they\nhad meanwhile got a long way forward. The king, however, forced his\nway through, and again after them with speed, till he was again on\nthe point of catching them. Then the mare said: 'Look round to see\nwhether anyone is coming behind us.' He looked round and saw that he\nwas already near, and the mare was all but caught by the tail, and\nsaid: 'He is near, and you are all but caught by the tail.' The mare\nsaid: 'Throw the comb.' He threw it, and a great chain of mountains,\none after the other, placed itself there; and on they went further,\nso that they had already gone a great space, and the king with\ndifficulty made his way over the mountains, and again after them, so\nthat he was again on the point of overtaking them. The mare told him\nto look round to see whether anyone was coming behind them. He said\nthat there was, and that she was all but caught by the tail. The\nmare said: 'Throw the glass with water.' He threw it, and a great\nflood of water arose, so that the king could with difficulty get\nacross. And they had already got a long way on. No sooner had the\nking got out of the water, when on he went with speed, with speed,\nagain after them, and was already on the point of overtaking them,\nwhen the mare was already near the steps, and the steps opened from\nthe gust of wind, and the mare sped through, and they closed again,\nand the king couldn't proceed further through the steps, and shouted\nloudly: 'Son-in-law, don't go any further; I cannot do so. Let not\nmy daughter complain that I have given her nothing.' Then he somehow\nthrew his girdle over the steps, for he had nought else to give her\nsave that girdle. And the girdle was such that whatsoever its owner\nwanted, he obtained. Then the king returned, and they remained\nhappy. He thanked the storm-mare courteously, and went home with\nspeed, for he bade the girdle place them at his house. They prepared\na grand banquet, for they had plenty, and I was at the banquet and\nfeasted.\n\n\n\n\nLIV.--THE WONDER-WORKING LOCK.\n\n\nThere was once upon a time a woman who had one son. This son\nmaintained himself and his mother; he fed their one cow, and brought\nwood and carried it to the town for sale, and with the money bought\nbread to support his mother and himself. On one occasion he carried\nsticks to market, and bought bread and went homewards. As he went\nhomewards with the bread, he went through a wood, came up to some\nshepherds, and saw that they were going to kill a puppy, and said to\nthem: 'Don't kill it; the poor animal has done you no wrong; give it\nrather to me.' The shepherds said to him: 'What will you give us?\nGive us that loaf.' He gave them the loaf, took the dog, and carried\nit home. When he got home, his mother asked him: 'Have you brought\nany bread?' 'No, but I have bought a puppy with the bread.' She then\nsaid: 'Wherewith shall we support it, when we've nothing to eat\nourselves?' 'Well, I'll go gather sticks, sell them, and buy bread.'\nHe went a second time to gather sticks, took them and sold them,\nthen bought bread, went through the wood, and saw where the\nshepherds were killing a kitten, and said to them: 'Don't kill the\nanimal; it has done you no harm; rather give it to me?' They said to\nhim: 'What will you give us?' He said: 'What should I give you, when\nI've got nothing?' The shepherds said: 'That loaf of bread.' He gave\nit them and carried the kitten home. The old woman was again\nanxiously expecting bread. When he got home his mother said to him:\n'Do you bring me any bread?' 'No, but I've bought a kitten with the\nbread.' The old woman then said: 'You've nothing to eat yourself,\nmuch less the cat.' He then said: 'It, too, will be serviceable.\nI'll go gather sticks, sell them, and buy bread.' He went a third\ntime, gathered and sold sticks, bought bread, and went homewards.\nGoing through the wood, he saw the shepherds killing a snake, and\nsaid: 'Don't kill the snake, it has done you no harm; why should you\nkill it?' He begged for it, too, because he compassionated it; it\nwas beautifully marked, and he fancied it. Then said the shepherds:\n'What will you give us not to kill it?' He said: 'This little loaf\nof bread.' He gave it them, and they gave him the snake. He went\nhome with the snake, and the snake said to him: 'Now feed me; when I\ngrow up you shall carry me home.' When he got home his mother said\nto him: 'Why haven't you brought some bread? Why have you brought\nthis?' He said: 'It, too, will be of service.' Then he went a fourth\ntime to gather sticks, took them to market, sold them, bought four\nloaves of bread, and brought them home. Then they all ate their\nfill--the dog, the cat, the snake, his mother, and himself. He\nmaintained the whole set of animals. The snake grew big; he now\ncarried it home. It said to him: 'Do you hear? my mother will offer\nyou gold and silver, but don't take any, but let her give you the\nlock which hangs behind the door. Whenever you want anything\nwhatever, only knock on the lock; twelve young men will come, who\nwill ask you: \"What are your commands?\" Only say what you wish for,\nand you will have it immediately.' When he carried it home, its\nparents asked him what he wanted for bringing their daughter home.\nHe said according to his instructions: 'Nothing but that lock, which\nhangs behind the door.' They said to him: 'We can't give you that;\nand what good would you do yourself with the lock? Let us rather\ngive you a quantity of money, as much as you can carry.' He then\nsaid: 'I don't wish for your money; only give me the lock.' When\nthey long refused to give it him, he was about to depart. But they\nsaw that he ought not to go away without payment, so gave him the\nlock. Now, when he had obtained the lock, and had gone a little\ndistance from the house, he knocked on the lock, and immediately out\ncame twelve young men, who asked him: 'What are your commands?'\n'Only that you place me at home at once.' He immediately stood in\nfront of his cottage, and when his mother saw him, she rejoiced:\n'Oh, my son! you have come home; how miserable I have been because\nyou were not at home!' 'Well, mamma, don't talk! we shall now live\nbetter than we have done hitherto; I have brought you such a thing,\nthat we shall live with ease.' Then he gently knocked on the lock,\nand up darted the twelve young men: 'What are your commands?' 'Food\nand drink for me, my mother, the dog and the cat.' And so it was.\nThis pleased the old woman, and she loved her son still more.\n\nNow it came into his head that he should like to get married, and he\nsaid to his mother: 'Mamma, go you to our king, and ask him to give\nme his daughter to wife.' His mother jeered him: 'What is this\nnonsense that you are talking?' 'Well, go you to the king and tell\nhim!' The old woman did not venture to go at once; but at last go\nshe did, and told the king that her son wished to marry his\ndaughter. The king said to her: 'Good! provided he performs for me\nwhat I shall command him; if he breaks up these hills by to-morrow\nmorning, as far as my eyes can see, so that the best wheat shall\ngrow, and I shall eat a cake from it to-morrow, then it is good; if\nthat shall not be done, he will lose his head.' She went home\nweeping: 'My son, you have done an evil thing; the king has said to\nyou, you must break up all these hills by to-morrow morning, as far\nas the king's eyes can see, so that the best wheat shall grow there,\nand the king shall eat a cake from it to-morrow; and if that be not\ndone, you will lose your head.' 'Well, mamma, if that's all he said,\nthen she will be mine.' 'Ah! my sonny! how can this be? You cannot\ndo it.' 'Don't talk, mamma, but let us go to sleep; you will see\nwhether all will be ready to-morrow or no.' They took their supper,\nand his mother went off to sleep. Then he knocked on the lock, and\nout sprang the twelve young men. 'What are your commands?' 'I ask\nthat these hills be broken up, as far as the king's eyes can see,\nand the best wheat must grow there.' It was done. In the morning the\nold woman went to the king with the cake. The king rose up and saw\nthat it was really accomplished, and the old woman was waiting with\nthe cake. The king came out, and she said to him: 'Good-morning; I\nhave brought it.' Then the king said: 'Good! he has done this; now\ntell him that by to-morrow he must clear all the woods, as far as he\ncan see, and the best vineyards must be there, and he' (the king)\n'must eat grapes and drink new wine to-morrow; and if he does not do\nthis, he will lose his head.' She went again weeping home, and told\nher son all that the king had said to her. But he only smiled and\nsaid: 'Well, well, only go to sleep, you will see whether all will\nbe ready to-morrow or no.' When they had supped, the old woman went\noff to sleep, and he knocked on the lock, and the twelve young men\nsprang out: 'What are your commands?' 'I command that these woods be\nall cleared, and that they produce the best grapes.' This, too, was\ndone. In the morning the king rose up and saw that the change was\nreally effected. The old woman, too, was really waiting for him with\ngrapes and new wine. The king said to her: 'Well, good! tell your\nson that he must accomplish one thing more, and then he will win my\ndaughter. If he shall have as much cattle, and such a castle as I\nhave, he will win my daughter; if not, he will lose his head.' The\nold woman went home again, and told him what the king said. Then he\nknocked on the lock, and immediately out sprang the twelve young\nmen: 'What are your commands?' He ordered that by the morrow a\nbetter castle must be built than the king had ever seen, and that he\nmust have more cattle than the king, and there must be a covered way\nfrom his castle to the king's, and that a better garden must be\nformed, and in it all kinds of trees, and all sorts of birds to sing\nin it. This, too, came to pass. On the morrow he caused his six best\nhorses to be harnessed, and went to fetch the king's daughter, to go\nto the wedding. Then the king said that there should be wedding\nfestivities for five years. They were married, and the wedding\nfestivities took place. Entrance was free to everyone. The\nfestivities had already lasted three years, when the king's\nresources were exhausted. Then said the young man: 'Now I will\nentertain for three years.' The king of the sea came, too, to the\nfestivities, and fancied the king's daughter, whom the other had\nmarried. Once upon a time he saw how he knocked upon the lock, and\nthat which he wanted immediately presented itself. When they went to\nsleep, the king of the sea stole the lock, and knocked upon it; up\nsprang the twelve young men: 'What are your commands?' 'That this\ncastle and this lady be placed on the black sea.' It was done. In\nthe morning the young man and his mother were terrified out of their\nwits, because they were lying in a simple cottage. But he knew at\nonce that he had lost the lock. Then he went to the king and prayed\nhim to take charge of his mother, that he might go to look for his\ncastle. Well, he went to look for it, with his dog and cat. He\napproached that sea, saw his castle, and said: 'Cat and dog, do you\nsee our castle? But how shall we get into it?' They went to the sea\nand sat down. He was weary, and fell asleep as he sat. Then said the\ndog and the cat: 'Let us go for the lock.' The dog said: 'You can't\nswim; sit on my back; I will carry you.' They went and came up to\nthe wall. Then said the dog: 'I can't climb up a wall.' The cat said\nto him: 'You hang on somehow behind me.' And thus they arrived at\nthe corridor. Now said the cat: 'You, dog, stay outside; I'll go in\nby myself.' The king of the sea had just such a cat. The cat went to\nthe door and mewed: 'Miau.' Then said the king of the sea: 'Let the\ncat in.' Then the cat went in and took the lock so neatly that the\nking of the sea didn't see it; he then went to the door and mewed:\n'Miau.' Then said the king of the sea: 'Let the cat out.' The cat\nwent out, and the dog asked it: 'Have you got it?' 'I have; only\ngo.' They went over the wall and into the sea; and when they were\nalready not far from their master, the dog wanted to have hold of\nthe lock, to carry it up to his master, and said to the cat: 'Give\nme the lock; if you don't, I will throw you into the sea.' Then they\nsquabbled, and the lock fell into the sea, and a fish swallowed it;\nbut the cat seized the fish, and said: 'If you don't give up the\nlock I will kill you.' The fish said: 'Don't kill me; I'll give you\nthe lock,' and immediately brought the lock up. They went to their\nmaster, and carried up the lock. When their master awoke and rose\nup, he said: 'In what condition have you come?' They said: 'Our\nmaster, we have brought the lock.' 'Where is it?' 'Here.' Then he\ntook it and knocked upon it, and out sprang the twelve young men:\n'What are your commands?' 'I command that my castle be placed where\nit was, as well as that king and my wife.' It was done. Then he went\ninto the castle, and she immediately ran to him and they kissed each\nother. But he caused the king of the sea to be impaled on a spit in\nthe midst of the sea. Thus he obtained his castle back again, and\nlived happily with his wife, but the king of the sea was destroyed.\n\n\n\n\nLV.--THE SHE-WOLF.\n\n\nThere was an enchanted mill, so that no one could stay there,\nbecause a she-wolf always haunted it. A soldier went once into the\nmill to sleep. He made a fire in the parlour, went up into the\ngarret above, bored a hole with an auger in the floor, and peeped\ndown into the parlour. A she-wolf came in and looked about the mill\nto see whether she could find anything to eat. She found nothing,\nand then went to the fire, and said: 'Skin down! skin down! skin\ndown!' She raised herself upon her hind-legs, and her skin fell\ndown. She took the skin, and hung it on a peg, and out of the wolf\ncame a damsel. The damsel went to the fire, and fell asleep there.\nHe came down from the garret, took the skin, nailed it fast to the\nmill-wheel, then came into the mill, shouted over her, and said:\n'Good-morning, damsel! how do you do?' She began to scream: 'Skin on\nme! skin on me! skin on me!' But the skin could not come down, for\nit was fast nailed. The pair married, and had two children. As soon\nas the elder son got to know that his mother was a wolf, he said to\nher: 'Mamma! mamma! I have heard that you are a wolf.' His mother\nreplied: 'What nonsense you are talking! How can you say that I am a\nwolf?' The father of the two children went one day into the field to\nplough, and his son said: 'Papa, let me, too, go with you.' His\nfather said: 'Come.' When they had come to the field, the son asked\nhis father: 'Papa, is it true that our mother is a wolf?' His father\nsaid: 'It is.' The son inquired: 'And where is her skin?' His father\nsaid: 'There it is, on the mill-wheel.' No sooner had the son got\nhome, than he said at once to his mother: 'Mamma! mamma! you are a\nwolf! I know where your skin is.' His mother asked him: 'Where is my\nskin?' He said: 'There, on the mill-wheel.' His mother said to him:\n'Thank you, sonny, for rescuing me.' Then she went away, and was\nnever heard of more.\n\n\n\n\nLVI.--MILUTIN.\n\n\nA certain man had two children--one a boy, and the other a girl.\nThis man required his children to relate to him every morning what\nthey had dreamed. Indeed, the girl related her dream, whatever she\nhad dreamed, every morning, but the boy did not, for he dreamed\nevery night what eventually happened to him; he dreamed that he\nkilled a king, took to wife a count's daughter, and became king in\nthe kingdom in which he killed the king. Exasperated at this, his\nfather thought the reason why he did not tell his dream was because\nhe was afraid, and drove him out along a road, and beat him so that\nhe cried piteously. A count was driving past, and heard the child\ncrying. He ordered his servant to go to the man, and tell him not to\nbeat the child, but say how much he should give him to take it away\nhimself. The man said, in reply, that he need only take it away from\nbefore his eyes. He immediately took it, and delivered it to the\ncount, and the count took it away home. The count had one daughter,\nwho took a great affection for the boy. It was also a custom with\nthe count that the children were obliged to relate what they\ndreamed. But he would not reveal his dream to the count, and say\nwhat he had dreamed; and he had dreamed the very same dream that he\nhad dreamed at his father's. Then the count became very angry, and\ncaused a vault to be built in his garden, inside which he was to be\nthrown, and it was to be constructed of such masonry that nobody\nshould be able to give him anything to eat, and that no light should\nby possibility enter it. But the count's daughter, who was very\nsorry for the boy, went out to the masons, and promised them a\npurse of money, only to construct it in such a manner that she would\nbe able to give him food at night. This the masons did, in return\nfor the good money. He was seven years inside, and unable to sit or\nlie.\n\nNow came a time when king sent a staff to the count, and said he\nwould attack him with an army, if he did not tell him on which side\nthe staff opened. Now the damsel came at night, and brought the lad\nfood, saying: 'Now, I have brought you food for the last time,\nbecause a king has sent us a staff, and my father must open it; if\nhe does not open it, he will attack us with an army. We must perish\nunder the open sky, but you in this vault.' He replied that she was\nnot to frighten herself, 'but go, lie down, and soon jump up and say\nto your father: \"My dear papa, I have dreamt of good luck for us.\"\nHe will say: \"What?\" Reply to him: \"I dreamt that I should tell you\nthat, if you will open the staff, you need only fill a tub with\nwater, and put the staff in it; the staff will turn with that side\nup on which it opens.\"' Even so it came to pass. Her father did so,\nsealed up the staff on that side, and sent it to the king. The king\nwrote back to him: 'You have certainly done it, but not with your\nown stupid head. But you have one hard by your house, of whom you\nknow not; he has done this for you.' Then he wrote a letter again to\nthe count, and said: 'I shall send you three horses all alike, and\nyou must tell me how many years old each is.' And all alike they\nwere. One was one year old, the second two, and the third three\nyears old. Then the damsel took him food, and said to him: 'Now I am\nbringing you food for the last time; you will have to die here, and\nwe in the open air, for the king has sent us three horses exactly\nalike, and we must tell him how old each is.' He replied that she\nmust go and lie down, and say that she had dreamt thus: that he\nmust prepare three heaps of oats of three different years, and let\nthe horses go to the oats, and they would go of themselves each to\nhis own heap; the one which was one year old would go to the\none-year-old oats, the second to the second, and the third to the\nthird heap. She told him this. And it came to pass just as she told\nhim. Then he wrote in reply to the king, and the king to him:\n'Certainly, you have done this, but not with your own stupid head;\nbut you have another who does it for you, of whom you are not aware.\nBut I shall send you one thing more. I shall send you, on a given\nday, at the hour when you will be at dinner, a war-mace, weighing\nthree hundredweight; it will strike the spoon out of your mouth. You\nmust throw it back to me just as I threw it to you.' Indeed, this,\ntoo, came to pass. The mace flew in, knocked his spoon out of his\nhands, and flew off with speed into the cellar, inside which it\nstuck so fast that a score of soldiers couldn't move, much less\nthrow, it. Now the count assembled, and invited all people, but no\none was able to do it. She took him food again, and said to him:\n'You have set us free twice, but certainly the third time you will\nnot be able to do so, and now you will die here, and all of us in\nthe open air.' He then asked her what sort of work it was that had\nto be done. She told him, and he answered: 'Go home and lie down,\nthen get up and say that you have dreamt that no one else but I can\ndo it, so I tell you; but the count will not believe you, yet will\nthink, since you have twice dreamed with success, that possibly now,\ntoo, it may be true.' And so it came to pass. The count caused him\nto be dug out. He saw how weak he was, and said: 'I am stronger than\nhe, but I can't throw it; how, then, can he throw it?' He then said:\n'Go to a certain king; he has nine hundred cows, and has them all\nregistered when each was calved. Buy for me one cow, which is\nneither more nor less than nine years old, and whatever he says you\nare to pay for it, pay. If you pay one kreutzer less, I shall be two\nhundredweight lighter.' Well, he went thither, and inquired whether\nhe had such a cow. The king answered that he had. Then he asked the\nprice. The king replied: 'Nine thousand pieces of silver.' He paid\nthem, drove it home, and had it slaughtered immediately. The young\nman then said that he must be three months by himself in a house,\nwithout anybody being allowed to go in to him. Now he took at once\ntwo pounds of beef, but did not eat the flesh, but only the soup.\nThis lasted for three months. Well, the cook told the count that he\nwould not eat the flesh, in order to serve his own interests. Then\nthe count went himself to him, and asked him why he would not eat\nthe flesh. He replied that something must be brought him to eat. Now\nhe took a piece, threw it upon the wall, and said to the count: 'You\nsee the flesh has fallen down, and the soup has stuck to the wall;\nand so it is with me: the soup abides with me, and the flesh goes\ndown from me.' Then he went out to look at the mace. He was already\nable to move it. Then he went in for three months to eat. Then he\nwas able, with his left hand, to throw it two hundred fathoms high\ninto the air. He went in once more to eat for three months. Now he\nwas exceedingly strong, and told the count to write freely to the\nking, that on such and such a day, at such and such an hour, the\nmace would arrive, and knock the spoon out of his mouth at dinner.\nIn fact, so it was. He threw it a hundred and twenty-five hours walk\ninto the other kingdom. Now the king saw that he had done this also.\nThen he wrote to him: 'Certainly you have done all that I told you,\nbut not with your own stupid head, but he has done it for you, whom\nyou caused to be walled up in a vault. But you must send him here to\nme, that I may see him.' But he wanted to slay him. Now, the count\nwas unwilling to let him go, but, nevertheless, he was obliged to\ndo so. 'But do you know what, count? Cause all your people to be\nsummoned hither, and we will select as many as ever we can that\nresemble me.' There were only nine such, and he was himself the\ntenth. Now he told him to have exactly similar uniforms made for\nthem all, so that, at any rate, no one would know one to be\ndifferent from another, and to provide similar horses for all, and\nthen he would go thither. Even so it came to pass. Then the ten\nwent. But before they arrived at the town, he said to them: 'Indeed,\nyou don't know why we are going thither; we are going to be put to\ndeath; but I tell you not to be in any wise afraid. This king will\ngive you the word of command when we enter: \"Milutin (such was the\nboy's name), dismount!\" Then you must all dismount so that no one is\nbehindhand, but all alike, and at once. Then he will say: \"Milutin,\ngo into the house!\"--all go into the house. \"Milutin, shut the\ndoor!\"--all off to shut it. \"Milutin, take your seat at table!\"--all\ndo it at once. \"Milutin, go to bed!\"--all off to bed at once.' Even\nso it was. Thus the king could in no wise recognise him, and did not\nventure to slaughter them, but ordered his servant to conceal\nhimself under a bed, and listen which spoke most wisely, and put a\nmark upon him. Now they all lay down, and began to converse as to\nwhat would come out of this. Milutin then said: 'Doubtless, till now\nhe has not recognised me, and will ride after me, and will overtake\nus; but never mind that, only kneel down and pray to God. Then\nnotice well: if I first emit fire out of my mouth, kill yourselves;\nbut if he emits it first, have no fear whatever; this signifies to\nyou that human flesh will seethe in human blood.' The man under the\nbed heard this speech, and cut off a piece from the heel of his\nboot. Morning arrived, and Milutin told them that each must look\nwell at his clothes: maybe there would be some mark on someone's\nuniform. But all at once he observed that just his boot-heel had\nbeen cut off, and said: 'All give me your boots, that I may cut off\neach of the heels just as I have mine cut off.' Now the king came to\nsummon them: 'Milutin, come to breakfast!' and they all went at\nonce. And the king saw that they all had a similar mark, and,\ntherefore, did not know which to put to death. Then he reprimanded\nthe servant. Now said the king: 'Milutin, go home!' and they all\nwent homeward at once. But erelong the king recognised Milutin by\nhis horse--for he had the horse from the count--and overtook him.\nThey immediately knelt down, as he had previously bidden them, and\nhe began first to fight on horseback, but nothing came of it. Then\nthey both dismounted from their horses, and fought thus, each\nleaping against the other so that the earth quaked under them. Thus\nthey fought terribly for some time. But all at once they observed\nthat the king emitted fire out of his mouth, and then Milutin\nafterwards. Then the king spat pure fire out of his mouth at\nMilutin, and Milutin also spat fire. The two fought on in this\nfrightful manner; but suddenly Milutin overcame the king, threw him\ndown, cut off his head, and carried it home to the count. Now all\nwas merriment, and Milutin married the count's daughter, took\npossession of the realm of the king whom he had slain, and there was\na grand festival. That's the end.\n\n\n\n\n_ILLYRIAN-SLOVENISH STORIES._\n\n\nI am afraid that our delightful friend Oliver Goldsmith has\npre-occupied the British mind with a certain amount of prejudice\nagainst the region,\n\n    'Where the rude Carinthian boor\n    On strangers shuts th' inhospitable door.'\n\nBut if the said rude and inhospitable person had been addressed in a\ntongue 'understanded of the people,' his reception of the\n'Traveller' might possibly have been very different. Be that as it\nmay, the folklore tales of the Styrian and Carinthian Slavonians are\nfull of interest, and in them we certainly find the fullest account\nof the Vilas, and even a Vila marriage with a human being, which\nends in an unfortunate separation, like those in Irish legends\nbetween mermaids and men. No. 57 gives us a singular variant of\n'Cinderella,' in which the circumstances are different down to the\nconclusion, which is similar to that of the Bulgarian version, No.\n37. No. 58 carries us completely into wonderland, where several old\nacquaintances will meet us in new dresses and relations. In No. 59\nwe have a singular legend of a white snake, an animal connected with\nwhich there are also superstitions in the Scotch Highlands.\n\nThe backwardness of the Slovenes is mainly due to the ferocity with\nwhich Protestantism was stamped out by Ferdinand II., who, as well\nas his father, Ferdinand I., wrote his name in blood in the annals\nof Bohemia. (See Morfill's 'Slavonic Literature,' pp. 176, 177.)\n\nAs regards the language, the dual is as fully developed as in\nLusatian.\n\n\n\n\nLVII.--THE FRIENDSHIP OF A VILA AND OF THE MONTHS.\n\n\nA wicked woman married a poor man, who had already a little daughter\nnamed Maritza. Afterwards God gave her a daughter of her own, whom\nshe loved and cherished more than her own eyes. On her stepdaughter,\nwho was a good and very handsome child, she could scarcely bear to\ncast a look; therefore she drove her about, teased and tormented\nher, in order as soon as possible to make an end of her; she threw\nher the poorest remnants of food and everything, just as she would\nhave done to a dog. Indeed, she would have given her a snake's tail\nto eat, if she had had one at hand; and instead of a bed, she sent\nher to sleep in an old trough.\n\nWhen her so-called mother saw that the girl, in spite of all this,\nwas good and patient, and grew handsomer than her daughter, she\nthought and thought how to find a pretext to get rid of the orphan\nout of the house, and devised one.\n\nOne day she sent her daughter and stepdaughter to wash wool; to her\nown daughter she gave white wool, to her stepdaughter black, and\nsaid to her with sharp threats: 'If you don't wash the black wool as\nwhite as my daughter will hers, don't come home any more, or else I\nshall beat you out of the house.' The poor stepdaughter wept\npiteously, entreated her, and said that it was impossible for her to\ndo this. But all in vain. Seeing that there was no mercy for her,\nshe tied up the wool and went weeping after her half-sister. When\nthey came to the water, they undid their bundles, and began to wash,\nwhen a beautiful fair damsel from somewhere joined and saluted them:\n'Good luck, friends! do you want any help?' The stepmother's\ndaughter said with a scornful laugh: 'I want no help; my wool will\nsoon be white; but our stepdaughter's yonder will not be so in a\nhurry.' Thereupon the strange damsel stepped up to the sorrowful\nMaritza, saying: 'Come! let us see whether that wool will allow\nitself to be washed white.' Both began immediately to rinse and\nwash, and in a jiffy the black wool became as white as fresh-fallen\nsnow. When they had finished washing, her fair friend vanished\nnobody knew whither. The stepmother, seeing the white wool, was\namazed and angry, because she had no excuse for driving her\nstepdaughter away.\n\nSome time after this came sharp cold and snow. The wicked stepmother\nwas continually thinking how best to persecute her unfortunate\nstepdaughter, and now ordered her: 'Take a basket and go off to the\nmountain; there gather me ripe strawberries for the new year. If you\ndon't bring me them, it will be better for you to stay on the\nmountain.' The orphan Maritza wept piteously, entreated her and\nsaid: 'How shall poor I procure ripe strawberries in sharp winter\ncold?' But all in vain. She was obliged to take the basket and go.\n\nAs she was going all in tears over the mountain she met twelve young\nmen, whom she saluted courteously. They received the salutation in a\nfriendly manner, and asked her: 'Whither are you wading, dear girl,\nin the snow thus in tears?' She told them the whole story prettily.\nThe young men said to her: 'We will help you if you will tell us\nwhich month of the whole year is the best?' Maritza said in reply:\n'They are all good, but the month of March is the best, for it\nbrings us most hope.' They were pleased with her answer, and said:\n'Go into the first glen on the sunny side; there you will get as\nmany strawberries as you wish.' And indeed she brought her\nstepmother a basketful of most excellent strawberries for the new\nyear, and told her that the young men whom she had met on the\nmountain had shown them to her.\n\nSome days later, when the weather had become milder, the mother said\nto her own daughter: 'Go now into the mountain for strawberries;\nmaybe you will find those young men, and they will give you similar\ngood fortune, for they have shown themselves so wonderfully kind to\nour greasy stepdaughter.' The daughter dressed herself grandly, took\nthe basket, and skipped off merrily on to the mountain. When she got\nthere, she did actually meet the twelve young men, to whom she said\nhaughtily: 'Show me where the strawberry-plants grow, as you showed\nour stepdaughter.' The young men said: 'Good! provided you guess\nwhich month is the best of the whole year.' She answered quickly:\n'They are all bad, and the month of March is the worst.' But at that\nspeech the whole mountain clouded over in a jiffy, and a storm beat\nupon her so that she scarcely panted home alive. The young men were\nthe twelve months.\n\nMeanwhile the goodness and beauty of the ill-used stepdaughter was\nnoised about in the district, and a young, rich and honourable lord\narranged with her stepmother to come on such and such a day with his\nretinue to betroth the stepdaughter to be his wife. The stepmother,\njealous of the orphan, did not tell her a single word of this, but\nthought to thrust her own daughter surreptitiously into this good\nfortune.\n\nWhen the appointed evening came the infamous stepmother packed her\nstepdaughter off in good time to the trough to sleep, then cleared\nup the house, prepared supper, dressed out her daughter to the best\nof her ability, and placed her at table with some knitting in her\nhands. Thereupon up came the betrothal party; the stepmother\nwelcomed them, conducted them into the house, and said to them:\n'There is my dear stepdaughter.' But what good was it? For in the\nhouse they had a cock, who began with all his might, and without\nintermission, to crow: 'Kukuriku, pretty Maritza in trough!\nkukuriku, pretty Maritza in trough!' and so forth. When the\nbetrothal party understood and comprehended the cock's crowing, they\ninsisted that the real stepdaughter must come out of the trough, and\nwhen they saw her, they could not sufficiently express their\nadmiration at her beauty and grace, and took her away with them that\nvery evening, and the wicked stepmother and her daughter remained\nput to shame before all people. Maritza was happy with her husband\nand with all her house to a great age and an easy death, for a Vila\nand all the months were her friends.\n\n\n\n\nLVIII.--THE FISHERMAN'S SON.\n\n\nOnce upon a time there was a lord on the Danube who had a fisherman\nto catch fish for him. This lord was preparing a great banquet, and\nordered his fisherman to catch three hundredweight of fish in three\ndays. On the first day the fisherman went early in the morning to\ncatch the fish. But he could not obtain any. The second day he went\nagain very early in the morning. He made the round of the water, but\nagain took none. The third day came. The fisherman went to catch\nfish, and went on till mid-day, but could not net any. In the\nafternoon he determined to go home by the waterside, and carried\nhimself as if he were very much out of sorts. Suddenly up sailed a\nstriped boat. In the boat sat a gentleman clad in green. He\nquestioned the fisherman saying: 'Man, why are you so sorrowful here\nby the water?' The fisherman said: 'How should I not be sorrowful?\nMy lord ordered me to catch three hundredweight of fish in three\ndays; to-day is the last day, and I have not obtained any.' Then\nsaid the gentleman: 'Promise me that which you don't know that you\nhave, and you shall to-day catch plenty.' The fisherman thought to\nhimself: 'What I don't know that I have, I shall easily do without,\nif I do promise him.' And the gentleman at the same time added: 'And\nI will wait twenty years. In twenty years you will be able to fulfil\nyour promise.' 'Agreed,' said the fisherman. He cast his nets and\ndrew them out full of fish. He cast them a second time, and it was\njust the same. He cast them once more. The gentleman said to him:\n'Only send home for them to come with a waggon and four horses.'\nThey came with four horses. They packed the fish in, so that they\nscarcely drew them with the four horses. But before they went home\nthe gentleman asked the fisherman: 'But do you know what you have\npromised me?' The fisherman said: 'My lord, I do not. What I don't\nknow that I have, I have promised you, be it what it may.' The\ngentleman smiled, and said: 'You don't know that your wife will be\nthe mother of a son, and this son you have promised to me. When\ntwenty years have elapsed, you must just bring him here.' Then the\nfisherman took the fish home. On the one hand he was glad, on the\nother very downcast. When he brought them home his lord began to\ngrumble, saying: 'You're a thorough fool! Why did a messenger come\nto me to say that you could not obtain any? Now you have brought me\nsuch a quantity that I hardly know where to stow them.' The\nfisherman excused himself, and related to his lord the whole series\nof occurrences from beginning to end. Afterwards he put a question\nto his lord: 'God only knows how it will be now, since I have done\nsuch an evil thing, that I have promised him my son.' His lord said:\n'What of that? Twenty years is a long time. By then all may be\nchanged.'\n\nIt came to pass. The fisherman's wife became the mother of a boy. He\ngrew up right handsome. When he became a little older they sent him\nto school. At school he learnt so well, that at sixteen he had\nlearnt enough to be ordained a priest. But his father and mother\nsaid: 'Not a priest, for he is promised. Let us rather place him for\nfour years more in the black school.' When he had completed the\ncourse of the black school, he came back to the Danube, with all\nbefore him in the future, as if he were about to succeed, and behind\nin the past, because he had already been successful. Then said he to\nhis father: 'Father, now it is time for us to go.' The father: 'To\ngo? whither?' The son: 'Whither you promised me.' The father: 'Who\npromised you any whither?' The son: 'What? don't you know to whom\nyou promised me twenty years ago? Let us go to that piece of water,\nwhere you then went to catch fish.' The father became very\nsorrowful. The son then said: 'Don't be afraid. Only quickly coat\nover arm and follow me. Only you must do what I instruct you to do.\nIf you obey me, no harm will happen to you and me.' On the way he\nalso instructed his father as follows: 'When we come to that piece\nof water, the striped boat will sail up just as when you caught the\nfish. In it will sit the gentleman in green to whom you promised me.\nThe gentleman will push the boat to the shore in shallow water. I\nshall step on it with one foot, and stand on dry land with the\nother. Then say: \"My son, I commend you to God the Father, and the\nSon, and the Holy Ghost. May these three always be with you!\" When\nyou have uttered these holy words I shall spring into the boat.'\nEverything happened exactly as the son told his father and\ninstructed him on the way. The striped boat sailed up on the water.\nIn it was the gentleman dressed in green. The son stepped with one\nfoot on the boat, and stood with the other on dry land. His father\ncommended him to God the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.\nThe son sprang on board the boat, and the gentleman pushed it from\nthe shore. All at once all sank, the boat, the gentleman, and the\nson. The father was terribly frightened, and cried out at the top of\nhis voice: 'Jesus, Maria! my son has gone down to hell!' He then\ncrept home very sorrowful.\n\nHis son passed through the water into a town which is called\nPerdonkorten.[20] In this town all the population was enchanted. He\nwalked and walked about the town, but nowhere was there anybody.\nHunger took possession of him, but he could get nothing to eat. He\nbethought himself of going to catch some fish. He went to the water,\ncaught some, lit a fire, cooked them, and ate his fill. He then went\ninto the shade, laid himself down, and fell asleep. He dreamt that\nhe was told to go to pass the night in a lordly castle, to seat\nhimself at table, to light a taper on each side of him, and wait. He\ndid according as he had dreamt. The clock struck midnight, when\nsuddenly the door opened outside of itself. A huge snake glided into\nthe house. It came up opposite the young man, and besought him:\n'Kiss me.' He cursed it, and said: 'Take thyself off from me, Satan!\nThou hast no power over me.' The snake retired through the door.\nThereupon day broke. The young man walked and walked again about the\ntown. He saw here and there carriages ready harnessed, but no human\nbeing. In the afternoon he went again to the water to catch fish.\nWhen he had eaten his fill, he went into the shade. He lay down, and\nsoon fell asleep. Erelong he dreamt what would have happened, if he\nhad kissed the snake. He woke up, and thought: 'This evening I will\ngo back, and will kiss it if it comes.' In fact, he went again into\nthe same house, seated himself at table, lit two tapers, and waited.\nThe clock struck twelve. The door opened. Through it glided a very\nmuch larger snake, with two heads. It came up the room opposite him,\nand besought him again: 'Kiss me!' Terror seized him, for it was\nmuch more horrible than the one he had seen the preceding night.\nTherefore he cursed it again: 'Take thyself off from me, Satan! Thou\nhast no power over me.' The snake again quitted the house.\nAfterwards day broke. He went again into the town, caught fish, and\nate his fill. When he had eaten, he went into the shade, lay down,\nand fell asleep. Ere long he dreamt again: 'Thou wouldst,\nnevertheless, have only done rightly if thou hadst kissed the\nsnake.' He woke up, and said: 'This evening I will kiss it, even if\nit appears still more terrible.' In the evening he went into the\nsame house. He seated himself at table, lit two tapers, and waited.\nWhen the tower clock struck twelve, the door opened. A terrible\nsnake glided in. It had three heads, and was still larger than the\none he saw the preceding evening. It came puffing opposite him. It\nbegan to twine round him, and beseech him: 'Kiss me!' He pressed his\nlips to it, and kissed it.\n\n    [20] German, 'Wundergarten.'\n\nAs soon as he had kissed it, the snake turned into a beautiful\nmaiden, as beautiful as a damsel could be. The snake was the\nenchanted daughter of the lord of the castle. After the kiss, all\nbelonging to the castle, and the whole town, were disenchanted.\nErelong the father and mother of the disenchanted daughter came into\nthe room. They welcomed him with the greatest joy. The father said\nto him: 'Friend, I give you my kingdom and my daughter, if she\npleases you.' He replied: 'Let us wait a bit, that we may make a\nlittle acquaintance with each other.' Thereupon they prepared a\ngrand supper. They supped, and did not go to bed till late. In the\nmorning they got up. The young man and the damsel went a walk in the\ntown. The whole town rejoiced over him, and pointed at him, saying:\n'That is our deliverer.'\n\nNow the young man was content with all. Only he still felt sorry,\nwhen he bethought himself: 'Here am I in such good fortune, while my\nfather on the Danube is thinking that I have fallen into the abyss\nof hell. If I could only just go to my father on the Danube, to tell\nhim of my luck, I should then be completely content.' Thereupon the\ndamsel said to him: 'I have something such that you could easily go\nto your father, if you would but be sure to come back.' He said:\n'You know that I shall come. Nowhere have I had such good fortune as\nhere.' Now they agreed that she would wait for him seven years, if\nhe did not return before. The damsel gave him a certain ring, and\nsaid: 'Here is this ring, look through it, and think to yourself\nthat you would like to be with your father by the Danube, and you\nwill find yourself there. When you wish to come back to me, look\nagain through the ring, and think to yourself that you would like to\nbe with me, and you will find yourself here with me. But you must\nnot show it to anybody, lest you lose it. If you lose it, it will be\nvery difficult for you ever to come to us.' The young man looked\nthrough the ring, thought to himself that he would like to be with\nhis father by the Danube, and in a moment there he was. His father\nand mother were very, very glad to see him safe and sound once more.\nThey asked him all manner of questions. He related to them how he\nhad darted through the water into an enchanted city, and what had\nbeen his hap afterwards. The whole household jumped for joy at\nhearing how fortunate he had been. Especially rejoiced was his\nmother, who walked continually on tiptoe for joy. Afterwards his\nfather took him to his lord, for whom he still caught fish. There,\nagain, the whole household rejoiced greatly over him. The lord had\ntwo daughters. Erelong he said to him: 'Stay with us. I will give\nyou a portion of my kingdom and one daughter, if it pleases you.' He\nthought to himself: 'There there awaits me a whole kingdom, and a\nlarger one than this. The lady, too, there, is handsomer than this\none.' Nevertheless he said within himself: 'Suppose I stay here a\nday or two. I shall easily go back before the time is out. Seven\nyears don't pass so quickly.'\n\nIt came to pass that he went a walk one day with the two daughters.\nOn the road the silly fellow showed them the ring, and told them how\nhe had come back into that country. They thought to themselves:\n'Behold! if we could but take that ring from him, then he would be\nglad to stay with us.' They went a little farther on, and one of\nthem said: 'Let us sit down a bit here in the shade.' They sat down\non the grass under a tree. They had not sat there long when one of\nthem said to him: 'Listen! listen! What have you got in your hair?'\nHe: 'I don't know that I've anything.' She: 'You have something; you\nhave indeed. Let me look at your head.' Now she began to examine and\nstroke his head till he fell fast asleep. The other, on seeing this,\nput her hand quickly into his pocket, and took out his ring. They\nrose up, and prolonged their walk. They walked and walked about the\ncountry, when he put his hand into his pocket, and found that the\nring was no longer there. He said: 'I've lost my ring. What shall I\ndo now?' They said: 'Let us go back. We will look for it. Maybe we\nshall find it.' They went back to the self-same place where they had\nbeen sitting. They helped him to look for it carefully. They looked\nfor it in vain, for one of them had got it in her own pocket.\n\nAfter this, he remained five years more in that house. When the\nfifth year had elapsed, he said: 'This won't do. If I remain here,\nI shall never get to Perdonkorten. Now go I must. There will be two\nyears for me, eventually, to get there.' Once upon a time he was\nbenighted. He went through thickets, where there was no living soul.\nHe espied a light on another hill. He said: 'Thither I must go.\nThere will be people there.' He went thither. There was nobody at\nhome but a woman. He asked whether they would take him in for the\nnight. The woman said to him: 'I would willingly take you in for the\nnight, but I do not advise you to stay here. My three brothers are\nthree thieves. When night is over, they will come home, and will\nsoon put you to death.' He said: 'Never fear! Only bring me a pint\nof wine, that I may drink and wait for them here at the table.' When\nnight was over, up came the three brothers home. He sat in the house\nat the table, and busied himself with the wine. They asked him: 'Who\nare you?' He replied: 'I don't know who I am. I'm a poor fellow who\nroams hither and thither in the world, wheresoever I must.' They\nsaid: 'But to what family do you belong?' He said: 'That also I\ndon't know. All through I am knocking about in the world. Nowhere am\nI at home.' They said: 'What is your name? How do you write\nyourself?' He had gone through the course of study at the black\nschool; therefore he knew how they wrote their names, and that they\nhad lost a brother. He therefore told them their surname, and the\nname of their lost brother. They said: 'You are indeed our own\nbrother, whom we lost many years ago.' He said: 'It is easy to see\nthat I am.' They asked him: 'But are you willing to take up our\nbusiness?' He said: 'Why not, if your business is honest, and one\ncan easily get one's living from it?' They said: 'From our\nhandicraft a living is got right easily. At home we do nothing at\nall, and have always plenty to eat and plenty to drink.' He\ninquired: 'What have you gained to-day?' They replied: 'To-day we\nhave gained more than we ever gained before. We have obtained shoes:\nwhoever puts them on will fly two hundred miles in half an hour. We\nhave obtained a mantle: whoever wraps himself in it, nobody sees\nhim. We have obtained a hat: whoever puts it on his head, and throws\nit before him, hills open themselves to him, so that he follows it\nwhithersoever he will.' He: 'But is this true?' They: 'It is.' He:\n'Now, then, let's try this dress on me. We'll see how it will fit\nme.' He put on the shoes, wrapped himself in the mantle, clapped the\nhat on his head, and stepped a little way from them. He asked them:\n'But don't you really see me?' They said: 'Nobody sees you.' Then he\ngave a jump, so that the earth quaked. They hurried after him, as it\nwere, in the dark; but he escaped them, for nobody saw him.\n\nHe then flew to the place where the sun rises. He thought to\nhimself: 'The sun gives light in all regions; he will therefore know\nthe way to Perdonkorten.' When he came to the sun's house, he asked\nthe servant: 'Is my lord the sun at home?' The servant: 'He is not;\nhe is gone to give light on the earth. He will come home in the\nevening. You must wait for him if you want to speak with him. Only I\ntell you that when he comes home, there will be such a heat, that\nyou will curl up like a rasher of bacon, if you don't hide\nyourself.' The traveller: 'If it is so, I will bury myself in the\nground. When the sun comes home, come and call me.' He went, and did\nbury himself deep in the ground. When the sun came home and flew\ndown, the servant came to call him. 'Now, then, my lord the sun is\nat home.' He got up and went to the sun. When he came into the house\nthe sun asked him: 'What have you got to say?' He said: 'I have come\nto ask you the road to the city of Perdonkorten. You enlighten all\nlands; surely you know the way thither.' The sun: 'I don't know the\nway thither. It must be somewhere among hills and narrow dales,\nwhere I never go. The moon gives light more in hollow places; you\nmust go where she rises.'\n\nHe went. He leaped, and was at once at the place where the moon\nrises. Neither was she at home. He asked her lady's maid: 'Whither\nhas my lady moon gone that she is not at home?' The maid: 'She is\ngone to give light on the earth.' He: 'I will wait, then.' The maid:\n'It is dangerous to wait. When she flies faintly shining home, such\na frost will be caused that you will stiffen like an icicle.' He:\n'I'll bury myself therefore in the ashes. When she returns home,\ncome and call me.' Towards morning the moon came freezing home. He\nshivered in the ashes, but didn't stiffen. When the moon had put\nherself to rights, her maid went to call him, and said: 'Now come;\nthe moon is at home.' He rose out of the ashes, shivered a little,\nand went to the moon. When he entered the house, the moon asked him:\n'What do you want? What have you got to say?' He said: 'Nothing\nwrong, my lady moon--nothing wrong. I have come to ask you the road\nto the city of Perdonkorten. You throw light into all dark holes;\ntherefore, you surely know which way to go thither.' The moon: 'I\ndon't know that. It must be among such hills that I never get there.\nIf you wish to learn it, you must go where the wind rises. He flies\nover all abysses, therefore he will surely be able to indicate you\nthe way thither.'\n\nIn a jiffy he was there. The wind was just then at home. He asked\nhim: 'My lord the wind, do you know the way to the city of\nPerdonkorten?' The wind: 'Of course I do. Anyhow, I'm going thither\nto-morrow morning at three. The king's daughter there is betrothed,\nand I am going to blow for them at the wedding, that it may not be\ntoo warm. But I shall go through such abysses and such rocks, that I\ndon't know whether you will be able to follow me.' The traveller:\n'My lord the wind, never fear. No rock will stop me. I have such a\nhat, that if I throw it, the ground opens and I go after it\nwhithersoever I will.' The wind: 'Well, then, let us go.' They went\nat three. They came to a terrible rock. The wind roared, and made\nhis way by a hole through the terrible rock. He could not follow\nhim. Therefore he took off his hat and threw it against the rock.\nThe rock opened. The wind glided on in front and he followed quickly\nbehind.\n\nWhen it was half-past four in the morning, they had made their way\nto the city of Perdonkorten. The wind went to blow at the wedding\nthat it mightn't be too warm for them. _He_ went into the church,\nseated himself on a bench, and waited for the wedding-party. At\neleven music was heard, and fifty couples of wedding guests came\ninto the church. One was more handsomely dressed than the rest. His\nreverence the chaplain proceeded to say mass for them. After mass he\nbegan to take the marriage service. _He_ was sitting on a bench, but\nnobody saw him, because he had that mantle on. Suddenly he rose from\nthe bench, and gave a thump on the chaplain's books, so that they\nfell with a bang on the floor. The chaplain said: 'One of you two\nmust have such a sin upon him, that you are unfit to receive this\nsacrament.' Now the bride began to relate how someone had once come\nto deliver them. With this person a mutual engagement had been made\nthat she would wait for him seven years, etc. The chaplain: 'How\nmuch time has elapsed?' She: 'Five years and a half.' The chaplain:\n'Now you two must wait a year and a half more. If in that time\nnothing is heard of him, then you may marry.' The chaplain,\nmoreover, asked her: 'Which would you rather have, this one or that\nother?' The lady: 'I should prefer the other, should he come. But I\nknow that I shall never see him again.'\n\n_He_ heard these words, and they pleased him. Now they went home\nfrom the church. He who had thumped the books walked amidst the\nwedding-party, but nobody saw him, because he had the mantle on. The\ndamsel's father thought it hard thus to send the wedding guests away\nhome, therefore he gave them several cups of wine. The guests drank\nthe wine, and _he_ went up and down in the house, but nobody saw\nhim. When all the wedding guests had taken themselves off home, he\ndoffed his mantle, hung it on a peg, and they recognised him as\ntheir deliverer. The beautiful damsel met him in the middle of the\nhouse. She threw her arms round his neck, and said: 'Behold! to-day\nI should have been married to another husband, if God had not\nprotected me.'\n\nHereupon they soon prepared a marriage with this new bridegroom.\nThey went to the wedding. The wedding passed off successfully. They\ngot ready a right handsome wedding-feast for them. They had plenty\nof everything--plenty to drink, and plenty to eat. Moreover, they\ngave me wine to drink out of a sieve, and bread to eat out of a\nglass, and one on the back with a shovel. After that I took myself\noff.\n\n\n\n\nLIX.--THE WHITE SNAKE.\n\n\nOnce upon a time snakes multiplied so prodigiously in the district\nof Osojani (Ossiach), that every place swarmed with them. The\npeasants in that district were in evil case. The snakes crept into\nthe parlours, the churches, the dairies, and the beds. People had\nnot even quiet at table, for the hungry snakes made their way into\nthe dish. But the greatest terror was caused by a frightfully large\nwhite snake, which was several times seen attacking the cattle at\nOsoscica (G\u00f6rlitz Alpe). The peasants did not know how to help\nthemselves; they instituted processions, and went on pilgrimages,\nthat God might please to remove that terrible scourge from them. But\nneither did that help them.\n\nWhen the poor people were in the greatest distress, and knew not how\nto act to rid themselves of this plague, one day an unknown man came\ninto the district, who promised to put an end to every one of the\nsnakes, provided they could assure him that they had seen no great\nwhite snake. 'We have not seen one at all,' was the reply of some of\nthe number that had collected round the stranger.\n\nThen he caused a great pile to be constructed round a tall fir, and\nwhen he had climbed to the top of the fir, he ordered them to set\nthe whole pile on fire on all sides, and afterwards to run quickly\naside.\n\nWhen the flame had risen on all sides against the tall fir, the\nunknown man took a bone pipe out of his pocket, and began to blow it\nso powerfully that everybody's ears tingled. Quickly up rushed and\ncrowded from all quarters a vast number of snakes, lizards, and\nsalamanders to the pile, and, driven by some strange force, all\nsprang into the fire and perished there. But all at once a mightier\nand shriller hiss was heard from Ososcica, so that all present were\nseized with fear and dread. The man on the fir, at hearing it,\ntrembled with terror: 'Woe is me! there is no help for me!' so said\nhe. 'I have heard a white snake hiss; why did you thus mislead me?\nBut be so compassionate as not to forget every year to give alms to\nthe poor on my behalf.'\n\nScarcely had the poor man uttered these words, when a terrible snake\nwound its way up with a great noise, like a furious torrent, over\nthe sharp rocks, and plunged into the lake, so that the foam flew\nup. It soon swam to the other side of the lake, and, all\nexasperated, rushed to the burning pile, reared itself up against\nthe fir, and pushed the poor man into the fire. The snake itself\nstruggled and hissed terribly in the fire, but the strong fire soon\noverpowered it.\n\nThus perished, along with the whole lizard race, the monstrous snake\nwhich had done so much harm to the cattle. The peasants were again\nable without fear to carry on their occupations, and the shepherds\nat Ososcica to pasture their cattle without anxiety. The grateful\npeople have not up to the present time forgotten the promise of\ntheir ancestors, and every year on that self-same day distribute\ngifts of corn to the poor.\n\n\n\n\nLX.--THE VILA.\n\n\nOne warm summer day a tall and handsome young man of Veprim was\ngoing over the hill Uczka, and found by the path on the grass a\nbeautiful maiden, dressed in white, with a sun-kerchief, and was\nastounded on beholding the beauty of her countenance. Not wishing to\nawaken her, he tore off a large branch, and fixed it quietly in the\nground, to form a shade for her. Erelong she woke up, saw the branch\nwhich had been planted, herself in the shade, and the young man\nstanding by her. She asked him: 'Are you, young man, the person who\nset up this shade for me?' He replied: 'I am; for your appearance\npleased me, and I was afraid that the sun would scorch you.' She\nsaid to him further: 'What do you want for this kindness?' The young\nman replied merrily: 'Allow me to behold your most beautiful\ncountenance, and to take you to wife.' 'Good! I am content to take\nyou for my husband,' said she; 'but you must know that I am a Vila.\nBut you must never utter my name; if you speak my name Vila, I must\nquit you at once.' He promised that he would not, conducted her\nhome, told his parents all that had happened, and how it had\nhappened, only did not tell them that his bride was a Vila. She\npleased them, and they willingly consented to the match. Erelong\nthey were wedded. The two lived for some years in cheerful\nhappiness; domestic prosperity continued in every shape and form,\nand she bore him a little daughter, beautiful as an angel.\n\nSome years afterwards the young man one summer morning heard it\nthundering quite early. He got up, went to the window, saw that a\nterrible storm was brewing, and said to his wife: 'Wife, it is a\npity and a great misfortune that we haven't cut our wheat; the hail\nwill beat it all down.' She said to him: 'Never fear; it won't beat\nours down.' After saying this she rose and went in front of the\ndoor. When she came back a terrible hailstorm began to fall. Her\nhusband said reproachfully: 'I told you we should lose all our\nwheat.' She laughed at him, and said in reply: 'Go to the\nthreshing-floor; you'll see that it hasn't beaten it down for _us_.'\nWhen the hail ceased, the husband did go to the threshing-floor, and\nthere saw all the wheat nicely put together in sheaves, and, on\nreturning, called out in utter astonishment: 'Ah, she is a Vila! she\nis a Vila!' But that moment she vanished. Her husband remained sad\nand sorrowful with his little daughter without his Vila wife.\n\nThe Vila mother still came back from time to time, visible only to\nher little daughter, helping her in all needs, as the most careful\nmother, until she grew up to a marriageable age. When the Vila's\ndaughter came to the proper time of life, she married and was the\nancestress of the present family of Polharski.--So the story.\n\n\n\n_Elliot Stock, Paternoster Row, London._\n\n\n\n\n      *      *      *      *      *      *\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\nArchaic and variant spelling is preserved as printed.\n\nHyphenation has been made consistent.\n\nMinor punctuation errors have been corrected.\n\nOn page vii, the omitted page number in the Table of Contents, for\nBohemian Stories, has been added.\n\nOn page ix, the Table of Contents entry for _The Wizard_ appears to\nbe missing a page number following 'ii.' As there is no way to\nestablish what this might be, it is preserved as printed.\n\nOn the assumption of printer errors, the following changes have\nbeen made:\n\n    Page xi--first instance of Kraljevich changed to Kraljevitch, to\n    match main body of text--LII. Kraljevitch Marko (_Kraljevich\n    Marko_).\n\n    Page 62--22 changed to 12--No. 12 is a superior variant of the\n    German 'Rumpelstilskin' ...\n\n    Page 140--become changed to became--... the queen became the\n    mother of two sons; ...\n\n    Page 207--be changed to he--... and went forward till he began\n    to feel hungry.\n\n    Page 297--57 changed to 59--In No. 59 we have a singular legend\n    of a white snake, ...","title":"Sixty Folk-Tales from Exclusively Slavonic Sources","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":107504}