MAGYAR MYTHS AND FOLK-TALES.
THE POOR MAN, AND THE KING OF THE CROWS.
THERE was once a very poor man, and he had two lean cows. The two cows were to the poor man as their mother’s breast to children; for not only did they give milk and butter, for which he got a few coppers to buy salt, but he tilled his patch of land with them.
Now, he was ploughing one day at the edge of the woods with the two cows, when, from wherever it came, a six-horse coach stood before him, and in it sat no other than the King of the Crows, who found this to say to the poor man,—
“Listen, poor man; I will tell thee one thing, and two will come of it. Sell me those lean cows; I’ll give thee good money for them. I’ll pay double price. My army hasn’t tasted a morsel for three days, and the soldiers will die of hunger and thirst unless thou wilt save them.”
“If that’s the case,” said the poor man to the King of the Crows, “if it be that thy Highness’s army hasn’t eaten anything for three days, I don’t mind the difficulty. I’ll let thee have the cows, not for money; let thy Highness return a cow for a cow.”
“Very good, poor man, let it be as thou sayest. I will give thee a cow for a cow; more than that, for two thou wilt get four cows. For that purpose find me in my kingdom, for I am the King of the Crows. Thou hast but to look in the north for the black castle; thou’lt be sure to find it.”
With that the King of the Crows vanished as if he had never been there,—as if the earth had swallowed him. The poor man kept on ploughing with the two lean cows, till, all at once, the army of the King of the Crows appeared like a black cloud approaching through the air, with mighty cawing, and seizing the two cows tore them bit from bit. When they had finished, the dark legions with tumultuous cawing moved on their way like a cloud. The poor man watched the direction in which they flew so that he might know the way.
Now he strolled home in great sadness, took leave of his two handsome sons and his dear wife, in the midst of bitter tears, and set out into the world to find the black castle. He travelled and journeyed over forty-nine kingdoms, beyond the Operentsia Sea and the glass mountains, and beyond that, where the little short-tailed pig roots, and beyond that, and still farther on, till he came to an ocean-great sand-plain.
Nowhere for gold was a town, a village, or a cabin to be seen where he might recline his head for a night’s rest, or beg a morsel of bread or a cup of water. Food had long since left his bag, and he might have struck fire in the gourd[5] which hung at his side. What was he to do? Where could he save his life? Here he must perish of hunger and thirst in the midst of this ocean-great desert, and then at home let them wait for him till the day of Judgment. Here the poor man’s power of walking decreased, and he floundered about like a dazed fish, like a man struck on the head. While stumbling along he sees on a sudden a shepherd’s fire.
[5] A pilgrim bottle made of a dried, long-necked gourd.
He moves towards the light, creeping on all fours. At last he arrives there with great difficulty, and sees that three or four men are lying around the fire, boiling kasha in a pot. He salutes them with, “God give you a good evening.”
“God receive thee, poor man; how is it that thou art journeying in this strange land where even a bird does not go?”
“I am looking for the black castle in the north. Have ye heard nothing of it in your world-beautiful lives?”
“How not? Of course we have. Are we not the shepherds of that king, who rigorously and mercilessly enjoined that, if such and such a man, who sold him the two lean cows for his army, should find us, to treat him well with meat and drink, and then to show him the right road? Maybe thou art the man!”
“I am indeed.”
“I am no one else.”
“In that case sit here on the sheepskin; eat, drink, and enjoy thyself, for the kasha will be ready this minute.”
As they said, he did. The poor man sat by the fire, ate, drank, and satisfied himself, then lay down and fell asleep. When he rose in the morning they gave him a round cheese, and drove the air out of his bottle; then they let him go his way, showing him the right road.
The poor man travelled and journeyed along the right road; and now, when he was hungry and dry, he had his bag, and his bottle too. Towards evening he sees again a shepherd’s fire. He draws near the great fire, and sees the shepherds of the King of the Crows sitting around it cooking a meat stew. He wishes them, “God give you a good-day, my lords, the horseherds.”
“God guard thee, poor man,” said the chief herdsman; “where art thou going here in this strange land?”
“I am looking for the black castle of the King of the Crows. Hast thou never heard of it, brother, in thy world-beautiful life?”
“How not heard of it? Of course I have. Are we not the servants of him who commanded rigorously and unflinchingly that if such and such a poor man, who sold him two lean cows for his army, should wander along, to receive him kindly? Therefore, this is my word and speech to thee. Art thou, perchance, that man?”
“Of course I am.”
“Is it possible?”
“I’m no one else.”
“In that case sit down here by the fire, drink, and be filled.”
The poor man sat down by the fire, ate, drank, and satisfied himself; then lying on the sheepskin, he fell asleep. When he rose in the morning the horseherds entertained the poor man again, wished him happiness, and showing the right road let him go his way; but they left neither his bag nor his bottle empty. Then he went along the right road. But why multiply words?—for there is an end even to a hundred words; it is enough to know that towards evening he came to the ground of the swineherds of the King of the Crows. He saluted them with, “God give you a good evening.”
“God guard thee,” said the reckoning swineherd.[6] “How is it thou art journeying in this strange land, where even a bird does not go?”
[6] “The reckoning swineherd,”—he who counts the pigs.
“I am looking for the black castle of the King of the Crows. Has my lord elder brother never heard of it in his world-beautiful life?”
“Haho, poor man! How not heard of it? Are we not the servants of the lord of that castle? But art not thou the poor man who sold his Highness the two lean cows?”
“Well, what’s the use in delay or denial? I am, indeed, he.”
“Art thou in truth?”
“I am no one else.”
“But how wilt thou enter the black castle, since it is covered all around with a stone wall, and whirls unceasingly on a golden cock’s foot? But make no account of that. Here is a shining axe. Just strike the wall with it so that sparks will fly, and thou wilt come upon the door, which will spring open. Then jump in. Have a care, though; for if thou slip and fall, neither God nor man can save thee. When thou art once inside, the King of the Crows will come forward and receive thee kindly. He won’t put his soul on the palm of his hand at once; but when his Highness inquires what thy wish is, ask for nothing else but the salt-mill which stands in the corner.”
Well, the talk ended there. In the morning the poor man moves on towards the black castle. When he arrives there, he saw that it whirled of itself on a golden cock’s foot, like some infernal spindle; and nowhere can he see either window or door upon it,—nothing but the naked wall. He took the swineherd’s axe and struck the wall, and sparks flew from the axe in such style that it couldn’t be better. After a time he came upon the door; it flew open, and he jumped in. If he had delayed but one flash of an eye the stone wall door would have crushed him; as it was, the edge of his trousers was carried off.
As soon as the poor man got in, he saw that the castle turned only on the outside. At this moment the King of the Crows was standing by the window, and saw the poor man coming for the price of the cows. He went to meet him, shook his hand, treated him as tenderly as an egg; then he led him into the most beautiful chamber, and seated him at his side on a golden couch. The poor man saw not a soul anywhere, although it was midday, the time of eating. All at once the table began to spread, and was soon bending under its load, so much food was on it. The poor man shook his head,—for, as I say, though no one was to be seen anywhere, neither cook nor kitchen-boy nor servant, still, wasn’t the table spread? It was surely witchcraft, surely some infernal art, but not the work of a good spirit,—maybe the salt-mill had something to do with it. That, however, did not come into the poor man’s mind, though the mill stood there in the corner.
He was there three days, the guest of the King of the Crows, who received him with every kindness he could offer, so that no man’s son could raise a complaint against his Highness. Morning, noon, and night the poor man’s food appeared in proper form, but the roast and the wine had no taste for him; for it came to his mind that while he was feasting there, most likely his wife and children had not bread enough. I say it came to his mind; he began to be restless and uneasy. The King of the Crows noticed this, and said to him: “Well, poor man, I see that thou dost not wish to stay longer with me, because thy heart is at home, therefore I ask what dost thou wish for the two lean cows?—believe me, brother, thou didst save me from great trouble that time; if thou hadst not taken pity on me I should have lost my whole army from famine.”
“I want nothing else,” said the poor man, “but that salt-mill standing there in the corner.”
“Oh, poor man, hast thou lost thy wits? Tell me, what good couldst thou get of the mill?”
“Oh, I could grind corn or a little wheat from time to time; if I did not some one else might, so there would be something to take to the kitchen.”
“Ask for something else; ask for all the cattle which in coming hither thou didst see.”
“What should I do with such a tremendous lot of cattle? If I should drive them home, people would think evil of me; besides, I have neither stable nor pasture.”
“But I’ll give thee money. How much dost thou wish? Wouldst be content with three bags of it?”
“What could I do with such an ocean-great lot of money? My evil fate would use it to kill me; people would think that I stole the coin, or murdered some man for it; besides, I might be stopped with it on the road.”
“But I’ll give thee a soldier as a guard.”
“What good is one of thy Highness’s soldiers?” asked the poor man, smiling; “a hen, I think, would drive him away.”
“What! one of my soldiers?”
Here the King of the Crows blew a small whistle; straightway a crow appeared which shook itself, and became such a gallant young fellow that he was not only so, but just so. “That’s the kind of soldiers I have;” said the king and commanded the young man out of the room. The soldier shook himself, became a crow, and flew away.
“It’s all the same to me what kind of soldiers thy Highness has. Thy Highness promised to give me what I want, and I ask for nothing else but the salt-mill.”
“I will not give it. Ask for all my herds, but not for that.”
“I need not herds; all I want is the mill.”
“Well, poor man, I have refused thee three times, and three times thou hast asked for the mill; now, whether I will or not, I must give it. But know that thou art not to grind corn or wheat with the mill; for it has this virtue,—that it accomplishes all wishes. Here it is, take it, though my heart bleeds after it. Thou didst me a good deed, therefore let it be thine.”
The poor man put the mill on his back, took farewell of the King of the Crows, thanking him for his hospitality, and trudged home at his leisure. On the way back he entertained the swineherds, the horseherds, and the cowherds. All he did was to say, “Grind, my dear mill,” and what food was dear to the eye, the mouth, and the taste appeared of itself; and if he said, “Draw up, my dear mill,” all the food was as if the ground had swallowed it,—it vanished. Then he took leave of the good shepherds and continued his way.
As he travelled and journeyed, he came to a great wild wood; and having grown hungry, he said: “Grind, my dear mill.” Straightway the table was spread, not for one, but for two persons. The mill knew at once that the poor man would have a guest; for that moment, wherever he came from, a great fat man appeared, who without saying a word, took his seat at the table. When they had enjoyed God’s blessing, the great fat man spoke, and said:
“Listen, poor man. Give me that mill for this knotty club; for if thy mill has the power of accomplishing all thy desires [the fat man knew this already], my knotty club has this power, that thou hast need but to say, ‘Strike, my club,’ and the man thou hast in mind is the son of Death.”
What was the poor man to do? Thinking if he did not give it of his free will the fat man would take it by force, he exchanged the mill for the knotty club; but when he had it once in his hand, he said in a low voice, for he was commanding the knotty club, “Strike, my dear club.” And it so struck the fat man behind the ears that he gave forth not a sound; he didn’t move his little finger. Then the poor man continued his journey homeward at his ease; and when seven years had passed he was able to say: “Here we are!”
His wife who was weeping by the hearth, mourning over her dear lost lord and the two lean cows, scarcely knew the poor man, but still she knew him. His two sons had become large, and had grown out of their long clothes. When the poor man put his foot in his own house he set the mill down in the chimney-corner, loosed his mantle from his neck, hung it up on a nail, and only then did they know him.
“Well, father,” said his wife, “thou hast come; God knows ’tis time. I never expected to see thee again; but what didst thou get for Bimbo and Csako?”
“This mill,” answered he with many “see here’s” and “see there’s.”
“If that’s the case, the palsy strike thy work,” cried the woman; “better for thee to have stayed at home these seven years, and swung thy feet around here, than to have dragged that good-for-nothing mill from such a distant land, just as if thou hadst eaten the crazy-weed!”
“Oh, my sweet wife, something is better than nothing; if we have no grain to grind for ourselves, we can grind for other people, if not in streams at least in drops.”
“May a cancer eat thy mill! I haven’t a thing to put between my teeth, and still—”
“Well, my sweet wife, if thou hast nothing to put between thy teeth thou’lt soon have. Grind, my dear mill.”
At these words, so much meat and drink appeared on the poor man’s table that half of it would have been enough. It was only then that the woman regretted her tongue rattling. But a woman is a woman; beat her with a stone, only let her talk.
The poor man, his wife, and two sons sat down at the table, looking at the food like an army of locusts. They ate and drank to their hearts’ content. Whether from wine or some other cause, a desire to dance came to the two sons; and they jumped up and danced, so it was pure delight to look at them. “Oh,” said the elder one, “if we only had a gypsy!” That moment a band of gypsies by the chimney struck up their music, and played away with such variations that the poor man too wished to dance, and so whirled his wife around that better could not be asked for. The neighbors knew not what to think of the affair. How was it that music was sounding in the poor man’s house?
“What is this?” said they one to another, coming nearer and nearer, till they came up to the door and the windows. Only then did they see that a band of gypsies were fiddling away with might and main, and the old man, his wife, and their two sons were dancing, while the table was bending under loads of rich meat and drink.
“Come in cousin! come in friend! come in brother-in-law, bring thy wife! come in brother!” and there was no end to the invitations of the poor man. Guests collected unceasingly, and still the table was spread. “’Pon my soul,” said the poor man, “it’s a pity my house isn’t larger; for all these guests could scarcely find room in a palace.” At these words, instead of the poor man’s cabin such a magnificent palace appeared, with chambers, twelve in a row, that the king himself hadn’t the like of it.
A multitude of grand people with the king in the midst of them were out walking just at that time. “What’s this? what’s this?” asked they of one another. “There has always been a poor man’s cabin here, now there’s a king’s palace, and besides, music is sounding, and gypsies are fiddling. Let’s go and have a look.”
The king went in front, and after him all the grand people,—counts, dukes, barons, and so on. The poor man came out and received the king with the great personages very kindly, and conducted them all to the head of the table as their fitting place. They ate, drank, and caroused, so that it was like a small wedding.
While they were enjoying themselves at the best, a great sealed letter came to the king. When he had read it, he turned yellow and blue, because it was written therein that the Turk-Tartar was nearing his kingdom with a great army, destroying everything with fire and sword, and sparing not the property of innocent, weeping people, whom he puts to the point of the sword; that the earth is drinking their blood; their flesh is devoured by dogs.
From great joy there was great sorrow.
Then the poor man stood forth and asked the king: “If ’tis no offence, may I ask a question?”
“What may it be, poor man?”
“Would thy Highness tell me the contents of that great letter received just now?”
“Why ask, poor man? Thou couldst not mend the affair.”
“But if I can?”
“Well, know then, and let the whole kingdom know, that the Turk-Tartar is moving on our country with a great army, with cruel intent; that he spares not the property of innocent, weeping people, puts them to the sword, so that the earth drinks their blood, and their flesh is devoured by dogs.”
“And what will be the reward of him who drives the enemy out of the country?” asked the poor man.
“In truth,” said the king, “great reward and honor await him; for if he should have two sons, I would give them my two daughters in marriage, with half the kingdom. After my death they would inherit the whole kingdom.”
“Well, I’ll drive out the enemy all alone.”
But the king did not place much confidence in the poor man’s promise; he hurried together all his soldiers, and marched with them against the enemy. The two armies were looking at each other with wolves’ eyes, when the poor man went between the camps and commanded the club: “Strike, my dear club.” And the club pommelled the Turk-Tartar army so that only one man was left to carry home the tidings.
The poor man gained half the kingdom and the two beautiful princesses, whom he married to his two stalwart sons. They celebrated a wedding which spoke to the seven worlds; and they are living now if they are not dead.
THE USELESS WAGONER.
THERE was once in the world a king, and he had a Useless Wagoner who never and never did anything but frolic in the tavern. The whole standing day and all the ocean-great night there was nothing for him but singing and dancing, eating and drinking. The king had money of course.
But the king began to grow tired of this thing. He called up the Useless Wagoner, and gave him a terrible scolding. But ’tis vain to seat a dog at table, and when the Devil gets into a man he stays there; so it was labor lost to drive the Useless Wagoner to work, for he went his way, and frolicked as before. At last the king resolved to take his life, and calling him up, said,—
“Dost hear me, work-shunning Useless Wagoner! I revile thy mother, if within the turn of four and twenty hours thou dost not make for me a three-hundred-gallon cask; and though one joint or seam is not much, if it has that, I’ll empale thee on a stake.”
The Useless Wagoner said not a word to all this, but put a hamper on his back, took a cutting-axe in his hand, and strolled off to the forest to find a tree fit to make a three-hundred-gallon cask.
When he came to the forest, being hungry and tired, he sat down under a large shady tree, opened his hamper, and began to eat lunch. He ate and ate, till all at once, from some corner or another, a little fox stood before him and begged food to eat.
“Of course I’ll give thee something. The food came here, ’twill stay here;” and with that he threw a slice of bread and a bit of sausage to the fox.
When the fox had finished eating she said: “Dost hear, Useless Wagoner? As thou hast taken pity on me, I will take pity on thee; in place of a good deed look for a good deed. Though thou hast not told me, still I know why thou hast come to this forest. I know, too, that the king is breaking his head to kill thee; but he’ll not be in time, for I will help thee out of thy trouble and make thee the three-hundred-gallon cask. And though one seam or joint is not much, even that will not be in it. Now lie down and rest.”
And so it was. The Useless Wagoner lay down and rested. Meanwhile the little fox got such a three-hundred-gallon cask ready, that although a joint or seam is not much, even that was not to be seen in it.
When the cask was finished the Useless Wagoner took it home and gave it to the king, who, after looking at it, dropped his eyes and his lip like a sheep; for neither his father, his grandfather, nor his great-grandfather had ever seen such a cunningly made cask, for not a seam nor a joint could be seen in it for gold.
Well and good for the moment; but soon the king summoned the Useless Wagoner to his presence again, and cried out,—
“Dost thou hear me, work-shunning Useless Wagoner! I revile thy soul if within the turn of four and twenty hours thou dost not make for me a chariot which will go itself, without horses. I’ll break thee on a wheel!”
The Useless Wagoner said nothing, but put his hamper on his back, took his cutting-axe in his hand, and wandered off to the forest to find a tree fit to make the chariot.
When he came to the forest he was hungry, and tired too; therefore he sat down under a large, shady tree, opened his hamper, and began to eat lunch.
He ate and ate till all at once, from some corner or another, the little fox stood before him again, and begged food to eat.
“Of course, my dear little fox, I’ll give thee something. It came here, and ’twill stay here.”
With that he threw a piece of bread and a slice of ham to the little fox, who after she had eaten, said:
“Well, Useless Wagoner, in place of a good deed look for a good deed. Though thou hast not told me, still I know why thou art here. I know, too, that the king is breaking his head to kill thee; but he won’t, for I shall help thee out of trouble. I’ll make for thee the chariot which will go of itself, without horses; but do thou lie down and rest.”
And so it was. The Useless Wagoner reclined his head in rest; and meanwhile the little fox fashioned a chariot beautifully. When all was ready she roused the Useless Wagoner, and said,—
“Here is the chariot which runs of itself; thou hast but to step in and command it to stop in the king’s court-yard. But I would tell thee this: Here is a whistle that will serve thee; shouldst thou fall into trouble, just blow,—it will help thee.”
The Useless Wagoner thanked the fox for her kindness, and entered the chariot, which stopped not till it reached the king’s court-yard.
When the king saw the chariot he said nothing, but shook his head, turned on the Useless Wagoner in a rage, and cried,—
“Useless Wagoner, I revile thy mother! In my stable there are a hundred hares; and if thou dost not herd them three days, if thou dost not drive them a-field in the morning and bring them back at night so that not one shall be missing from the hundred, I’ll strike off thy head.”
What was the poor Useless Wagoner to do? Against his will, and of need, he let the hundred hares out of the stable and drove them a-field. They had barely touched the edge of the field when they ran in as many directions as there were hares. Who could bring them together again? The poor Useless Wagoner ran first after one and then after another hare; he chased the whole day, but could not bring back a single hare. It was already growing late, time to go home, but the hundred hares were in a hundred places; therefore the Useless Wagoner became terribly sad, and wished to make an end of his own life,—it was all the same whether he or the king took it; there was no salvation for him anyhow. So he put his hand in his bosom to take out his clasp-knife and strike himself in the heart, but instead of the knife he found the whistle which the little fox had given him. That was all he wanted; he drew out the whistle, sounded it, and, behold! all the hares ran up to him,—as tame as pet lambs fed from the palm of the hand.
When all the hares had come together he drove them home.
The king stood at the gate and let them in singly, counting, “One, two, three ... ninety-nine, a hundred.” Not one was missing.
Next day the Useless Wagoner drove the hares out again, and when they had barely touched the edge of the field they ran off in as many directions as there were hares.
But this time the Useless Wagoner took no thought of running and chasing after them; he thought to himself that he would take his whistle and blow, and they would come. So he lay down in a nice shady place, and slept to his liking.
But the king did not sleep; he was racking his brain to destroy the Useless Wagoner. So he called his only and dearly beloved daughter, and said to her, “My darling daughter, I have a great favor to ask of thee.”
“What may it be, my father the king?”
“Of a truth nothing but this,—that thou dress in peasant’s clothes, and go out to the field where the Useless Wagoner is herding the hundred hares, and beg one of him. If he gives it not for a good word, mayhap he will give it for a sweet kiss; but come not home to me without the hare, even if he asks a piece of thy body for it.”
The princess granted her father’s request. She gathered her wits about her, dressed up in peasant’s clothes, and went in the field to the Useless Wagoner, who was sleeping at his leisure under a shady tree. The princess pushed him with her foot; he woke, and saw in a moment with whom he had to deal.
“God give thee a good-day, hareherd!”
“God save thee, king’s daughter! What good dost thou bring the poor hareherd?”
“I have brought nothing but this, that I have come because I would like to get one little hare. Wouldst thou not give even one for good money?”
“High princess, I will not give one for money; but if thou wilt give me three kisses, I can give them back. Then I don’t mind; I’ll give thee a hare.”
So the princess got a hare for three pairs of kisses, and ran home very joyfully; but just as she was touching the latch to open the gate, the hareherd sounded his whistle, the hare jumped like lightning from her bosom, and stopped not till it reached the flock.
The hareherd drove home his flock; the king was waiting for him at the gate, and let them in one by one, counting till he came to a hundred.
Next day the hareherd drove out his hares the third time, and left them to go their way.
The king now called his wife to the white chamber, and spoke thus to her: “My heart’s beautiful love, I have a great favor to ask of thee.”
“And what may it be, my dear husband?”
“Of a truth, nothing but this,—that thou dress in peasant’s clothes, go to the hareherd in the field, and ask a hare of him. If he will not give it for fair words, he may for a sweet kiss; but come not home to me without a hare, even if he asks a piece of thy flesh.”
Well, the queen yielded to her husband’s request, put on a peasant’s dress, and went to the field, where she found the Useless Wagoner sleeping in the shade. She roused him with her foot; he knew at once who was in the peasant’s dress.
“God give thee a good-day, hareherd!”
“God save thee, kind queen! What good hast thou brought the poor hareherd? Why hast thou come, may I ask?”
“I have only come to ask if thou wilt give me a hare for good money.”
“I will not give a hare for money, my queen; but if thou wilt give me three kisses, I will return them again. Then I don’t mind; I’ll risk my head, and let thee have a hare.”
So the queen got a hare for three pairs of kisses, and took her way home joyously; but just as she was putting her hand on the latch to open the gate, the hareherd sounded the whistle, the hare jumped like a flash from the queen’s bosom, and stopped not till it joined its companions.
When the hares were all together, the hareherd drove them home. The king was waiting for him at the gate, let each in singly, counting till he reached a hundred,—not one missing from the round number.
Next morning the hares were driven out as before; but the king now put on a peasant’s dress, and went to the field himself. When he came to the hareherd he said: “God give thee good-day!”
“God save thee, poor man!” answered the hareherd. “What art thou looking for?”
“Well, what’s the use in delay or denial? I have come to buy a little hare of thee for good money. Of course thou wilt part with one.”
“I will not give one for money; but if I can wear out twelve rods on thy back, I don’t mind; I’ll risk my head on it.”
What was the king to do? He stretched himself out with face and hands on the grass, and the hareherd flogged him as a corporal does a soldier; but he endured it all, gritting his teeth, and thinking to himself, “Wait a bit, thief of a Useless Wagoner, thou wilt have a dose when I get at thee!”
But all to no use, for when the king had reached home, and was just putting his hand on the latch to open the gate, the whistle sounded, and the hare sprang away from him like a flash, and ran till it joined the flock.
Then the Useless Wagoner drove home the hundred hares a fourth time. The king was standing at the little gate; he counted them one by one, but could find no fault, for they were all there.
The Useless Wagoner drove out the hares the fifth time to pasture; but the king mounted the chariot which went wherever the owner commanded, and drove to the Useless Wagoner, taking three empty bags with him. “Dost hear me, thou!—this-and-that-kind-of-work-shunning? Hareherd, I revile thy soul! If thou wilt not fill these three bags with truth, I will strike off thy head.”
To all this the Useless Wagoner answered in words: “The king’s daughter came out; I gave her, and she gave me. The queen came; I gave her, and she gave me. The king came; I gave him, and he—”
“Stop! stop!” cried the king, “the three bags are full; and I’d rather be in hell than hear thy words.”
At this speech the chariot started off with the king, and never stopped till it took him to the bottom of hell.
Then the Useless Wagoner went home, married the king’s daughter, became king, and reigns yet with his queen, unless he is dead.
MIRKO, THE KING’S SON.
ONCE there was a king, and he had three sons. The king rejoiced in his three sons, and resolved to have them instructed in a befitting manner, so that he might leave good heirs to the kingdom. Therefore he sent his sons to school, where they got on well enough for a time, till at length they turned their backs on the school, went home, all three, and knew their studies no more.
The king grew fiercely angry at this, forbade his sons to stand before his face, and betook himself to live in the chamber of his palace next the rising sun, where he sat continually at the window and looked towards the east as if waiting for something; and with one eye he wept unceasingly, while with the other he laughed.
After the three princes had grown up to a good age, they agreed among themselves to inquire of the king why he was always sitting in the chamber next the rising sun, and why one of his eyes was always crying, while the other was always laughing. First the eldest son went in and put the question, saying, “My father the king, I have come to ask why one of thy eyes is always crying and the other always laughing, while thou art looking continually towards the east.”
The king measured his son with his eyes from head to foot, said not a word, but took a sword which hung at the window and hurled it at him with such force that it sank into the door up to the hilt. The prince sprang through the door, thus escaping the blow aimed at him. When he came out his brothers asked what success he had had. He answered: “Try yourselves; then ye will know.” The second brother tried, with the same result as the first. At last the youngest, who was called Mirko, went in and declared the cause of his coming. The king answered him not, but seized the sword in still greater anger, and hurled it at him so that it entered the stone wall up to the hilt. Mirko did not spring aside, but went to the sword, drew it out of the stone wall, took it to the king, his father, and placed it before him on the table.
Seeing this, the king opened his mouth and said to Mirko: “I see now, my son, that thou knowest somewhat better than thy two brothers what honor is; to thee then will I give answer. My one eye weeps unceasingly for sadness at your insignificance, not being fit to rule; but my other eye laughs because in the time of my youth I had a trusty comrade, the Hero of the Plain, who battled by my side, and he promised that if he should overpower his enemies he would come to dwell with me, that we might pass the days of our old age together. For this reason I sit ever by the window next the rising sun, because I await his coming; but every day there rise up against the Hero of the Plain, who dwells in the silken meadow, as many enemies as there are grass-blades on the field. Every day he unaided cuts them down; and until all his enemies have disappeared, he will not be able to come to me.”
With that Mirko left his father’s chamber, came out to his brothers, and told them the king’s speech. They counselled together again, and agreed to ask leave of the king to try their fortune. First the eldest son went to his father and made known his wish. The king consented, and the eldest brother went to the royal stables where he chose a good steed, which he saddled next day, and set out on his journey. After he had been absent a whole year, behold he rides home, bearing on his shoulders the top of the copper bridge, which he threw down before the palace. He went in then, stood before the face of the king, and told him where he had been and what he had brought back.
The king heard his son’s discourse to the end, and said: “Oh, my son, when I was of thy age the road to the copper bridge was a two hours’ ride for me. Thou art a soft hero. Thou wilt never make vitriol. Go thy way.”
With that, the eldest son left his father’s chamber. After him the second brother went in, and asked leave of the king to try his fortune. Having received it, he went also to the stables and chose a good steed, which he saddled, mounted, and went his way. At the end of a year he came home, bringing the top of the silver bridge, which he threw down in front of the palace; then he stood before the king, his father, and told him where he had been and what he had brought back.
“Oh,” said the king, “when I was of thy age that was only a three hours’ ride for me. Thou too art a soft hero; nothing at all will come of thee.” With that he dismissed the second son.
At last Mirko appeared; he also asked to try his fortune. The king consented, and Mirko went to the stables to choose a steed. Finding nothing to his mind, he went out to the royal stud and examined it carefully, but could not decide which steed to take. Just then an old witch chanced to be passing that way, and asked what he wanted. Mirko told her. “Oh, my master,” said she, “thou wilt not find a horse to thy wish here, but I will tell thee how to find one. Go to the king, thy father, and ask him for the horn with which in his youth he called together his golden-haired steeds. Sound this horn and the steeds will appear at once. Choose not among the golden-haired ones; but last of all will come a shaggy-coated, crooked-legged old mare,—thou wilt know her by this, that when she strikes the pillars with her tail the whole palace will tremble from the blow. Choose her; try thy fortune with her.”
Mirko took the old witch’s advice, went straightway to the king and said: “My father, I have come that thou mayest give me the horn with which in thy youth thou wert wont to call together thy golden-haired steeds.”
The king asked: “Who told thee of this horn?”
“No man,” answered Mirko.
“Well, my dear son, if no man told thee, thou art wise; but if some man told thee, he does not wish thee harm. I will tell thee where to find the horn; the rust has eaten it up, perhaps, by this time. In the seventh cellar it is enclosed in the wall; look for it, take it out, and make use of it if thou art able.”
Mirko called a mason, went with him to the seventh cellar, found the hollow place in the wall, took out the horn, and carried it away. Then standing on the square before the palace, he sounded towards the east, the west, the south, and the north, and having waited a little, behold! he hears the golden horse bells ringing so that the whole city is full of the sound. The steeds came in, one more beautiful than the other in appearance and in breed. At a distance he saw the shaggy-haired, crooked-legged mare; and when she came to the gate, as true as I live, she struck the pillars with her tail so that the whole palace trembled.
When the steeds had stopped in the court-yard, Mirko went up to the mare, led her away to the stable, and then said that he had taken her to try his fortune. The magic mare answered: “That is well, my lord king’s son; but first thou must feed me, for without that it will be hard to endure the long road.”
“What kind of food dost thou wish?—for whatever my father has, I will give thee with a good heart.”
“Very well, kind master; but a steed must be fed before starting, not while on the road.”
“I know not what I can do,” said Mirko, “except to give what I have with a good heart.”
“Bring me straightway a measure of peas, and turn them into the manger.”
Mirko obeyed, and when the peas were eaten, he brought a measure of beans; when these were eaten the mare turned to Mirko and said: “Now bring me half a measure of glowing coals.”
The coals were brought; and when she had eaten the glowing coals, she became such a golden-haired steed as the Star of Dawn, and spoke further to Mirko. “Go now, my master, to the king, and ask of him that saddle which he used when he coursed the meadow with me in his youth.”
Mirko went to the old king and asked for the saddle. The king answered that it was useless, for it had been thrown about a long time in the carriage-house, but if he could find it, he might take it. Mirko went to the carriage-house and found the saddle all befouled by the hens and turkeys. He took it, however, to his steed, which said that it was not proper for a king’s son to sit on such a saddle. Mirko was about to carry it away and have a fresh cover put on, when she said: “Place it before me.” He obeyed. Straightway she blew on it, and in an instant it became such a golden saddle that its like could not be found in seven kingdoms.
With this he saddled the magic mare, and she said: “Go now, my dear master, to thy father, and ask him for the weapons and the sword with which he fought when he journeyed with me.”
Mirko asked his father; the old king said they were on the shelf if he wanted them. Mirko took them to the mare, who blew on them, and instantly they became the most beautiful gold-mounted sword and weapons. Mirko girded on the sword and took the weapons. Then the bridle was brought, and when blown upon became of the most beautiful gold.
Mirko bridled the mare, led her out of the stable, and wished to sit in the saddle, but she said: “Wait, my dear master; lead me out of the city first, and then sit on me.” He hearkened to these words, and led her out of the city; then she stood still, and he sat in the saddle.
The magic steed now asked: “How shall I bear thee, dear master; with the speed of the fleet whirlwind, or of quick thought?”
“Carry me as may please thee,” answered the prince; “only manage so that I shall endure the swift flight.”
“Well, close thy eyes,” said the steed, “and hold fast.”
Mirko closed his eyes; the steed shot on like a rushing whirlwind, and after a short time struck the earth with her foot, and said to Mirko: “Open thy eyes! What dost thou see?”
“I see,” said he, “a great river and a copper bridge.”
“That, my dear master, is the bridge the top of which thy first brother brought home; but look for the open place.”
“I see it,” said Mirko; “but where are we going from here?”
“Only close thy eyes; I will take thee straight there.”
With that she moved as quick as thought, and in a few moments struck the earth, stood still, and said to Mirko: “Open thy eyes! What dost thou see?”
“I see a great river, and across it a silver bridge.”
“That is the bridge the top of which thy second brother took home; look for the open place.”
“I see it,” said Mirko; “but where do we go from here?”
“Only close thy eyes,” said the steed; “I will take thee at once.”
With that she moved on like lightning, and in a flash stamped on the ground, and said to the prince: “Open thy eyes! What dost thou see?”
“I see,” said Mirko, “an enormously wide and deep river, across it a golden bridge, and at both ends of the bridge, at this side and that, are four unmercifully large lions. Must we cross this bridge?”
“Never mind,” said the steed, “I’ll manage; only shut thy eyes.”
The mare sped on like a swift falcon, and thus flew across the bridge. After a short time she struck the ground, and said: “Open thy eyes! What dost thou see?”
“I see,” replied Mirko, “a summitless, high glass mountain, as steep as the side of a house.”
“We must cross that very mountain, my master.”
“That, I think, is impossible,” said Mirko.
“Fear not,” said the steed; “for I have on my feet the shoes which thy father fastened to me with diamond nails, seven hundred years ago. Only shut thy eyes and hold to me firmly.”
Now the steed sprang up, and in an instant was on the glass mountain. She stamped, and said, “Open thy eyes! What dost thou see?”
“I see,” said Mirko, “when I look behind, something dark, as large as a great plate.”
“Oh, my master, that is the round of the earth. But what dost thou see before thee?”
“I see a narrow glass road, rising like a half circle. On both sides of it is emptiness of bottomless depth.”
“My dear master, we must pass over that road; but the passage is so delicate that if one of my feet slip the least bit to one side or the other, there is an end to our lives. But trust thyself to me, and close thy eyes. Hold fast, I will manage.”
With that she swept on, and in an instant stamped again. “Open thy eyes! What dost thou see?”
“I see behind me,” said Mirko, “a faint light, in front of me is darkness so dense that when I hold my finger before my eyes I cannot see it.”
“Well, we must go through that also; shut thy eyes and hold firmly.”
She sped on anew, and again stamped. “Open thy eyes! What dost thou see now?”
“I see,” said Mirko, “the most glorious, light, beautiful, snow-covered mountains, and in the midst of them a silken meadow; in the centre of the silken meadow something dark.”
“This silken meadow,” said the steed, “belongs to the Hero of the Plain; and the dark object in the middle is his tent, woven from black silk. Now close thy eyes or not as may please thee. We shall go there directly.” Mirko spurred the steed, and they were at the tent in a twinkle.
Mirko sprang from his steed and left her at the tent by the side of that of the Hero of the Plain, and entered himself. Within lay a warrior stretched on the silken grass, sleeping; but a sword above him was cutting around in every direction, so that a fly could not light on his body. “Well,” thought Mirko to himself, “though he be a good warrior I could slay him in slumber; but it would not be honorable to slay a sleeping man. I will wait till he rises.” Then he went out and tied his steed fast to the tent, near the other, stretched himself on the silken grass, and called: “Sword out of thy sheath!” and the sword cut around above him, as his sword above the Hero of the Plain, so that a fly could not touch his body.
When the Hero of the Plain woke up and saw that a horse was tied near his own, he marvelled, and said: “What does this mean? I am here seven hundred years, and I have not seen a strange horse near mine before. Whose can this be?” He rose, went out, and saw Mirko sleeping near the tent with the sword cutting above him. “That,” said he, “is an honest warrior; he has not slain me while sleeping. It would not become me to touch him now.”
Then he pushed the foot of the sleeping hero with his own. Mirko jumped up straightway, and the Hero of the Plain asked: “Who art thou, and on what journey?” Mirko told whose son he was, and what his journey. “God has brought thee, dear younger brother,” said the Hero; “thy father is my old friend, and thou, I see, art as good as thy father. But I have need of thee. This great silken meadow which thou seest, is every day filled with enemies, and every day I cut them down; but to-day as thou art with me, we shall not hurry. Come, let us eat and drink; let them crowd.” Then the two went in, ate and drank till the enemy had so increased that they reached almost to the tent. The Hero of the Plain sprang then to his feet and said: “Up, my comrade, we’ll soon finish.” Both leaped into their saddles and rushed to the centre of the enemy, crying out, “Sword from the sheath!” The swords hewed off the heads of the countless multitude, so there was scarcely room to move for bodies. Twelve of the opposing warriors now flee from the rear, the Hero of the Plain and Mirko pursuing. They come to a glass mountain; the twelve warriors rushing ahead. Mirko pursues in hot haste. On the top of the mountain there is a nice, level space; he sees them running upon it. He gallops after them; but all at once they are as if the ground had swallowed them. Mirko springs to the place where they disappear, finds a breach and a deep opening with winding steps. His steed rushes into the opening and down the stairs; they are soon in the lower world.
Mirko looks around the lower world and sees a shining diamond castle, which serves instead of the sun down there. The twelve fleeing warriors rush towards the castle, he after them, and ordering his sword out of the sheath, cuts off their heads in a moment. The next instant Mirko stands before the diamond castle. Within, there is such a clatter and pounding that the whole interior trembles and shivers. He dismounts and enters. Inside is an old witch weaving, and the racket is deafening. The building is full of armed men. The infernal old witch weaves them. When she throws her shuttle to the right, two hussars spring out on horseback; when she throws it to the left, two men on foot jump out armed.
Meanwhile Sword out of the Sheath cuts down the newly made soldiers, but the old witch weaves more. “Well,” thinks Mirko to himself, “I shall never get out of here, at this rate;” but he commands the sword, and it cuts the old witch into small pieces. Then he carries the loom into the yard, where there is a pile. He throws everything on the pile and sets fire to it; but when all is burned one of the old witch’s ribs springs out, begins to turn round in the dust, and she rises up again entire. Again Mirko is going to command the sword to cut her to pieces, but she speaks up, “Spare my life, Mirko, and await one good deed for another, if thou wilt let me go. Thou dost not know how to escape from here; I will give thee four diamond horse-shoe nails. Do as I say; thou wilt profit by it.”
Mirko takes the nails and puts them away, but says to himself: “If I leave the old witch alive, she will put up her loom again, and the Hero of the Plain will never be able to free himself from his enemies.” Again he orders his sword to cut the old witch in pieces; he throws the pieces into the fire, where they are consumed, so that she can never rise again. He mounts his steed and searches the underground world, but nowhere does he find a living soul.
Then he puts spurs to his steed, springs up the circular stairs, and issues forth into the upper world. Straightway he comes down from the glass mountain, and passing over the silken meadow, returns to the Hero of the Plain, who thought Mirko had left him. But when he saw his friend returning, he went out to meet him with great joy, and took him into the tent, where they feasted together gloriously. And when the prince rose to go, he offered him his silken meadow and all the royal domains; but Mirko answered: “My dear elder brother, I have finished thy enemies; they will never attack thy kingdom again. I have this now to ask, that thou come with me to my father the king, who has long been waiting for thee.”
Thereupon they mounted their steeds, and set out for the realms of the old king. They went on easily till they reached the glass mountain, where the Hero of the Plain stopped, and said: “My dear younger brother, I cannot go on, for the diamond nails are long since worn from my horse’s shoes, and his feet have no grip.”
Mirko called to mind that the cursed old witch had given him the diamond nails, and said: “Grieve not, elder brother, I have nails; I’ll shoe thy horse this minute.”
So he took out the nails, and shod the Hero’s horse. Then they continued their journey over the glass mountain with ease and comfort, like two jolly comrades, and sped homeward as swiftly as thought.
At that time the old king was sitting at the window of his palace next the rising sun, and lo! he beholds two horsemen riding towards him. Straightway he takes his field-glass, and sees that it is his trusty old comrade, the Hero of the Plain, together with his son Mirko. He runs out, and from the tower commands that a twelve-year old ox be killed; and when Mirko and the Hero arrive, the great feast is ready. He receives them with joy, kisses and embraces them; this time both his eyes are laughing. Then they sat down to the feast, ate and drank with gladness. Meanwhile the Hero of the Plain spoke of Mirko’s doings, and among other things said to the old king: “Well, comrade, thy son Mirko will be a better hero than we were; he is already a gallant youth. Thou hast cause to rejoice in him.”
“Indeed, I begin to be satisfied with him,” said the king, “especially since he has brought thee. But I do not think he would venture yet to measure strength with Doghead.”
Mirko heard the conversation, but said nothing. After dinner, however, he spoke to the Hero of the Plain apart, and inquired who Doghead was, and in what direction he lived. The Hero of the Plain told him that Doghead lived in the north, and was such a hero that his like was not under the sun.
Mirko made preparations for his journey, took provisions, and next day set out for Doghead’s. According to his wont, he sat on his steed, held fast, and closed his eyes. The steed sped on, flying like the swift whirlwind. At length she stopped, struck the ground, and said to Mirko: “Open thy eyes! What dost thou see?”
“I see,” said the prince, “a seven-story diamond castle, so bright that I can look on the sun, but not on it.”
“Well, Doghead lives there; that is the royal castle.”
Mirko sprang towards it, stopped right under the window, and called out in a loud voice: “Art thou here, Doghead? I have an account to settle with thee.”
Doghead was not at home, but his daughter was, and such a beautiful princess that her like could not be found on the whole round of the earth. As she sat by the window embroidering, and heard the loud, piercing voice, she looked out so angrily with her wondrous black, beautiful eyes that Mirko and his horse were turned into stone in an instant from the flash. Then she thought: “Maybe this young man is a king’s son.” She went to look at him, was sorry she had turned him to stone so quickly, and approached, taking a golden rod, walked around the stone statue and struck it on all sides with the rod. The stone began to move, and in a moment Mirko and his horse stood alive before her. Then the maiden asked, “Who art thou, and on what journey?”
Mirko answered that he was a king’s son, and had come to see Doghead’s daughter.
The maiden was so displeased that she called out to her father very angrily; but presently she thought better of it, fell in love with Mirko, and led him up into the seven-story diamond palace, where she saw him with a good heart. During conversation at the table, Mirko confessed that he had come to try his strength with Doghead.
The maiden advised him not to do that, since there was no man on the round of the earth whom her father could not conquer. Seeing, however, that Mirko would not desist from his purpose, she took compassion on him, and told how her father might, perhaps, be overcome. “Go down,” said she “into the seventh cellar of the castle. There thou wilt find an unsealed cask, in which my father keeps his strength. Here is a silver flask; fill it from the cask. Do not stop the flask, but keep it always hanging from thy neck uncorked; and when thy strength begins to fail, dip thy little finger in. Every time thou shalt do so, thy strength will be increased with the strength of five thousand men. Drink of the wine, for every drop contains the strength of five thousand men.”
Mirko listened to her advice attentively, hung the flask upon his neck, went into the cellar, and found the wine. He took a good draught of it; then thinking that he had enough, and lest Doghead might make further use of the wine, he poured it all on the ground, to the last drop. There were six measures of wheat-flour in the cellar, which he sprinkled around to absorb the moisture. Having done this, he went up to Doghead’s daughter, and declared that he was ready, and thanking her for the counsel, vowed to take her as wife for her kindness, and swore eternal fidelity.
The beautiful princess consented, making one condition,—that if Mirko should overcome her father, he would spare his life.
Mirko asked the maiden when her father might be expected to return, and from what quarter.
She answered that he was then in the realms of the setting sun, that he took delight in those regions, but would soon be home, for it was the hour of his coming. But it was easy to know it beforehand, for when he was forty miles distant, he was in the habit of hurling home a forty-hundred-pound club before him; and wherever it fell a fountain gushed out of the earth.
Mirko and the princess went on the balcony to wait for Doghead; all at once (the Lord save us!) the sky grew dark, and a forty-hundred pound club fell in the court-yard. A stream rushed out of the earth as if from a force-pump.
Mirko ran down straightway to see how much his strength had increased. He picked up the club, whirled it around his head, and let it go so that it came down just in front of Doghead. Doghead’s horse stumbled over the club, whereupon his master flew into a rage, and cried out: “May the wolves and dogs devour thee! Seven hundred years have I ridden thee, and to this day thou hast never stumbled. Why begin now?”
“Oh, dear master,” answered the magic steed, “there is mighty trouble at home; for the club which thou hast sent ahead has been hurled back, and I stumbled over it.”
“Oh, that’s nothing!” said Doghead. “Seven hundred years ago I saw in a dream that I should have a struggle with Mirko, the king’s son, some day. He is now at the castle; but what is he to me? There is more strength in my little finger than in his whole body.” With that Doghead sped homeward and was soon there.
Mirko, the king’s son, was waiting in the court-yard, and when Doghead saw the prince he made straight towards him and said: “Mirko, I know that thou art waiting for me. Well, here I am; what dost thou wish, that we should fight with swords or wrestle?”
“I care not,” answered Mirko; “any way that may please thee.”
“Well, let us try it first with swords,” said Doghead.
He got off his horse; they stood face to face, and both commanded: “Sword out of the sheath.”
The swords sprang out in fighting, and so cut above the heads of the two that the whole place was rattling with their blows. Sparks flew so thickly from their fierce slashing that fire covered the ground, and it was impossible to stand long in one place.
Then Doghead said: “Let us not spoil our swords, but put them up and try wrestling.”
They laid aside the swords and began to wrestle. Doghead seized Mirko by the body, raised him up in the air, and so planted him on the ground that he sank in it up to the girdle. Mirko, frightened at this, thrust his little finger into the flask, and became so strong that he sprang out of the earth in a moment, rushed at Doghead, and so stretched him on the ground that he lay there like a flattened frog. Then, seizing him by the hair, he dragged him toward the castle, where a golden bridge was built across a bottomless lake. Having brought him to the middle of the bridge, he held his head above the water and commanded the sword to cut. The head fell into the bottomless lake, and Mirko threw the body after.
Doghead’s daughter saw all this, and was powerfully angry at Mirko, the king’s son. When he came before her she turned her face away and would not come to speech with him. But Mirko explained that he could not have done otherwise, for if he had spared Doghead’s life, he would have lost his own; but as he had pledged his faith to the princess, he held to his word, and would marry her. The princess approved this, and they agreed to make ready and set out for Mirko’s kingdom. The horses were brought,—Doghead’s magic steed for the princess. They mounted the horses, but when ready to start, Mirko became very sorrowful.
“Why art thou sad Mirko?” inquired the princess.
“Because,” said he, “I wish greatly to go home, but it is hard to leave this glorious, seven-story diamond castle here, which was thy father’s, for there is none like it in our kingdom.”
“Oh, my dear,” said the princess, “I will turn it at once into a golden apple. I will sit in the middle of the apple; thou mayst put it in thy pocket, and thus carry home the castle and me. There thou canst change it back again whenever the wish comes.”
The beautiful princess came down from her horse, gave the reins to Mirko, and taking out a diamond rod walked around the building and struck it on the sides with the rod. The castle began to shrink together, and became smaller and smaller until it was the size of a watchman’s booth. Then she jumped in and it became a golden apple, but the diamond rod remained on the ground outside. Mirko, the king’s son, picked up the golden apple and the diamond rod, put them in his pocket, sat on his steed, and leading Doghead’s horse by the bridle, travelled home comfortably.
When Mirko had come home and seen his horses in the stable he went to the palace, where he found the old king with the Hero of the Plain, satisfied and amused. He told them that he had conquered Doghead and put him to death; but the old king and the Hero of the Plain shook their heads.
Mirko, taking them both by the hands, said: “Come with me, and I will show you, so that ye may see with your own eyes that I have beaten Doghead; for not only have I brought his seven-story diamond castle with me, but his loveliest daughter with the castle, as proof of my work.”
The old king and the Hero of the Plain marvelled at Mirko’s speech, and were in doubt; but they went with him, and he led them to the flowery garden of the palace, in the middle of which Mirko took a beautiful spacious place for the diamond castle, where he put down the golden apple. He began to turn and strike it on the sides with the diamond rod. The apple swelled out and began to extend with four corners, and grew greater and greater, till it became a seven-story diamond castle as high as the trees.
Then taking them by the hands he led them up the diamond staircase and entered the halls of the castle, where the world-renowned beautiful princess met and received them with a good heart. Then she sent for the old king’s other sons and the chief men of his court. In the dining-hall was a great horse-shoe table. She commanded it; the table opened of itself, and every kind of precious meat and drink appeared upon it. Then the assembled guests feasted joyously. The old king was satisfied at last with his son. He gave Mirko his kingdom and all his possessions, but he withdrew himself to quiet private life, with the Hero of the Plain, and many a pleasant day the old comrades had together; and the old king’s two eyes were always laughing. The royal pair lived happily, and had beautiful children. They are still alive if they are not dead.
THE REED MAIDEN.
THERE was once a king, and he had two sons. The king sent his eldest son to marry. He went, and chose the elder sister of the Reed Maiden. When he brought home his wife the king was satisfied with the choice. After that the king sent his younger son to marry, and he answered that he would not take any poor skeleton of a thing, but that his wife must be the most beautiful flower on the whole round of the earth,—the most lovely, world-beautiful maiden.
Once the king’s two sons went to hunt; on the way home the younger said to the elder: “My dear elder brother, I would beg of thee a favor.”
“And what may it be, younger brother?”
“In truth, no other than this: When we come home, ask thy wife if there is any one more beautiful than she.”
“If that’s thy trouble, it is no great matter, for my wife is just coming to meet us.—Well, my heart’s gold-enclosed ruby, wilt thou answer one question? Thou art for me the most beautiful, but is there one still more beautiful in the world?”
Now the princess all at once acted like one hard of hearing; she answered nothing, but stopped them with a nod, and commanded with her eye, “Silence! not a word more.”
It stopped there. The younger brother, whatever he did not do, he stole into his brother’s bed-chamber quietly. In the evening, when the elder brother and his wife came in, the husband said: “Tell me, my heart’s heart, why didst thou not answer my question a little while ago?”
“I did not answer, dear husband, because thou didst ask me before thy brother. It would not have been well for him to know that I have a younger sister who is the most beautiful maiden on the whole round of the earth, but she is hidden in the middle one of three reeds; for this reason she is known as the world-beautiful Reed Maiden. The other two reeds are her waiting-maids.”
“But thou hast not told me, my dear, in what corner of the world she is hidden.”
“Oh, my dear husband, it is far from here,—as far as from here there and from there back; but as thou hast asked I will tell thee. Hast thou heard of the fame of the Black Sea?”
“I have not, indeed.”
“Well, if thou hast not, then hear now. In the seventy-seventh island of the Black Sea, right in the middle, are hidden three reeds, but no mortal could go to them unless by some magic power or infernal art; but if by a miracle he should get there, he would not be able to bring away anything.—First, because there is such darkness on the islands of the Black Sea that a spoon might stand up in it; second, because the world-beautiful Reed Maiden is guarded by a witch whose life will end when the reeds are cut down; therefore she guards them as the light of her two eyes, or still more carefully. But if any man could bring the maiden away, he would be the happiest person in the wide world; for the islands would be lighted up, and he would gain a wife whom the starry heavens would gaze upon with smiles.”
When the king’s younger son had heard all this from root to branch, he went out of the room by the same way he had entered. Then saddling his best and favorite steed, he put provisions in his bag and moved out into the wide world in search of the beautiful Reed Maiden. He journeyed and travelled over forty-nine kingdoms and beyond the Operentsia Sea till he came to a hut; in the hut an old woman was living: “God give thee good-day, dear old mother.”
“If thou hadst not called me old mother, I should have eaten thee on the spot. But whither art thou journeying in this strange land, where even a bird does not go?”
“I am looking for the world-beautiful Reed Maiden, who is blooming in the seventy-seventh island of the Black Sea. Hast thou not heard of her, dear old mother?”
“What’s the use in denying, my son? I have not heard. Why should I evade, since it can neither harm nor profit me? But here in the neighboring valley, over the mountain, straight ahead, near a round forest on the top of a hill, lives my elder sister; if she knows nothing about it, then no one in the world knows. Here, Mitsi, come out! Conduct the king’s son to my elder sister.”
The king’s son followed Mitsi, who was no other than a large-whiskered little mouse. When they came to a cross-road Mitsi squeaked once, showed the middle of the road, and ran home. The king’s son went along the right road, and arrived at the hut in which the second sister lived. She received him in like manner as the first, and sent her servant, Pitsi, to show him the road to her eldest sister. Pitsi was no other than a dove-white squirrel, with a long bushy tail. When the king’s son came to the third hut, where the eldest sister lived, he said: “God give thee a good-day, dear old mother.”
“If thou hadst not called me old mother, I should have eaten thee on the spot. Whither art thou wandering in this strange land, where even a bird does not go?”
“I am in search of the world-beautiful Reed Maiden, who is blooming in the seventy-seventh island of the Black Sea. Hast thou not heard of her, dear old mother?”
“Oh, king’s son, thou wouldst wear off thy horse’s legs to the knees, and wear out twelve pairs of iron boots on thy own feet, before thou couldst reach that place, for it is only possible to go there on a steed that has sucked dragon’s milk, eaten glowing coals, and drunk the fiery flame; but thou hast in thy head three golden hairs, grown from one root, of which thou hast known nothing to this moment. Come hither; let me cut them out.”
The king’s son bent down his head. The old woman cut out the three golden hairs. “See, my son, these three hairs have wondrous power. A fairy gave them to thy father, with whom, as he was a beautiful man, she fell in love, and thou hast inherited them. Here they are; I give them to thee with this latch-string. Go up on this terribly high mountain, which in front of my hut supports the heavens. When thou shalt come to the top, strike the three golden hairs with the latch-string three times; at once will stand before thee a magic steed that has grown up on the silken meadow, sucked dragon’s milk, eaten glowing coals, and drunk fiery flames.”
The king’s son gave heartfelt thanks for the kindness shown him, then went up on the great unclimbable mountain that supported the heavens. When he had reached the top he took out the three golden hairs and struck them three times with the old latch-string. Behold, a fiery cloud rushed towards him like a shot arrow, with a fearful rumbling and cracking, as if a whole stud of horses were before it, and then stood still above his head. All at once he heard from the fiery cloud a triple neighing, at the sound of which, as of a bell, the earth trembled three times. The magic steed rushed out, and like a flood, like a cloud-burst, plunged down by his side, blowing from its nostrils varied flames,—red, blue, and green. The latch-string became such a saddle that for the fur and diamond buttons, and silver and gold embroidery, the earth could not be seen.
“Hip, hop! here am I, dear master! That there be no delay in thy affair, wilt thou not sit on my back that I may be off with thee? Shall I go like the swiftest whirlwind, or like thought, or as a bird can fly?”
“Go, my dear steed, in such fashion that there may be no fault in thee or me.”
“But before we set out on the long road,” said the magic steed, “I wish to say this: Since such dense darkness reigns in the islands that a spoon might stand straight in it, we must first go to the bright antechamber of the Sun, and take thence one burning ray.”
When the steed had thus ended the speech, he rose in the airy heavens. They journeyed and travelled across forty-nine kingdoms till they came to the portals of the earth, where two bearded wolves stood on guard. These wolves stood on the road and demanded toll. The toll was no other than two pounds of flesh from the good steed. Now, if two pounds of flesh were taken from the steed, it would be but half magic, and so would never reach the end of the road. Whatever the king’s son did not do, he took his gleaming clasp-knife and cut out two pounds of his own flesh; then he threw it to the bearded wolves, and only on this condition did they let him pass.
The king’s son pursued his way till he came to the Sun’s bright antechamber, where he tied his steed to a diamond pillar; then he bathed in the fire-bath, and rubbed with fire-towels; looking at himself from head to foot in the shining wall of the antechamber as in a mirror, he combed his hair with a golden comb. Here, ’pon my soul, what came of the affair, or what did not, a subject-spirit in the service of the Sun became enraged in good earnest (for his eyebrows struggled with each other),—no doubt it was at the king’s son,—and with a single breath, which the son of the hurricane could not withstand, blew straight ahead, so that the king’s son did not feel the ground under his feet for seventy-seven miles. Then he fell into a terribly dark opening, and groped along in this cavern, feeling his way like a blind man. If he made a step, he trod on a serpent; if he felt with his hand, he grasped a warty toad; if he looked around, he saw only red-eyed worms,—creeping, crawling things. He went on and on till he heard the plash of seething water. The beating of iron hammers struck his ear-drum, and so struck as almost to break it. This is the place where thunderbolts are made. He went on till he came to a great iron gate, standing open just then; but a tremendous, cursed, hundred-headed dragon, who let no one pass, kept guard there. What could the king’s son take hold of? What could he do with his life? Here, upon my soul! what he did, or what he did not do, he took out a sweet-speaking, magic flute, and blew on it so sadly that his tears rolled down. Such touching notes did he draw from the flute that the great powerful beast—the hundred-headed dragon—became as a lamb, lowered his bloody crest; his bristling scales dropped smoothly, one on the other; he stretched on the ground, and cowered, whining like a dog when he beholds his master after an absence. Seeing this, the king’s son grew bold, and going straight to the dragon, stepped upon him, walked on his back, and the terrible wild beast did not mind it; he only licked his foot, wagged his tail, and let the king’s son pass over.
After he had gone through the gate the darkness began to part; and no wonder, for a charm-given, lovely maiden, in a purple velvet robe, stepped before him. She was no other than Dawn, the dearest and best-beloved daughter of the Sun. Now, the splendid young prince pleased this flower of the skies. She placed him by her side on her winged steed, and flew across the vault of heaven, and they swept on till they reached the razor bridge. When they touched the bridge, their horse became as if he were not; and they crossed so that the horse’s feet were not injured, and the razor’s edge was not dented. Having passed the razor bridge they came to the copper forest, where were working at that moment the woodcutters of the Sun, who on iron wagons were taking wood to the kitchen, with a terrible rattling and pounding. Thence they rode to the silver forest, where silver-white birds cheered every wanderer. Two of the birds came and sang the sweetest notes. The silver-trees inclined thrice to the daughter of the Sun. Next they reached the golden forest, where sweet-voiced, golden-yellow birds enlivened the visitors, and threw down golden nuts here and there from the trees. The golden forest bent thrice to the daughter of the Sun.
In the middle of the golden forest was Dawn’s garden; in the garden her copper-roofed mansion. When the Beauty of the Skies came home the pearly flowers shook their bells, and began to sound. On hearing this, the stars swept forth like a swarm, and glittered round about. The maiden nodded but once, and behold! purple clouds swam before her like so many sky-sacks, which serve on the extended firmament as boats. Dawn took her seat, but first she spread her mantle and seated the king’s son at her side. Lest his part of the boat might be heavier, she drew him nearer to her with an embrace; but he dared not embrace in return.
They sailed and sailed through the airy heavens till they were weary; then they tied their boat to the tree with diamond blossoms, silver leaves, and golden apples. They sat on a golden bench under the tree, and were there but a moment, when at a nod from the Sun’s daughter a golden butterfly appeared more quickly than a spoken word, and brought fresh-gathered honey of the skies on a rose-leaf. When they had eaten, thirst seized the king’s son; then a modest star came bringing a goblet on a silver tray, in the goblet a charm-drink, and when the king’s son had drunk from the golden goblet his thirst fell away as if it had been cut in two.
When their hunger and thirst were gone, at the Sun’s daughter’s nod the modest stars brought a cithara. Dawn then played on its golden chords with silver feathers, and sounded such notes that a man hearing them would spring up and whirl in the dance, even if his own father were lying dead on the table. After that came the hour of rest; the king’s son was led across seventy-seven chambers to the bath-room. In the middle of the room stood a great golden cask filled with dew, and on a boxwood table lay lathery soap. The king’s son bathed in the dew-water, washed himself with the lathery soap, and wiped with a towel of gold.
When he rose next morning, Dawn gave him a burning ray which she wound up like a ribbon, put in a box, and hung with a golden hair on the neck of the king’s son. After that they parted amidst tear-shedding. The Sun’s daughter sped across the vault of heaven on her winged steed, and the king’s son continued his journey.
As I say, he had a ray to light up the island. The king’s son journeyed and travelled till the steed spoke, saying: “Listen, dear master.”
“What is thy command, dear horse?”
“Gird thyself well, for thou must cut the three reeds at a blow; a second blow would lose thee thy head. If at one blow thou succeed, the island will be lighted up. The world-beautiful maiden and her two attendants will be thine, but only on condition that thou cut not open the reeds before coming to water; for if thou dost, they will die a fearful death in a moment.”
The king’s son promised by heaven and earth that he would act as told. On the seventh day they came to the island of the Black Sea, where there was such darkness that a spoon would have stood up in it; but the king’s son drew out the box hanging by the golden hair and removed the cover. All at once the way was lighted, but so strangely that it gave light only to him; he could see everything, but not a created soul could see him. When he came to where the three reeds were growing, they bent before him and bowed to the earth. They continued to bow; at the best moment the king’s son drew his sword and with a blow all three reeds fell upon his breast. But from the three reed-stumps black blood sprang forth, and a bitter wail was heard as if a naked sword had been thrust into some one’s heart. It had been thrust into the heart of the witch; for the black blood was hers, and the bitter wail was her death-sigh. She could only live while the three reeds stood. As soon as the old witch had breathed out her soul, the burning ray flew out of the silver box as if it had been shot from a gun, and the whole island was in light.
Then the king’s son sat on his good steed and journeyed over forty-nine kingdoms as swiftly as the most fleet-winged bird could go. Once curiosity rose in him to know if there was indeed something in the reeds, and what it could be like. I say, curiosity rose up in him, and bored his side as if with an iron auger, so that what he did or did not do, he took out his gleaming knife and split the smallest reed, in which was the youngest attendant of the world-beautiful Reed Maiden. No sooner had he split the reed than a beauteous, pearl-given, lovely girl fell upon his breast; and her first word was: “Water! Only as much water as a little swallow takes in her beak when she gives drink to her young, or I die!”
But the king’s son had it not. One drop of water is not much, but he could not give that much. The beautiful maiden, like a broken flower, began to wither, grew paler and paler, till at last the pallor of death seized her head, and bending to the breast of the king’s son, she died.
The king’s son was so sorry for his fault that if it had been possible, he would have atoned for it with his blood; but that was not possible. Therefore he came down from his good steed, dug a grave with his sword, and buried the maiden; as a grave-mark he planted the split reed, and from it a black rose sprang, which as mourning, bloomed in black.
A bitter weeping wail, a bitter woe-cry was heard from the two reeds that were not split yet, as if some one were bewailing a brother. Great sadness seized the king’s son too, who thought, “I caused the death of this maiden. I broke this flower and planted it in the bosom of death.” But if he had wept out his soul, it would have been useless; therefore he mounted his steed and rode farther. He travelled and journeyed till curiosity rose in his breast, and bored his side as with an iron auger. “Is there in the second reed another such maiden; and will she go like the first?”
At last he could resist the devil’s boring no longer; so he took his gleaming clasp-knife, and split the second reed also. Behold, the elder attendant of the Reed Maiden, came out, saying: “Water, water, or I shall die a fearful death!” But the king’s son had not one drop of water; the maiden grew paler and paler, till she dropped her head on the breast of the king’s son, and died. The king’s son came to the earth, dug a grave with his sword, and buried the maiden. At the head of the grave he placed the split reed; from it a beautiful rose-bush sprang up, which bloomed in black, as mourning.
A bitter weeping wail, a bitter woe-cry of pain was heard from the unsplit reed, in which the world-beautiful maiden herself was hidden; and no less grief seized the king’s son. He had killed two; with his own strength he had broken two beautiful flowers, and put them in the bosom of death. Grief covered him with black wing. His good steed went as a bird of swiftest flight till curiosity rose up in the breast of the king’s son, bored his side as with an iron auger. “What sort of person is his future bride? who is the world-beautiful Reed Maiden?”
Since he could not resist this devil’s boring, this mighty curiosity, he took out the third and last reed to split it; but the magic steed reached back, and taking the reed from the king’s son, did not return it till they came to the shore of a lake.
At the water the king’s son split the last reed, and there came forth such a maiden that her like was not born since the world began, nor before, nor after. Her first word was: “Water! Only as much water as a little swallow takes in her beak when she gives drink to her young, or I shall die in a moment!”
The king’s son gave her to drink; she felt better. Then they embraced, and kissed, saying, “I am thine, thou art mine.”
“Listen, my beautiful love,” said the king’s son, “while I ride home for a carriage of glass and gold do thou hide in this willow; but till I see thee, though one word is not much, speak not that much to any one.”
The king’s son rode for the glass and golden carriage; the maiden climbed the willow where she hid. Now, what came of the affair, and what did not, while the king’s son was gone a crawfish-gathering gypsy girl happened under the willow-tree, and looking in the water she saw the quivering image of the charming maiden. Putting her hand on her hip she said: “What a beautiful shadow I have, quite worthy of a princess.”
“It’s thine of course! I’ll tell whose it is,” said a golden bird from the tree, in a golden voice.
The gypsy looked into the tree, where she saw the world-beautiful princess, for the sight of whom the sun would have stood still in heaven. The girl said nothing, but in a twinkle she dragged the maiden from the tree by her white foot, pulled off her purple velvet robe, and threw her into the water. The maiden did not sink, but shaking herself, turned into a golden-feathered duck and swam on the lake. The gypsy then, ill or well, put on the purple velvet robe, which sat on her as if it had been put on with a fork and rake; then she sat with great importance on the tree. But she did not sit long; for seeing the golden duck, she jumped down and began to throw stones at her. She threw and threw so many that her arm grew tired, but she could not hit, for the golden duck dived into the water the moment a stone flew over her. At last the gypsy was tired, climbed into the willow-tree and waited for fortune.
She had not long to wait, for soon the king’s son came with a gold and glass carriage to take home the golden bird; but the gypsy had her mind, for she would not come down from the tree—at least she said so—till he should shoot the golden duck on the lake, so she might drink its red blood, and eat its tender flesh.
The king’s son took his arrow, aimed to kill the golden duck; but the gypsy will not drink its red blood, will not eat its tender flesh, for the arrow never went with its point to the duck, but always turned towards her the feathered end. If it had found her, it would not have been her death. The king’s son had shot away all his arrows, and besides it was evening; he had to leave the amusement and turn his wagon-tongue homeward.
At home he had told how beautiful a wife he was bringing; all the greater was the surprise when he led in the bride with raised veil. The king’s son had praised the world-beautiful Reed Maiden, and now before the wedding assembly stands a leather-cheeked gypsy girl. The guests know not whether to laugh or to be angry.
Now, the queen—the former gypsy—thought that it could not remain thus, without the world-beautiful Reed Maiden visiting her husband in the night; therefore she put a sleeping-powder into his drink every God-given evening, from which the king’s son slept like a shepherd’s coat.
The world-beautiful Reed Maiden shook herself, turned into a little bird, and at midnight she came to the king’s son’s window. She knocked with her little beak, the window opened of itself, and she flew in; then the little bird shook herself, turned into a princess such as had not been born before, nor since, nor after that. She went to the king’s son, spoke to him fondling words, but he did not hear; roused him, but he did not wake; bent over him, and at last cried long, but he did not feel the hot tears which burned his cheek,—he lay there motionless as a block.
Then she said: “Oh, king’s son, youth of my soul, thy dear lips are dumb; open them for one, two words, to cheer thy beautiful love, thy tender violet. I will come yet twice, then never again.”
But the king’s son did not wake. When the clock struck one after midnight the maiden shook herself, turned into a bird, and flew out through the window; the window closed after her of itself.
The servant of the king’s son heard all these words clearly, for he was awake; but in the morning when he woke he thought it was all a dream, therefore he did not tell the king’s son what he had seen, but resolved that he would wait for the coming night, and if the maiden would appear again in the form of a bird, then surely it was not a dream, and he would tell the king’s son.
The next evening also his wife gave the king’s son a sleeping-powder, and he slept like a shepherd’s coat. When the clock struck twelve the little bird rapped with her beak, the window opened before her, and closed behind.
The little bird shook herself and became the beautiful Reed Maiden. She went to the bed of the sleeping king’s son, spoke to him, strove to rouse him, and cried as the evening before; but he was motionless as a block. When the clock struck one the maiden shook herself, was a bird, and flew out through the window, which closed behind her. The servant of the king’s son heard all this clearly, for he had not slept, and was now sure that it was no dream. He said to his master next morning: “I would say something to thy Highness if I were not afraid.”
“Oh, good Yanchi, thou wilt have no trouble, only speak.”
“Well, the night before last, at midnight, a little bird flew to the window, struck and beat it with her beak; the window opened before her. She flew in, shook herself, and became such a beautiful maiden that I looked on her as an altar image; and I was afraid that she would bewitch me. The beautiful maiden then bent over thy Highness, spoke to thee, but thou didst not wake; she cried a long time, but thou didst not feel her hot tears. At last she said, with a bird’s tongue: ‘Oh, king’s son, youth of my soul, thy dear lips are dumb; open them for one, two words, to cheer thy beautiful love, thy tender violet I will come yet twice, then never again.’ This was repeated last night, but thy Highness spoke not a word, and lay there like a block. And thy Highness may believe that she was so beautiful that if I had been lying dead on the table, I should have risen.”
“Is that true, Yanchi?”
“As true as that the bright sun is shining in the sky.”
“Well, Yanchi, couldst thou take a slap on the cheek for a hundred florins?”
“Not for the money, but gladly for thy Highness,—even a hundred of them.”
“If thou wilt, then take it when my wife gives me the sleeping-powder again; for her dog soul gives it so that I should not wake. Knock down the light as though from awkwardness, then I will pour the sleeping-draught quietly into the bath; the woman will think that I have drunk it.”
When bath-time came Yanchi took the candle as if he wished to snuff it, and put it out. The king’s son, meanwhile, poured the sleeping-powder and wine into the bath quietly. The gypsy queen thought that he had drunk it, but she gave such a cuff to poor Yanchi that his eyes saw stars; but Yanchi, for the sake of his master, took the cuff as if a pretty girl had kissed him.
As the clock struck twelve, the king’s son feigned sleep; but he was just as much awake as good myself. I say, the clock struck twelve. The little bird came to the window, knocked with her beak, the window opened before and closed behind her; she shook herself and became such a maiden as neither before that, nor since, was born, so that the starry heavens would have looked at her with smiles. She bent over the king’s son; when at last she cried, the king’s son put his arm around her and drew her to him, that she might not become a little bird again; that she might not fly away any more.
He assembled, next day, all the dukes and counts in the kingdom, and all the doers of good, and taking before them the hand of the world-beautiful Reed Maiden, he asked,—
“What does that person deserve who tries to separate from each other a couple?”
Because the gypsy thought that the question was in favor of her own leathery face, she called out in an instant: “That person, my royal husband, deserves to be put in a cask, with spikes driven inward from the outside all through it, and rolled from the highest mountain in the kingdom.”
“Oh, dog-given wretch, thou hast pronounced thy own sentence!”
And they took by the neck the queen, once a gypsy, and put her in a cask like that, with spikes driven in, and let the cask roll from the highest mountain in the kingdom.
KISS MIKLOS, AND THE GREEN DAUGHTER OF THE GREEN KING.
THERE was once a poor man, and he had three sons. When the poor man was on his death-bed, he called his three sons, and this was his word and speech to them: “My dear sons, if I do not tell, still mayhap ye know why our kingdom is in mourning, in unbroken darkness, such that a spoon might stand up in it; but if ye know not, then I will tell. My sons, this unbroken darkness is here because they have stolen the sun and the moon from our bright heavens. But I will tell one thing, and two will come of it; a wizard foretold that among my three sons was one (which one I with firm trust cannot say) who would bring back the sun and the moon. Therefore, my sons, I leave you this: that after my death ye will go out to seek the sun and the moon, and not come home till ye bring back the sources of light.”
With that the poor man turned to the wall, wandered forth from this world of shadows, and was buried with honor.
But here, my lord’s son, what comes of the affair or what does not, I saw it as I see now; I was in the place where they were talking. The report ran through the whole kingdom of what the poor man had left in his will to his three sons, so that even the king heard it, and he summoned straightway to his presence the three brothers. And when the three brothers appeared before the king, he said: “My dear young men, I hear that your father—may God give him rest—on his death-bed left this to you: that after his death ye would go out into the wide, great world to look for the sun and the moon. Therefore, my sons, this is my word and speech to you: that whoso brings back the sun and the moon will be king after my death, and whoso will assist him in everything, this one I will make viceroy. Now go to my stable and to my armory and choose for yourselves horses and swords; I will give in a sealed letter to you the order that wherever ye go men shall give you in all places, hay, oats, food, and drink free of cost.”
Here the three young men entered the king’s stable, and the two elder chose the most beautiful golden-haired steeds; but the youngest, somewhere off by the wall in a hidden corner, among cobwebs and dirt, picked out for himself a wretched, shaggy haired, plucked colt. The two elder brothers laughed at the youngest because he intended to go on that ragged, nasty colt that was hardly able to stand on its feet; but the youngest brother thought nothing of this, and did not give ear to the talk of his brothers.
Now they went to the king’s armory, where the elder brothers chose for themselves two beautiful gold-mounted swords; but the youngest brother, who had more wit, picked out a rusty steel sword. This rusty sword now jumped out of the sheath, now sprang in again,—played unceasingly. The two elder brothers laughed at the youngest again, but he put this as well as their former ridicule quietly in his pocket, thinking to himself that he laughs truly who laughs last; for the nasty colt, as surely as I live and as ye live—I was present where they were talking, I saw as I do now, and I was looking as I am now—was a magic six-legged steed, conceived of the Wind, and eating live coals; and the rusty sword had this kind of virtue that a man had only to say, “Cut, my dear sword,” and it cut down whatever he wished. But the two elder brothers knew nothing of all this, for they did not understand wood-work.
Now the three brothers moved on their way through the kingdom, to look for the sun and the moon. They travelled and journeyed over forty-nine kingdoms, beyond the Operentsia Sea, beyond the glass mountains, and beyond that, to where the little short-tailed pig roots, and farther than that, and still farther, till they came to the silver bridge. When they came to the silver bridge the youngest brother, speaking a word, said to his two brothers: “My dear brothers, let us go under the bridge, for soon the steed of the moon will be here, and the twelve-headed dragon, from whose saddle-bow the bright moon is dangling.”
Now, the two brothers had barely hidden when the steed of the moon was on the bridge, and on the steed the twelve-headed dragon, from whose saddle-bow the bright moon was dangling. The milk-white steed of the moon stumbled on the bridge. Then the twelve-headed dragon was enraged, and said this to the steed of the moon,—
“Ah, may the crow eat thy eye, may the dog eat thy flesh, may the earth drink thy blood! From forest to forest I have ridden thee, from mountain to mountain I have sprung with thee, and thou hast never stumbled, but now on the even road thou hast stumbled. Well, in my world-beautiful life I have always heard the fame of Kiss Miklos; if he were here now, I would like to have a struggle with him.”
At this word our Kiss Miklos—for let it be said, meanwhile, this was the name of the youngest brother—sprang out from beneath to the silver bridge on his golden-haired magic steed, and closed with the twelve-headed dragon. Long did they struggle, the one with the other, but Kiss Miklos said to the rusty sword: “Cut, my dear sword!” and with that it cut three heads off the dragon, and in the same order till all the twelve heads were hewn off, so that the twelve-headed dragon drew his shortest breath. Then Kiss Miklos took by the halter the milk-white haired, black-maned steed of the moon, on whose saddle-bow was dangling the bright moon, and gave him to the care of his second brother. Then they passed over the silver bridge, which sounded like most beautiful music from the golden shoes of the magic steed.
They travelled and journeyed then through forty-nine kingdoms, beyond the Operentsia Sea and the glass mountains, beyond that, where the little short-tailed pig roots, beyond that, and farther, till they came to the golden bridge.
Then Kiss Miklos spoke, and said this to his two brothers, speaking speech: “My dear brothers, let us hide under the bridge, for soon will the steed of the sun be here, and on him the twenty-four-headed dragon, from whose saddle-bow the shining sun is dangling. He will call me out at once to the keen sword, and I will measure with him strength with strength. He will not be able to conquer me, nor I him; then he and I will turn into flames. He will be a red and I a blue flame, but even then we shall not be able to conquer one the other, for we shall be of equal strength. But here is a sulphur stone; when the red flame springs highest toward the sky to press down the blue flame, that is me, strike the sulphur stone on the red flame.”
Our Kiss Miklos had barely finished his speech when the steed of the sun was on the bridge, bearing the twenty-four-headed dragon and the shining sun. The steed of the sun stumbled on the golden bridge. The twenty-four-headed dragon was enraged at him, and said,—
“Ah, may the crow eat thy eye, may the dog eat thy flesh, may the earth drink thy blood! I have ridden from forest to forest on thee, I have leaped thee from mountain to mountain, and never hast thou stumbled; but now on the even road thou hast stumbled. In my world-beautiful life I have heard always the fame of Kiss Miklos—may the dog devour him!—and if he were here now I would like to have a struggle with him.”
At this word our Kiss Miklos sprang out on to the golden bridge, and closed with the twenty-four-headed dragon. But Kiss Miklos commanded, saying: “Cut, my dear sword!” and that instant it cut the twenty-four heads off the dragon; but, wonder of the world! when all the twenty-four heads were off, in the twinkle of an eye new ones grew out which the leaping sword could not cut. In vain Kiss Miklos said: “Cut, my dear sword!” for it could not cut these heads. Well, Kiss Miklos took the sword in his hand and whirled it like lightning; but he did nothing with it, for the dragon had power of the same kind as he.
When the dragon saw that he could not succeed against Kiss Miklos, he spoke in this way: “Listen to me, Kiss Miklos! I wish thou hadst perished with thy mother, for I see that I can do nothing with thee, nor thou with me. Let us make one trial. Turn thou into a blue flame, and I will turn into a red one, and whichever can put the other out, his will be the steed of the sun and the shining sun upon him.”
That is what was done. Kiss Miklos turned to a blue flame, and the twenty-four-headed dragon to a red one. The two flames fought the one with the other, but neither was able to put out the other. Happily the two brothers threw the sulphur stone on the red flame, and then the blue flame put out the red one; and when it was quenched altogether, the twenty-four-headed dragon ceased to live.
Kiss Miklos gave the steed of the sun to his elder brother, and told his two brothers to go home quietly, for he had work of his own; and with that he took farewell of them. Miklos then shook himself, turned into a little gray cat, ran along the highroad, and all at once sprang into a cabin. In the cabin was the mother of the dragons and their two wives.
The younger dragon’s wife saw the little gray cat; she took it on her lap, stroked it, and found this to say to the mother of the dragons: “Well, if I knew that that cursed Kiss Miklos had killed my lord, I would turn into such a spring of water that if he and his two brothers were to drink not more than one drop of it, they would die a fearful death on the spot.”
With this the little gray cat sprang from the lap of the younger dragon’s wife, and rubbed up to the skirt of the wife of the elder dragon, who took it on to her lap, stroked it, and found this to say: “Ah! if I knew that that cursed Kiss Miklos had killed my lord, I would change into such a pear-tree that if he and his two brothers were to eat no more than one morsel of a pear of mine, they would die a fearful death.”
With this the little gray cat sprang from the lap of the elder dragon’s wife, and rubbed on the skirt of the old woman, who took it on her lap, fondled it, and found this to say to her two daughters-in-law: “My dear girls, just prop up my two eyes with that iron bar, which weighs twelve hundred pounds, so that I may look around.”
Her two daughters-in-law then took the twelve-hundred-pound iron bar and opened the old woman’s eyes; then she spoke thuswise: “If that cursed Kiss Miklos has killed my two sons, I will turn into a mouth, one jaw of which will be on the earth and the other I will throw to the sky, so as to catch that cursed villain and his two brothers, and grind them as mill-stones grind wheat.”
When the little gray cat had heard all this exactly, it shot away in a flash out of the cabin, sprang along, and never stopped till it came to the good magic steed. The old woman threw the twelve-hundred-pound bar after the cat, but she failed in her cast, for that moment her eyelids fell; she was not able to keep them open unless they were propped, for she was old. So Kiss Miklos escaped the twelve-hundred-pound bar,—certain death. I say that he escaped, for he came to his good magic steed, shook himself, and from a little gray cat became a young man as before. Then he sat on the good steed, which sprang once, jumped twice, and straightway Miklos was with his two brothers; then they fared homeward in quiet comfort.
The second brother grew thirsty, and found this to say: “Oh, but I am dry! My throat is burning!”
“If that is thy only trouble,” said Miklos, “I will soon bring thee water. Out there a spring is bubbling up.”
With that Kiss Miklos put spurs to his good magic steed, which sprang once, jumped twice, and was at the spring; but here, instead of filling the gourd that hung at his side, he drew his sharp sword, and thrust it three times into the bubbling water. In a moment from the spring blood gushed forth, and a word of bitter pain was heard. That was the blood of the younger dragon’s wife, and the word of pain was her death-groan. The blood made all the water red, and when the two brothers came up they had no wish to drink a drop from the spring.
Well, they travelled and journeyed till the elder brother said: “Oh, but I am hungry!”
“If that is thy trouble,” said Kiss Miklos, “we can easily cure it, for there near the dam is a pear-tree, and on it so much ripe fruit that the limbs are breaking. Wait, I will bring thee a pear directly; but lead thou the steed of the sun there.”
Here Kiss Miklos put spurs to his steed, which sprang once, jumped twice, and stood before the pear-tree. Miklos drew his sharp sword and stabbed the pear-tree in the trunk three times; from the trunk blood gushed forth, and a bitter word of pain was heard. The red blood was the blood of the elder dragon’s wife, and the bitter word of pain was her death-groan. With that the pears fell, so that when the two elder brothers reached the tree, not only would they not eat the pears, but the desire of eating had gone from them.
Now they journeyed and travelled through forty-nine kingdoms, till at last Miklos saw from a distance that an unmercifully great mouth, one jaw of which was on earth and the other thrown up to the heavens, was nearing them like the swiftest storm, so that they had barely time left to run into the door of the Lead Friend’s house. And a thousand-fold was their luck that they got in; for the unmercifully great mouth stood before the threshold of the Lead Friend, so that whoever should go out would fall into it, and be swallowed that minute.
“Hei! good Lead-Melting Friend,” said Miklos, “hast thou much molten lead? I will pay thee for it in honest coin.”
“Haho! my friend Kiss Miklos, I know thee; in my world-beautiful life I have ever heard thy fame. Long have I been waiting for thee. It is well that thou art here,—that thou hast entered my door,—for thou wilt never go a step farther from me.”
“Oh! for God’s sake,” said Kiss Miklos, “do not pass thy own threshold, for straightway the mother of the dragons will swallow thee with her great mouth.”
The Lead-Melting Friend went out of his chamber, saw the great mouth of the mother of the dragons, and went back in terror to his chamber, where he said this to Kiss Miklos: “Oh, my good friend Kiss Miklos, give counsel. What are we to do?”
“Hast thou much molten lead?”
“Not much, only eighteen tons; it is out there in the caldron boiling.”
“Knowest thou what? I will say one thing and two will come of it. Let us take the handles of that great caldron and pour its contents into the great mouth of the mother of the dragons.”
Here, ’pon my soul! the Lead-Melting Friend put one handle on his shoulder, Kiss Miklos the other on his, brought the unmercifully great caldron to the threshold, and poured the eighteen tons of boiling lead into the old witch’s mouth. The boiling lead burned up the stomach of the mother of the dragons, and straightway she breathed out her cursed soul.
So Kiss Miklos was freed from the mother of the dragons; but, poor fellow, he was like one that goes from the pail into the barrel, for the Lead-Melting Friend caught his Grace by the neck and took him, as he would a straw, to the chamber, where he found this to say,—
“Look here, my good friend Kiss Miklos, in my world-beautiful life I have ever heard thy fame; therefore let us struggle now and see who is stronger, thou or I.” With that the Lead Friend put only his little finger on Kiss Miklos; from that he began to sink, and went down through the lead floor of the chamber the distance of an ell.
“Kiss Miklos, my friend, dost thou wish to fight with me?” asked the Lead Friend. “Thou sayest nothing, so I see that thou dost not; therefore this is my word and speech: I will keep thee in endless slavery unless thou bring me the Green Daughter of the Green King. But ye,” and he turned to the two brothers, “ye may go home in gentle quietness, and take with you the steeds of the moon and the sun, on which are the bright moon and the shining sun, for of them I have no need.”
Here our Miklos, in the midst of bitter tear-shedding, took farewell of his dear brothers. They held on their way homeward, and arrived there in health. Great was the rejoicing in the kingdom that the poor man’s sons, as their father had bequeathed them on his death-bed, brought home the bright moon and the shining sun. Therefore the king assembled all that were in his dominions of dukes, counts, barons, lords, lord’s sons, chosen gypsies, and broad-brimmed, country-dressed Slovaks; of these he sought council and asked, “What do brothers deserve who have brought home the bright moon and the shining sun?”
To this question then they answered, “Our high lord, the one who has brought back the steed of the sun, and on it the bright shining sun, deserves to be king of the country, and he who has brought home the steed of the bright moon, and on it the fair moon, to be viceroy; and each one of them should receive as wife a daughter of thy Highness.”
So it was done. The poor man’s eldest son became king, and the second son viceroy; and each one of them got a maiden princess as wife. Then they let out the steed of the bright moon and the steed of the shining sun on the highway of the heavens, but both the moon and the sun shone sadly. For this reason they shone sadly: that he was without merited reward who had really freed them from the dragons, for Kiss Miklos was now in never-ending slavery to the Lead Friend.
Once the Lead Friend called Miklos and found this to tell him: “Well, Miklos, if thou wilt bring me the Green Daughter of the Green King, I will let thee go free, and I will strike from thee the three-hundred-pound ring and the twelve-hundred-pound chain. Therefore, good friend Miklos, I advise thee to start in the morning with the bright shining sun, and bring to me my heart’s desire.”
Now our Miklos moved on the road again, and a long one too; whether there will be an end to it, only the good God knows. And as he travelled and journeyed across forty-nine kingdoms, and beyond that, and still farther, at the foot of a great mountain was a little hill, and as a shot arrow, as the swiftest whirlwind, ran towards him a man who was always crying, “Out of my way! out of my way!” This was Swift Runner, who stood still in a moment, like a pillar, before Miklos, and asked, “Whither, whither, Kiss Miklos? for in my world-beautiful life I have ever heard thy fame.”
“Haho! Swift Runner, better thou hadst not asked. I am going for the Green Daughter of the Green King. Hast thou ever heard of her?”
“I have not heard. I speak not of that, but of this: take me with thee, for thou wilt get good of me somewhere.”
“Well, come on thy own legs, if it please thee.”
They travelled and journeyed after that, two of them, till they came to the sea-shore, and saw a man who was drinking the sea to the last drop, just as I would drink a cup of water; and then he cried out unceasingly: “Oh, I’m thirsty! Oh, I’m thirsty!” This was Great Drinker who, when he saw Miklos, went to him and said: “God’s good-day, famous Kiss Miklos; for in my world-beautiful life I have ever heard thy fame.”
“God keep thee, Great Drinker!”
“On what journey art thou, renowned Kiss Miklos?”
“On what journey? Haho! better thou hadst not asked. I am going for the Green Daughter of the Green King. Hast thou heard of her?”
“I have not, in truth,” answered Great Drinker; “I speak not of that, but of this: take me with thee, for mayhap thou’lt get good of me.”
“Well, come on thy own legs, if it please thee.”
So there were three of them, and they travelled and journeyed after that till they saw a man running on the plain towards cattle, and he thrust the beautiful bullocks one by one into his mouth as I would a piece of bread, and swallowed them, hide and horns, one after the other; and even when he had swallowed all the standing herd of three hundred and sixty-six bullocks, he called out unceasingly: “Oh, I am hungry! Oh, I am hungry!” This was Great Eater who, when he saw Miklos, went to him and said: “God give thee a good-day, renowned Kiss Miklos; for in my world-beautiful life I have ever heard thy fame.”
“God keep thee, Great Eater!”
“What journey art thou on, renowned Kiss Miklos?”
“Better thou hadst not asked. I am going for the Green Daughter of the Green King. Hast thou heard of her?”
“I have not heard, in truth,” answered Great Eater; “but take me with thee, mayhap thou’lt get good of me.”
“Well, come on thy own legs, if it please thee.”
Now there were four of them, and they travelled and journeyed till one day they struck upon a man whose bolster was the glowing coals, whose pillow was the burning fire, and whose blanket was the flaming blaze; he had nine pairs of boots on his feet, nine pairs of drawers and nine shirts on his body, nine neckcloths on his neck, nine sheepskin caps on his head, nine pairs of trousers, nine vests on his body, and nine sheepskin overcoats hung from his shoulders, but even then he did nothing but cry out unceasingly: “Oh, I’m freezing! Oh, I’m freezing!” When he saw Kiss Miklos, he stood before him and said: “God give thee a good-day, renowned Kiss Miklos; for in my world-beautiful life I have ever heard thy fame.”
“God guard thee, Great Freezer!”
“What journey art thou on, renowned Kiss Miklos?”
“Ah, comrade, thou shouldst not have asked. Hast thou heard of the fame of the Green Daughter of the Green King?”
“I have not heard of it.”
“Well, if thou hast not, hear now; for I am going to her as a wooer.”
“Take me with thee, mayhap thou wilt get good of me.”
“Well, come on thy own legs, if it please thee.”
There were five of them now. They journeyed and travelled after that till they came upon a man who was looking around unceasingly. In one twinkle, in the turn of an eye, he saw the round earth, and in another turn of the eye he looked through the deep sea; and he saw Miklos and his comrades thirty-five miles off.
This was Far Seer, who stood before Miklos and said: “God give thee a good-day, renowned Kiss Miklos.”
“God keep thee, Far Seer!”
“On what journey art thou, renowned Kiss Miklos?”
“Haho! good friend Far Seer, perhaps thou hast heard of the Green Daughter of the Green King.”
“I have not.”
“Well then, hear now, for I am going to woo her.”
“Take me with thee, mayhap thou’lt get good of me.”
Now there were six of them, and they journeyed and travelled after that, across forty-nine kingdoms and farther, till they came upon a man who threw a seven-hundred-pound iron club thirty-five miles as easily as I could throw a small stone a few yards. This was Far Caster, who, when he saw Kiss Miklos and his comrades, came and said: “God give thee a good-day, renowned Kiss Miklos; for in my world-beautiful life I have ever heard thy fame.”
“God guard thee, Far Caster!”
“What journey art thou on?”
“Better thou hadst not asked. Hast thou heard of the Green King?”
“I have not.”
“Well, I am going to woo his daughter.”
“Take me with thee, mayhap thou’lt get good of me.”
“Come on thy own legs, if it please thee.”
Like the seven deadly sins, they were seven now. They journeyed and travelled till they came to the castle of the Green King. Kiss Miklos stood before the king and said: “God give a good-day to thy Highness.”
“God keep thee, renowned Kiss Miklos; for in my world-beautiful life I have ever heard thy fame. What journey art thou on?”
“In my journeys and travels I have heard that thy Highness has a charming, love-pervaded, beautiful flower-stalk. What is the use in delay and denial? I have come for her.”
“Haho! my good friend, the Green Daughter of the Green King is not so easily taken, for there are three tests before thee; if thou stand these tests, I will give thee my most beloved, my truly one and only daughter. The first test will be this: Thou hast a swift runner and so have I. They are making for my daughter at present a wedding dress at Pluto’s, or perhaps it’s ready this moment. If thy swift runner will bring that dress here, all right,—I care not: let the Green Daughter of the Green King be thine. My swift runner and thine will start to-morrow about four o’clock in the morning. But if I have not told thee, know now the thick end of the business, I will bring you all to the stake, if thy swift runner comes second.”
But the Green King deceived; for that evening after sunset he sent off his swift runner, who was no other than his own old mother, who, let it be said meanwhile, was a witch, and a big one at that. Next morning at four o’clock, as had been agreed, Miklos started his own swift runner on the road so as to bring the wedding dress.
Swift Runner moved on, and he saw that the old mother of the Green King was a good way ahead, for she was just on the point of going in at Pluto’s gate. Nothing more was needed. He rushed at her and she saw trouble soon, for he came up just as she had taken hold of the key; Swift Runner was not slow. He caught her by the jacket, hurled her back, ran in at the gate himself, and did not stop till he stood before his Highness, Pluto, told why he had come, and asked for the wedding dress. The dainty dress was nicely packed already in a box, and they gave it to him. Swift Runner hurried homeward, but the old mother of the Green King waited for him, and said: “Hear me, Swift Runner! Now thou art the victor, run not so fast; let us go home in pleasant quiet together.”
Swift Runner stopped at the old woman’s words, and they went on together,—went on till they came to a nice shady place, where the old woman found this to say: “Let us sit down in this shady place; let us rest. It is all the same. Thou art the winner. I will look in thy head.”
Here Swift Runner sat down in the shady place; the old woman bent his head to her lap and began to search in it, and she searched and searched till Swift Runner fell asleep and was sunk in slumber. When Swift Runner was snoring away at his best, the old woman put a horse-skull under his head,—from that he would not have waked till the day of judgment; then she took the box from him and raced off as if she had been shot from a gun.
It was near four o’clock in the afternoon and Swift Runner had not come yet, though he said he ought to be there at three o’clock. Miklos therefore began to be uneasy,—his nose was itching, it was ringing in his right ear and jumping in his right eye, therefore he found this to say to his Far Seer: “Just look, canst thou see Swift Runner coming?”
Far Seer did not let this be repeated; in an instant he ran up on a hill, looked around, saw that Swift Runner was in a shady place, sleeping like a pumpkin, under a tree, with a horse-skull under his head.
“Oh, my good friend Kiss Miklos, the dog is in the garden! Swift Runner is sleeping in a nice shady place with a horse-skull under his head; the old woman is right here near the garden, and she has the wedding dress in a box.”
“Here, good friend Far Caster,” said Kiss Miklos, “stand forth and throw thy twelve-hundred-pound club at that cursed horse-skull under the head of Swift Runner; for as God is true, all seven of us will see shame, and die a fearful death.”
Far Caster was not slow; in an instant he hurled the twelve-hundred-pound club and struck out luckily the horse-skull from under Swift Runner’s head.
Then, ’pon my soul! Swift Runner sprang up, rubbed his eyes, looked around, saw that the old woman was running near the garden, and bearing the wedding robe. He was not slow. He rushed at her, but in truth it hung from a hair that he did not see disgrace, for the old woman had just taken the key of the Green King’s door when Swift Runner reached her. He caught her by the jacket, took the box, and hurled the old woman back to Pluto’s in such fashion that not her foot, nor even her little toe, touched ground on the way. Then he gave the wedding dress to Miklos, who took it that moment to the Green King, and putting it on the boxwood table said: “High lord, thy desire is accomplished; here is the dainty wedding dress.”
“Haho! renowned Kiss Miklos, this is but one trial in which thou art the winner, there are two behind. The Green Daughter of the Green King will not be thine till all of you, as many as there are, spend one night in my iron furnace, which I have heated with three hundred and sixty-six cords of wood; if ye can endure that terrible heat, all right; if not, ye will be roasted alive.”
Here, ’pon my soul! what came of the affair or what did not, the Green King, as he had said, heated the iron furnace with three hundred and sixty-six cords of wood. The whole furnace was nothing but glowing fire, so that it was impossible to go near it. Now the question was, who should enter first,—who but Great Freezer? He was delighted with the pleasant amusement; he was shivering terribly because God’s cold had then caught him, though he had nine pairs of boots on his feet, nine shirts and drawers on his body, nine neckcloths on his neck, nine sheepskin caps on his head, nine sheepskin overcoats on his back. I say, Great Freezer went first into the fiery furnace. He walked around in it, and straightway it became as cold as an ice-house; therefore he called out at the entrance: “Oh, I’m freezing! Oh, I’m freezing!” Then the others and Kiss Miklos went in, and they felt that the furnace was as cold as an ice-house, so that their teeth chattered. Kiss Miklos cried out at the entrance, saying, “Wood this way, or we shall freeze!”
The servants of the Green King threw an extra cord of wood into the furnace. With this Miklos and his companions made a fire, and gave earth no trouble. Next morning the Green King himself went to see the seven roasts, thinking they were burnt into dust. He opened the mouth of the furnace. He will fall on his back with horror, perhaps. Nothing of the sort; the seven good birds were sitting there alive in the furnace at the side of a fire, and not a dog’s trouble had happened to a man of them.
Straightway the Green King called up Kiss Miklos and said to him: “Well, renowned Kiss Miklos, thou hast stood two trials, but the third still remains. If ye pass that unharmed, then I don’t care; my daughter will be thine, for I shall see that thou art not inferior to thy fame. The third trial is not other than this: In the yard is a herd of cattle not less than three hundred and sixty-six in number, and also there are three hundred and sixty-six kegs of wine, and if ye do not eat the three hundred and sixty-six head of cattle and drink the three hundred and sixty-six kegs of wine by to-morrow, then I will have you all at the stake; but if ye eat and drink all, then as I say, I care not. Let my one and only most beloved daughter be thine.”
In the evening after bedtime Miklos went with his comrades to the other yard where were the three hundred and sixty-six head of cattle and the three hundred and sixty-six kegs of wine; but now the question was who should eat that ocean-great lot of cattle and drink that thundering lot of wine. No one would take more delight in the cattle than Great Eater, and with the thundering lot of wine no one felt better than Great Drinker; they would take care of them if they were twice as great. Miklos and his comrades, except Great Eater, knocked one of the bullocks on the head, pulled off his jacket, cut up his flesh and roasted it. That was enough for them, but it was not enough for Great Eater; for he would not spoil the taste of his mouth with it. He ate that herd of beasts, one after another, as if the earth had swallowed them,—ate hair, hide, bones, and horns, so that he didn’t leave a single thing as a novelty; and even then he cried out nothing but, “Oh, I’m hungry! Oh, I’m hungry!” Then he went to his comrades, ate what they had left of the roast, and pressed it down with the ox-hide for a dessert. Even then he cried without ceasing, “Oh, I’m hungry! Oh, I’m hungry!”
Then they began at the wine. Miklos and his comrades, except Great Drinker, rolled forth one keg of wine, knocked the bottom out, and went to drinking. That keg was enough for them, but not enough for Great Drinker; for him it was as much as one drop would be for me. He would not spoil the taste of his mouth with it, but fell to drinking from the rest in such Magyar-Mishka style that when he looked around he saw that the three hundred and sixty-five kegs were empty. Then he cried unceasingly, “Oh, I’m thirsty! Oh, I’m thirsty!” After that he came to his comrades, and what they had left he drank to the last drop; and cried: “Oh, I’m thirsty! Oh, I’m thirsty!”
Next morning the Green King went himself to the yard to see if Kiss Miklos and his comrades had endured the third trial,—had they eaten the cattle and drunk the wine. It is a wonder that he didn’t turn into a pillar of salt he was so frightened when he saw that there was not a horned beast left, nor a drop of wine. Then he complained: “They have eaten three hundred and sixty-six bullocks. Plague take it! let them eat the cattle, but they might have left the hides; those could at least have been sold to a Jew for good money.—Well, renowned Kiss Miklos, thou hast stood the three tests, now my only and most dearly beloved daughter is thine; take her.” With that the Green King seated his Green Daughter in a coach drawn by six black horses, and they drove towards the dominions of the Lead Friend.
On the road the Green Daughter of the Green King beckoned Miklos to her and asked him: “Hei! my heart’s beautiful love, renowned Kiss Miklos, tell me, on thy true soul, art thou taking me for thyself or for another? If thou art not taking me for thyself, I will play tricks with thee.”
“I am taking thee for myself; I am taking thee for another,” answered Kiss Miklos.
Well, no more was said. Once, when turning and winding, they look in the coach; it is empty. The beautiful girl is gone. In a moment they stop, search the coach, but find her nowhere.
“Here, good friend Far Seer,” said Kiss Miklos, “look around! Whither has our beautiful bird flown?”
Far Seer didn’t let that be said twice. In the turn of an eye he surveyed the round earth, but he saw not the beautiful maiden.
“She is not on the dry earth,” said Far Seer.
“Look into the sea,” said Kiss Miklos.
Far Seer surveyed the deep sea, and saw her hidden in the belly of a three-pound whale, near the opposite shore of the sea.
“Ah, I see where she is!”
“Where?” asked Miklos.
“Hidden in the belly of a three-pound whale.”
“Here, good friend Great Drinker,” said Miklos, “come hither, and drink up the water of this deep sea!”
Great Drinker was not slow. He lay face under by the sea, and with three draughts drank up all the water. The three-pound whale was lying then in a bay near the opposite shore.
“Now, good brother Swift Runner,” said Kiss Miklos, “step out and bring me that three-pound whale which is lying near the opposite shore.”
Swift Runner rushed in a moment across the bottom of the sea, and brought back the three-pound whale. Miklos opened the whale, took out its stomach, cut it carefully, and out fell the Green Daughter of the Green King. Then he seated her in the coach, and they drove on.
They travelled and journeyed, and once the princess beckoned to Miklos, and asked: “My heart’s beautiful love, renowned Kiss Miklos, tell me, on thy true soul, art thou taking me for thyself, or for another? If for thyself, very well; if not, I’ll play tricks with thee.”
“I am taking thee for myself; I am taking thee for another,” answered Miklos.
No more was said. Once while turning and winding, the beautiful maiden is gone, the coach is empty. “Oh, the dog is in the garden!” They stop, search the six-horse coach, but find no beautiful princess.
“Here, good friend Far Seer,” said Miklos, “stand forth, look around! Where is our beautiful bird?”
Far Seer surveyed the deep sea, but got no sight of the princess. “She is not in the sea.”
“If she is not in the sea, look on dry land.”
Far Seer looked around again, and he saw that the princess was at home, in the very middle of her father’s garden, on the highest top of a blooming apple-tree, hidden in a ripe red apple. “I have found her!” said Far Seer.
“Where is she?”
“At home, in the very centre of the garden, hidden on the highest top of an apple-tree, in the middle of a ripe red apple.”
“Here, Swift Runner, come forth!”
Swift Runner came forth, and stood like a pillar before Miklos, waiting for command.
“Run in a twinkle to the garden of the Green King, in the very middle of which is blooming an apple-tree; climb the tree, and bring me the ripe red apple which is on its highest top.”
Swift Runner rushed as a whirlwind, at horse-death speed, found the tree, climbed it, plucked the red apple, and then, as if shot from a cannon, came back to Miklos, and gave him the apple. Miklos cut the apple in two; the Green Daughter of the Green King fell out. He seated her again in the coach, and they fared farther.
They travelled and journeyed, and again the princess beckoned to Miklos, and said: “My heart’s heart, renowned Kiss Miklos, tell me, on thy true soul, art thou taking me for thyself, or for another? If for thyself, very well; if not, I’ll play tricks with thee.”
“I am taking thee for myself; I am taking thee for another.”
Well, they said no more. Once, while turning and winding, they look in the coach the maiden is gone; the coach is empty. “Oh, the dog is in the garden!” They stop, search the six-horse coach, but find not the maiden.
“Friend Far Seer,” said Miklos, “look around! Where is our beautiful bird?”
Far Seer was not slow; in the turn of an eye he surveyed the round earth, but saw nowhere the Green Daughter of the Green King. “She is not on the round earth,” said he.
“Well, look in the deep sea.”
Far Seer looked again; in the turn of an eye he surveyed the deep sea, but saw not the princess. “She is not in the deep sea,” said Far Seer.
“Well, if she is not in the deep sea, look in the cloudy heavens.”
Far Seer looked around; in the turn of an eye he surveyed the broad sky and the cloudy heavens. He saw a cocoon hanging from a thread slender as a spider-web, and hidden in that cocoon the Green Daughter of the Green King. “I have found her!” said Far Seer.
“Where is she?” asked Kiss Miklos.
“Far, far away, near the round forest, from the cloudy heavens is hanging a silk thread, slender as a spider-web, and on the end dangles a cocoon; in that she is hidden.”
“Now, Far Caster, come forth!” said Miklos.
Far Caster stood like a pillar before Kiss Miklos, only waiting for command; but he had not long to wait, for Miklos said: “Listen, good friend Far Caster. Seest thou that thin silk thread hanging from the cloudy sky near the round forest?”
“I see.”
“Then cast it down; but only when Swift Runner reaches the place beneath, so that it may not fall on the earth, but into his hand. Therefore, Swift Runner, move thy wheels that way; catch the cocoon and bring it to us.”
Swift Runner rushed at horse-death speed to the place; Far Caster brought down the cocoon. Swift Runner caught it safely, and brought it to Miklos, who with his bright knife cut it open, and out came the princess. Then he seated her a third time in the coach; but they had arrived in the domains of the Lead Friend, so the Green Daughter of the Green King, having lost her power, could play no more tricks.
Kiss Miklos took farewell of his good friends, thanking them kindly for their aid. When they were alone the Green Daughter of the Green King fell to crying, and said: “My heart’s beautiful love, I know thou art taking me to that dog of a Lead Friend, and I would rather be the bride of death than of him.”
“Oh, my heart’s golden bird,” said Miklos, “I am taking thee for myself; but thou canst not be mine till I know where the strength of the Lead Friend lies. If we can discover that, it will be easy to destroy him.”
“If that is thy grief, my heart’s heart,” said she, “I will soon help thee; leave that to me. Thou must know I am a woman.”
With that Miklos and the princess kissed each other, and there was holy peace; they said: “I am thine, thou art mine.”
They travelled and journeyed across forty-nine kingdoms, till Kiss Miklos could say, “We are at home,”—for they were at the Lead Friend’s mansion,—and could say to the princess, “Come out of thy coach; it won’t cost thee a copper.” Here the Lead Friend ran panting out of his mansion to the beautiful princess, but she turned from him. This pleased not the Lead Friend, and though one word is not much, he uttered not that much, but brought her into the lead mansion in silence.
Next day at sunrise the Lead Friend had to go to his furnace, taking Kiss Miklos with him. The young woman remained all alone. She took a lamp and started to search through the lead house. From chamber to chamber she went till she came to the cellar, but that was closed against her with seven iron doors. Now the question was to get into the cellar. Another would not have been able to pass the first door, but every iron door opened of itself before the magic of the Green Daughter of the Green King. She passed through the seven doors and entered the cellar. She saw there seven leaden vats placed in a row, and every one of them filled to the brim with gold and silver. She took off her apron and filled it with gold, went up, summoned the goldsmith, and gilded the lead threshold a hand in thickness. The Lead Friend was such a miser that he had not bread enough to eat, and every little coin he turned seven times between his teeth before he let it go once from his hand.
Well, in the evening the Lead Friend came home from his furnace, saw the housekeeping and what the young woman had done. Then, ’pon my soul! he plucked out his own lead beard and hair, trampled them like tow, and roared till the lead house was trembling.
“Who, in the name of a hundred thousand thunders, did this?” asked the Lead Friend.
“I did it,” answered quite bravely the princess.
“How didst thou dare to do it without my knowledge,—without informing me?” With that the Lead Friend went to the Green Daughter of the Green King, and seized in his hand the golden hair which reached her heels. Twelve times did he drag her on the lead floor, and he wanted to take the lead flail to her. Kiss Miklos did not permit that, but took the maiden from his grasp and placed her on the silken bed. She was neither dead nor alive, but lay as a lifeless block of wood. But the Green Daughter of the Green King had no more pain than good myself; being a magic woman, seest thou, she had much in her power.
Now, what did she do? When the Lead Friend wound around his hand the golden hair reaching to her heels, she suddenly sprang out of her skin, and a devil jumped into it. And if the Lead Friend had struck him with the back of an axe, he would not have felt a dog’s trouble; for the more he was beaten the more he would have laughed.
But the Lead Friend was troubled; ragged, with torn hair, crying and weeping he entered the white chamber, where the princess was lying without life. He went to her; pushed her, but she waked not; talked to her, but she heard not; cried, but she listened not. At last he found this to say: “Wake, my heart’s beautiful love; I will do all that may please thee, but stop the gilding.”
Then the princess spoke up to the Lead Friend, “I’ll stop the gilding, but tell where thy strength lies.”
“Oh, my heart’s beautiful love, I would rather part with life than tell that.”
Well, things remained thus. Next day at sunrise the Lead Friend went to his furnace, taking Kiss Miklos with him, for he lived in the suspicion that Miklos and the Green Daughter of the Green King would plot together and strive for his destruction.
The bride remained alone; she took the lamp and turned straight to the cellar. The great iron doors opened before her and closed behind. When she had passed the seven iron doors and entered the cellar, she spread her silk apron, and filled it with gold. Three times she returned, and three times she bore away the same amount, so that the apron was almost torn under it. Straightway she called the goldsmith and had the lead thresholds of three chambers gilded to the thickness of a hand. And as I say, the Lead Friend was so stingy that he did not eat bread enough, and every little coin he put seven[7] times between his teeth before he let it out of his hand once.
[7] It is three in the text, but this is probably a mistake; so seven is put here to agree with p. [507].
The Lead Friend came home from his furnace towards evening, and saw the housekeeping, and saw also that now not one but three thresholds were gilded a hand’s thickness. Here, ’pon my soul! the Lead Friend fell into such rage that he tore his own lead beard and hair out, and trampled them as he would tow. Then he roared so terribly that the lead house quivered, and turning to the princess he asked: “In the name of a hundred thousand devils, who did this?”
“I did it,” answered the princess quite bravely.
“How didst thou dare to do this without my knowledge and consent?”
With that the Lead Friend seized the golden hair of the princess, which reached to her heels, and dragged her twelve times up and down the lead floor, twelve times did he hurl her against the floor, then he ran for the lead flail to kill her. Kiss Miklos would not let him do that, but seized the maiden from his hands, and placed her on the silken bed. The Green Daughter of the Green King was neither dead nor alive; she lay there still as a soulless block of wood. Still the princess felt no more pain than good myself. She knew witchcraft, and whatever she did or did not do, when the Lead Friend twisted her golden hair in his hand, she jumped out of her skin in a twinkle, and a devil got into it; if they had beaten him like a two-headed drum, or even more, he would have taken it as if they were fondling him.
Now the Lead Friend was terribly sorry; ragged, with torn hair, he entered the white chamber weeping; he wept a long time; pushed the princess, who waked not; spoke to her, she heard not; at last he found this to say: “Wake up, my heart’s beautiful love; all thy desires will be accomplished, only stop the gilding.”
“I’ll stop the gilding, but tell where thy strength lies.”
“Oh, my heart’s beautiful love, I would rather part with my life than tell that.”
Next day at sunrise the Lead Friend took Kiss Miklos to the furnace, lest while he was gone himself Miklos might go in secret and gather another man’s hay. The bride was alone again, and wanted nothing better. Again she took the lamp and went straight to the cellar, where she opened her beautiful silk apron and filled it with gold,—took so much that the apron almost tore under it. She came seven times, and each time carried so much gold that her nose almost cut the earth, like the coulter of a plough. Then she called a goldsmith, and gilded to a hand’s thickness the thresholds of seven rooms.
When the Lead Friend came home in the evening, he saw that not three but seven thresholds had a hand’s thickness of gold on them. Then he fell into such a rage that he tore his leaden beard and hair, and trampled them as he would tow; but what good did that do him?—for he was trampling his own. Then he roared till the lead house rattled, and in his fury he asked: “A thousand million demons, who did this?”
“I did it,” answered the princess all bravely.
“How didst thou dare to do this without my knowledge or command?”
With that he went in fury to the Green Daughter of the Green King, wound round his hand the golden hair which reached to her heels. Twelve times did he drag her over the leaden floor, twelve times did he dash her against it, twelve times did he raise her aloft,—and that was not enough; but he took out the lead flail, and began to thrash and beat the princess as if she were a bundle of wheat, so that she was swimming in blood. Kiss Miklos took her from his hands and placed her on the silken bed, where she lay, neither dead nor alive, still as a lifeless block.
Now the Lead Friend grew terribly sorry, and making himself squalid looking, he entered the white chamber, rushed to the princess, wept without ceasing, touched her but she woke not, spoke to her but she heard him not. At last he found this to say: “Wake up, my heart’s beautiful love. I will tell where my strength lies. In the silken meadow under the seventh bush is a hare, under the tail of the hare an egg, in the egg a hornet, and in the hornet is hidden my strength, so that I live as long as the hornet lives; if the hornet dies, I die too.”
The Green Daughter of the Green King heard all these words clearly, but acted as if she were neither dead nor alive,—lay there like a soulless block.
Well, ’pon my soul! what came of the affair or what did not, the princess rose from her silken bed in the night-time, quietly, in one garment; but she threw a great shawl around her neck, slipped out of the gate, found Kiss Miklos, to whom her word and speech was this: “Wake up, my heart’s beautiful love, renowned Kiss Miklos, I know now where the strength of the Lead Friend lies; but listen to my word. In the silken meadow under the seventh bush lies a hare, under the hare’s tail is an egg, in the egg a hornet, in the hornet is the Lead Friend’s strength. If thou kill the hornet, the Lead Friend will lose his strength.”
Our Miklos wanted nought else. He turned himself at once into a hound, drove the hare from the seventh bush of the silken meadow. The hare began to run, but the hound was not slow; with a long stick he struck the egg from the hare’s tail. The egg broke and the hornet flew out, but the hound was not slow; with a great jump he caught the hornet, and crushed it to bits in his teeth. Then the hound shook himself and turned into Kiss Miklos again.
At daylight the Lead Friend was sick. He had lost his strength, he could not move his hands or his feet, and lay groaning on his lead couch like a man who had been pressing a straw-bed for seven years; and when the sun rose he breathed out his cursed soul.
Who was more delighted at his death than our Kiss Miklos and the Green Daughter of the Green King? Straightway they called a priest and a hangman and an iron cap. The priest joined them, the hangman thrashed around, God’s arrow flashed, but no one was struck. There was soup plenty and to spare, lucky was the man who came with a spoon; the unhappy were happy; the gypsy fiddled, and the music spoke. When the feasting and the poppy week had passed, Kiss Miklos and his consort took a chariot of glass and gold, drawn by six black-haired steeds, and set out for Miklos’s birthplace. Now, the shining sun had shone so sadly, and the bright moon had beamed so sadly that it could not be more so; but the moment they beheld Miklos and his wife in the chariot of glass and gold, the bright sun shone joyously, and so did the clear moon.
“What’s this? what’s this?” said to himself the old king, who still rejoiced in good health. He summoned the wise men and the skilled scribes of the kingdom to his palace and gave them the following question: “Explain to me this. It is seven years since the two sons of the poor man brought back the bright moon and the shining sun; these two sons are now ruling kings,—may God keep them in health!—but the clear moon and the shining sun gave us such sorrowful light, and now all at once both are radiant.”
One old man skilled in letters, and so old that his white beard almost came to the earth, and he could not stand on his feet alone, but three men supported him, spoke the following words: “Haho! high lord, there is great reason for this. The clear moon and the shining sun were sad because the man who really freed them from the claws of the dragons was pinioned in bondage; and he is no other than the renowned Kiss Miklos, the poor man’s youngest son, who even at this moment is driving to the king’s palace with the Green Daughter of the Green King, in a chariot drawn by six horses.”
That moment Kiss Miklos and his wife entered the white chamber together. Here the lords and those great wise men all rose before them, as did even the old king himself, who advancing embraced and kissed them, led them to his own purple velvet throne, seated them thereon, and turning to the wise men and the skilled scribes, asked them, “Who really deserves the kingdom, the elder brothers or Kiss Miklos?”
The council said: “Kiss Miklos.”
Then Miklos rose and said to the old king and the council: “High king and worthy council, it is true that I deserve the kingdom, and I would take it were I not the heir of the far-famed Lead Friend, and were it not that the dominions of the Green King, after his death,—which from my heart I wish not,—will come to me. This being the case the worthy council can see, and thy Highness can see also, that I may not accept the kingdom. Let it remain as it is,—let my eldest brother be king, and my second brother be viceroy; they are, I think, honorable men, and worthy.”
The lords, sages, and skilled scribes present, as well as the old king, rose up and confirmed the wise speech of the youthful Kiss Miklos.
Then the two brothers of Kiss Miklos—the king and the viceroy—entered; they embraced and kissed one another, and sacred was the peace. After that, Kiss Miklos and his wife returned to the domains of the Lead Friend, and after the death of the Green King, Kiss Miklos inherited his dominions. And so he ruled two kingdoms very happily; and he and the Green Daughter of the Green King are living yet, if they are not dead.
THE HEDGEHOG, THE MERCHANT, THE KING, AND THE POOR MAN.
WHERE there was, where there was not, it is enough that there was once a merchant, there were also a king, and a poor man.
One day the merchant went out to hunt, and he travelled and journeyed till, oh! my lord’s son, he found himself in such a thick forest that he saw neither the sky nor the earth; he just groped around like a blindman. Here, ’pon my soul! whether the merchant tried to free himself by turning to the left or the right, he only went into a thicker place. When he was there five days, in hunger and thirst, stumbling about in the great wild wood without liberation, the merchant called out:—
“Oh, my God, if any one would take me out of this great wild thicket to the right road, I would give him the best of my three daughters, and as a wedding gift three sacks of coin.”
“I’ll lead thee out right away,” said some one before him.
The merchant looked to the right, to the left, but not a soul did he see.
“Don’t look around,” said the certain one again, “look under thy feet.”
The merchant then looked in front and saw that near his feet was a little hedgehog, and to him he directed then his word and speech. “Well, if thou wilt lead me out, I will give thee my best daughter and three sacks of coin; the first will be gold, the second silver, and the third copper.”
The hedgehog went on ahead, the merchant walked after. Soon they came out of the great wild wood. Then the hedgehog went back, and the merchant turned his wagon-tongue homeward.
Now the king went to hunt,—went in the same way as the merchant; and he too was lost in the great wild wood. The king went to the right and the left, tried in every way to free himself; all he gained was that he came to a thicker and a darker place. He too stumbled around five days in the thick wood, without food or drink. On the sixth morning the king cried out: “Oh, my God! if any one would free me from this dense wood, even if a worm, I would give him the most beautiful of my daughters, and as a wedding gift three coaches full of coin.”
“I’ll lead thee out right away,” said some one near him.
The king looked to the right, to the left, but saw not a soul.
“Why stare around? Look at thy feet; here I am.”
The king then looked at his feet and saw a little hedgehog stretched out, and said to him: “Well, hedgehog, if thou wilt lead me forth, I’ll give thee the fairest of my daughters and three coaches full of coin,—the first gold, the second silver, the third copper.”
The hedgehog went ahead, the king followed, and in this way they soon came out of the great wild wood. The hedgehog went back to his own place; the king reached home in safety.
Very well, a poor man went out for dry branches. He went like the merchant and king, and he got astray, so that he wandered dry and hungry for five days in the great wild wood; and whether he turned to the right or the left he gained only this, that he went deeper into the denseness.
“My God,” cried the poor man at last, “send me a liberator! If he would lead me out of this place, as I have neither gold nor silver, I would take him as a son, and care for him as my own child.”
“Well, my lord father, I’ll lead thee out; only follow.”
“Where art thou, dear son?”
“Here, under thy feet; only look this way, my lord father.”
The poor man looked near his feet, and saw a little hedgehog stretched out.
“Well, my dear son, lead me out and I’ll keep my promise.”
The hedgehog went ahead, the poor man followed, and soon they came out of the great wild wood. The hedgehog then went back to his own place, and the poor man strolled home.
Well, things remained thus till once after bedtime there was a knocking at the poor man’s door. “My lord father, rise up, open the door.” The poor man, who was lying on the stove, heard only that some one was knocking at the door.
“My lord father, rise up, open the door.”
The poor man heard, and heard that some one was knocking and as he thought calling out: “My lord father, rise up, open the door;” but in his world life he had never had a son. The third time he heard clearly, “My lord father, rise up, open the door.”
The poor man did not take this as a joke. He rose up and opened the door. My lord’s son, who came in to him? No one else than the little hedgehog.
“God give a good evening to my lord father and to my mother as well,” said the hedgehog.
“God receive thee, my dear son. Hast thou come then?”
“I have indeed, as thou seest, my lord father; but I am very tired, therefore wake up my mother and let her make a bed for me in my chamber.”
What was the poor man to do? He woke up his wife; she made a towering bed, and the hedgehog lay in it. In the morning the poor man and his wife sat down to breakfast. They did not wish to forget their adopted son, but gave him food on a wooden plate under a bench by the fire. The hedgehog did not touch it. “Well, my son,” asked the poor man, “why not eat?”
“I do not eat, my lord father, because it is not proper to treat an adopted son like some orphan or another; therefore it beseems me not to eat all alone from a wooden plate under a bench at the fire. Seat me nicely at the table by thy side, put a tin plate before me, and place my food on it.”
What was the poor man to do? He seated the Hedgehog at his side, put a tin plate before him, and measured out food on it; then the Hedgehog ate with his father and mother. When they had finished breakfast the Hedgehog spoke thuswise: “Well, my lord father, hast thou a couple of thalers?”
“I have.”
“I suppose thou art keeping them to buy salt and wood with?”
“Yes, my son.”
“I speak not of that, I am speaking of this: lend me the money; I will return it a thousand-fold. Set not thy mind much on salt and wood now; but go, my lord father, to the market. In such and such a place an old woman has a black cock for sale; buy him of her. If she asks a small price, give her double; for that will be my steed. When thou hast bought the cock for two prices, in such and such a place is a saddler; go to him. In a corner of his shop is a cast-away, thrown-away, ragged, torn saddle; buy that for me, but give him two prices also. If he asks little, give him double.”
The poor man put on his coat, put the two thalers in his pocket, went to the market, bought the black cock and the cast-away, thrown-away saddle for two prices; each one for two small bits of money.
The Hedgehog then saddled the black cock with the cast-away, thrown-away saddle, sat upon him, and went to the court of the rich merchant whom he had led out of the great wild wood; he knocked at the door and called: “Hei, father-in-law, open the gate, let me in!”
The rich merchant opened the gate in great wonder. Who was coming? No one other than our Hedgehog, riding on a black cock.
“Hear me, rich merchant,” began the Hedgehog; “knowest thou thy promise? When I led thee out of the great wild wood, dost remember thy promise to give me the best of thy three daughters and three sacks of coin? Now I have come for the maid and the money.”
What could the rich merchant do? He called his three daughters into the white chamber, and turned to the Hedgehog, saying: “Well, choose among the three the one who pleases thy eye, thy mouth, and thy heart.”
The Hedgehog chose the second daughter, for she was the most beautiful of the three. The merchant then measured out three sacks of coin,—in the first, as he had said, there was gold, in the second silver, in the third copper; then he put his daughter and the three sacks of coin in a coach, to which four horses were attached, and he sent on her way his most beautiful daughter, with the Hedgehog. They travelled and journeyed till the Hedgehog, who was riding at the side of the coach on his black cock, came up, looked in through the window, and saw that the bride was in tears.
“Why dost thou cry, why dost thou weep, my heart’s beautiful love?” asked the Hedgehog of the maiden.
“Why should I not cry, why should I not weep, when God has punished me with such a nasty thing as thee?—for I know not whether thou art a man or a beast.”
“If this is thy only trouble, my heart’s beautiful love, we can easily cure it; I’ll keep the three sacks of coin for myself, and thee I’ll send back to thy father, for I see that of me thou art not worthy.”
Thus was it settled; the Hedgehog kept the three sacks of coin, but the merchant’s daughter he sent back to her father. The Hedgehog then took the coin to the poor man, who became so rich that I think another could not be found like him in seven villages.
Now the Hedgehog plucked up courage, saddled his black cock, sat on him, and rode away to the king, stood before him, and spoke in this fashion: “Dost thou remember, king, that when I brought thee out of the great wild wood, thou didst promise that if I would show the right road thou wouldst give me the most beautiful of thy three daughters and fill for me three coaches, the first with gold, the second with silver, and the third with copper coin? I am here so that thou mayest keep thy word.”
The king called his three daughters to the white chamber and said: “I made a promise, and this is it: to give one of my three daughters to this Hedgehog as wife; I promised because the Hedgehog led me out of a great wild wood, in which I wandered for five days without food or drink, and he saved me from certain death. Therefore say, my dear daughters, which of you will agree to marry the Hedgehog.”
The eldest daughter turned away, the second turned away also; but the youngest and fairest spoke thus: “If thou, my father the king, hast made such a promise, I will marry him. Let the will of God be done if he has appointed such a husband for me.”
“Thou art my dearest and best daughter,” said the king; and he kissed her again and again. Then the king measured out three coaches of coin, seated the princess in a chariot of gold and glass and started her on her journey, amid bitter tear-shedding, with the Hedgehog, who rode at the side of the chariot on his black cock. They travelled and journeyed across forty-nine kingdoms till the Hedgehog rode up to the chariot, opened the window, looked in, and saw that the princess was not weeping, but was in the best cheerful humor.
“Oh, my heart’s beautiful love,” said the princess, “why art thou riding on that black cock? Better come here and sit at my side on the velvet cushion.”
“Thou art not afraid of me?”
“I am not afraid.”
“Thou art not disgusted with me?”
“No; if God has given thee to me, then thou shouldst be mine.”
“Thou art my only and most beloved wife!” said the Hedgehog; and with that he shook himself, and straightway turned into such a pearl-given, charming, twenty-four-years-old king’s son that tongue could not tell,—golden-haired, golden-mouthed, golden-toothed. And the black cock shook himself three times, and became such a golden-haired magic steed that his equal would have to be sought for; the cast-away, thrown-away saddle became golden, everything on it was gold to the last buckle.
The king’s son then picked out the most beautiful place in the kingdom; standing in the middle of this he thought once, and suddenly that instant there stood before him a copper-roofed marble palace, turning on a cock’s foot, and in it every kind of the most varied and beautiful golden furniture,—everything and everything was of gold, beginning with the mirror-frame and ending with the cooking-spoon. The king’s son conducted the beautiful golden bird—the fair princess—into the pearl-given palace, where, like birds in a nest, they lived in quiet harmony. When the merchant’s three daughters and the two elder princesses heard of the happiness of the youngest princess,—how well she had married,—in their sorrow one of them jumped into a well, another drowned herself in a hemp-pond, and a third was drawn dead out of the river Tisza [Theiss]. In this way four of the maidens came to an evil end; but the second daughter of the merchant gritted her teeth venomously at the princess, and made a firm and merciless resolve that she would imbitter her life’s happiness. She went therefore to the palace, and found service in the guise of an old woman. She, the devil-given, came at a critical time; for the Burkus king[8] had declared war against the king’s son, and the princess, while her husband was in the field, was left to the care of the merchant’s daughter, disguised as an old woman. Milk might as well be confided to a cat as the princess to that cockroach of the underground kingdom. While the king’s son was gone, the Lord gave the princess two beautiful children. The old woman packed them into a basket, put them under a tree in the woods, then ran back to the princess, who, recovering from a faint into which she had fallen, asked the old woman to give her the children so that she might embrace and kiss them.
[8] The Prussian king,—King of Prussia.
“High queen,” answered the old woman, “what is the use in delay or denial? They were two untimely, hairy monsters, and to save thee from terror at sight of them, I threw both into the river.”
The two children slept quietly under the tree till a white deer burst with great noise through the thicket, went straight as if sent, and taking the basket hung it on his antlers; then the white deer disappeared in the forest, went on till he came to the bank of a stream, where he called three times. The Forest Maiden appeared as if by magic, took the basket with great delight, and ran panting into her own palace.
The two children were seven years with the Forest Maiden, who reared them as carefully as if they had been her own.
Here, ’pon my soul, what came of the affair, or what did not, the Forest Maiden once sent the little girl with a green jug for water, and enjoined on her rigorously to be careful not to break the jug.
The little girl did not let this be said twice; she was obedient and attentive. She took the jug, and was at the well in a moment. When she came, she saw a little golden bird flying around the well. Being a child, she wanted to catch the golden bird, therefore ran around with the jug in her hand till at last she saw that only the handle was left. The little girl, terrified, burst into tears, sat at the edge of the well, and cried there. The Forest Maiden waited and waited; but she could not wait longer, therefore she sent the little brother with a second jug, and told him sternly to be careful not to break the jug. The little brother went in the same way, for he also, like children of that age, barely saw the golden bird when he wanted to strike it with the jug, which he whirled around till only the handle remained in his hand; then he burst into tears, sat by his sister, and there the two were crying at the edge of the well.
Here, ’pon my soul, the golden bird pitied the children, and asked: “Why do ye cry? Why do ye weep, pretty children?”
“Oh, pretty bird,” answered the boy, who had more sense than his sister, “why should we not cry? Why should we not weep? We shall be flogged for breaking the green jugs; our dear mother will whip us.”
“Oh, my children, she is not your own mother! She is only your foster-mother. Your father and mother live far from here,—beyond those green mountains; so if ye will follow, I’ll lead you home.”
The two children wanted nothing else. They went back no more to their foster-mother, for they would be flogged; but they followed the golden bird, which went always before them. And they travelled and journeyed till once in a forest they came upon a great heap of gold; near the gold was a number of dice, as if some one had been playing there. The little boy and girl each took a handful of gold, and went farther. They travelled and journeyed till they came to an inn; since they were wearied, and it was evening, they went in to ask lodging. In the inn three lords were playing dice; the two children at first merely noticed that they were playing. At last the boy took from his pocket the handful of gold, and began to play in such fashion that he won all the money of the three lords; and then one of them spoke thuswise:—
“Well, my dear son, I see that thou hast good luck. I have in a certain place a charming flower-garden; in the middle of the garden is a marble palace, and the palace has this peculiarity,—if it is struck on the side three times with this golden rod, it will turn into a golden apple; and thou mayest put down the marble palace and the flower-garden in any part of the world if thou wilt strike the golden apple with the small end of the golden rod. I will bet now this flower-garden and this marble palace; if thou canst win, they’ll be thine.”
The little boy agreed; and he won fortunately the flower-garden and the marble palace. The other then gave him the golden rod, and showed him where the garden and the palace were. Next morning the children sought out the garden and the palace, which the boy struck three times on the side, and it turned to a golden apple; he put the apple in his pocket, and strolled on homeward. The little golden bird flew always ahead of them. They travelled and journeyed till one time the golden bird stopped and said:—
“Well, dear children, now we are at home; put down the golden apple on this spot and strike it three times with the rod, and ye will see what a beautiful marble palace and flowery garden there will be, speaking to the seven kingdoms. The report of the palace and garden will circulate immediately, and the king himself will come to look at them. Him ye must honor as your father, for thou my little boy art the king’s son, and thou my little girl the king’s daughter. Dear children, here in a golden frame is a picture which gives your arms and name. Hang in the palace this picture, in the best place; but lest it be seen, cover it with velvet, and show it to no man save your own father. When he asks what that picture is, draw the velvet from it, and the rest will follow.”
So it happened; the two children hung up the picture in the best room of the marble palace, and covered it with velvet. Now, the report ran to distant parts of the kingdom that there was a charming and wonderful marble palace in such and such a place, and people hastened from the seventh province distant to look at it; so that the report came to the ears of the king himself. The king decided straightway to look at the flowery garden and marble palace; but he had hardly conceived the idea when the old woman gave him a drug. The king fell ill, and could not see the flowery garden and marble palace; and then the old woman, without invitation, stood before the king and said: “High king, if thou art so curious to see this flowery garden and marble palace, then I will go and see if they are as beautiful as report says, and tell the story to thy Highness.”
The king in one way or another agreed, and the old woman went, not to see the garden, but to bring the two children to evil destruction; the wicked creature tried but succeeded not, for her weapons broke. Not to confound one word with another, I will tell the whole tale in order and accuracy.
The old witch had barely reached the famous flower-garden when the two children hurried before her and showed everything from root to top, and the old piece of leather began to talk thus: “It is true that the garden is beautiful, but it would be seven times more beautiful if ye would bring the world-sounding tree.”
“What must be done to get that?” asked the little boy.
“Not other than this,” answered the old skeleton: “In such and such a place, in an enchanted palace, is the world-sounding tree; but ye must go for it and bring it.”
With that the old witch took farewell of the two children, and strolled home; but the boy had no peace from that hour. He wanted to go and bring the world-sounding tree; therefore taking farewell of his sister with bitter tear-shedding he set out for the tree. He was going and travelling across forty-nine kingdoms till he came to a dark castle; this was the first enchanted castle. A big, lame, hairy devil stood there on guard with a fearful whip, so that no man might enter. The hairy devil shouted very angrily at our boy: “Stop! Who is there?”
“I,” answered the little boy.
“Who is ‘I’?”
“I.”
“Art thou Yanoshka?” asked the devil.
“I am.”
“What journey art thou on?”
“I am looking for the world-beautifully sounding tree. Hast thou not heard of it, my lord elder brother?”
“I have not heard of it; but in such and such a place my brother stands guard, and if he has not heard of it, then no one in the world has.”
Yanoshka went forward on the right road in search of the world-sounding tree. He travelled and journeyed till he came to another enchanted dark castle; there a big, lame, hairy devil was standing on guard who shouted to our Yanoshka in great anger. Our Yanoshka was much braver now, for he knew he had nothing to fear.
“Who is it?” called out the devil.
“I.”
“Art thou Yanoshka?”
“I am, at the service of my lord elder brother.”
“Why art thou journeying here in this strange land, where even a bird does not go?”
“I am looking for the world-beautifully sounding tree. Hast thou not heard of it, my lord elder brother?”
“What is the use in delay or denial? I have not heard; but in such and such a place my eldest brother is on guard, and if he knows nothing of it, then no one in the world knows.”
With this Yanoshka moved on towards the third enchanted castle; when he came, there was a big, lame, hairy devil on guard, who called out in great anger to Yanoshka: “Who is that?”
“I.”
“Thou art Yanoshka?”
“I am.”
“Why art thou journeying here in this strange land, where even a bird does not go?”
“I am looking for the world-beautifully sounding tree. Hast thou not heard of it, my lord elder brother?”
“Ho, ho, Yanoshka! of course I have; it is here in the garden of this enchanted palace. Thou mayest take it, but only if thou obey my words. If thou dost not value them or dost not observe them, thou wilt never see God’s bright sky or the shining day again. I only want to say this: Here is a golden rod; strike the wall of the enchanted castle with it three times. Straightway a door will open before thee. In the very middle of the garden thou wilt find the world-beautifully sounding tree. Go around it three times and then hurry like a shot arrow, with the speed of a dog, or the stone wall will close, and thou wilt remain inside; and if thou art once shut in, God have mercy and pity on thee, for that instant thou wilt be turned to stone. This is my word and speech; if thou cling to it, thou wilt be lucky; if not, thou wilt be wretched forever.”
The boy took the golden rod and struck the side of the enchanted castle with it. That instant the door opened before him. The king’s son did not inquire much whether he might enter or not; in a moment he ran in through the door and straight to the garden. Every kind of singing and dancing maidens came to meet him,—some with citharas and harps; some played on cymbals and begged him to play and dance with them; some offered rich food and drink of every kind agreeable to the taste. But the king’s son had no mind to eat or drink; he pushed aside the maidens and ran to the very centre of the garden, where the world-beautifully sounding tree was; then he went around it three times, turning toward the point whence he had come. That done he rushed from the garden, and a thousand times lucky was he. It was not the same for him to be a few minutes later, for the door closed and bit off the heel of his boot; but he did not care much about the heel of his boot. He ran home on the same road over which he had come; and when he arrived, the world-beautifully sounding tree was in the middle of the flowery garden. Hitherto the flowery garden had been in good fame, but now the fame was seven times greater, so that people came from seven worlds to look at the tree; and the report of it reached the king himself, who determined in his mind if he had not seen it yet he would now at least go to see it.
As soon as the old witch divined his thought she put a powder in his coffee so that he became sick, and was not able to leave the room; then she stood before him without invitation, and said: “High king, as thy Highness is sick, I will go to see if the world-sounding tree is as beautiful as reported, and will soon bring back word.”
The king in one way or another agreed to the old witch’s proposal, and let her go to see the world-beautifully sounding tree. She had barely put foot in the flowery garden when the two children ran out to her to hear what the old woman would say this time.
“Beautiful children,” said she, “beautiful is the garden of itself, beautiful is the sounding tree, but still seven times more beautiful would it be if the world-sweetly speaking bird were to sing upon it.”
“What must I do?” asked the little boy.
“Nothing else,” answered the old witch, “than this: In such and such a place is an enchanted castle, and thence it would be necessary to bring the world-sweetly speaking bird.”
Then she went back; and from that hour the king’s son could not remain at home, but planned to go for the world-sweetly speaking bird. Therefore, parting with his sister amidst bitter tear-shedding, he started through the kingdom and the world to bring home the sweetly speaking bird; but he enjoined on his sister that if the third day he were not at home, she should set out to seek him over a certain road,—and with that the king’s son went his way.
He journeyed and travelled across forty-nine kingdoms to the first enchanted castle, where there stood on guard a big hairy devil, who had a terribly large whip in his hand, to kill, without pity or mercy, every man going up or down. Now, the hairy devil attacked Yanoshka sharply and roughly, thus:—
“Who art thou?”
“I, my lord elder brother.”
“Who art thou?” asked the devil again.
“I.”
“Art thou Yanoshka?”
“I am.”
“Why art thou here in this strange land, where even a bird does not go?”
“I am going for the world-sweetly speaking bird. Hast thou heard of it, my lord elder brother?”
“What is the use in delay or denial? I have not indeed heard. But over there lives my elder brother; if he knows nothing of it, then no one in the world knows.”
Now the king’s son came to the second enchanted castle; the second devil sent him to his eldest brother, the big lame devil.
When Yanoshka came to the third castle, the devil asked, “Why art thou here in this strange land, where even a bird does not go?”
“I am looking for the world-sweetly speaking bird. Hast thou not heard of it, lord elder brother, in thy world-beautiful life?”
“Of course I have; it is here in this enchanted castle. Thou mayest take it away if thou wilt listen to my word; if not, better thou hadst never been born. For if thou wilt not observe my words, thou wilt never see God’s bright sun again. I only wish to say: Here is a golden rod; take it, and with it strike the wall of the enchanted castle three times. Straightway the door will open before thee; pass in, run to the end of the glass corridor and across eight chambers. In the ninth chamber is the world-sweetly speaking bird in a rusty cage. Thou wilt find there every kind of beautiful and more beautiful golden birds, but look not at them, listen not to them, take no one of them, but take the sweetly speaking bird sitting sadly in the rusty cage. Snatch the cage in an instant, and rush from the enchanted castle as if thou hadst been shot from a cannon.”
The king’s son took the golden rod and struck the wall of the enchanted castle with it three times, and in a twinkle the door opened before him. The king’s son then asked few questions. Whether it was permitted or not he ran into the room in an instant. While he was running to the end of the glass corridor he was called by name, from the right to the left, to stop. It is true that he was frightened, but he paid no heed. He ran straight to the first chamber. Every kind of flowers, more and more beautiful, were in golden pots; but the king’s son did not touch them. He ran to the second chamber. In that were all kinds of swords and guns, but he did not choose from them. He entered the third, fourth, fifth, and in this way till he came to the ninth chamber. The ninth chamber, as the devil had told him, was full of all kinds of golden and silver cages, and in them golden-feathered birds, more and more beautiful, were singing; but the world-sweetly speaking bird was drooping there sadly in a rusty cage, and was not singing.
As the world-sweetly speaking bird was not golden-feathered like the others, it did not please the king’s son, and he did not take it, but chose from among the many golden-feathered birds the prettiest, and wished to take that; but as he reached towards it, suddenly, in the twinkle of an eye, he was turned to stone, and the door of the stone wall closed before him.
Now, the little princess every God-given day spread the table for her good brother, but he did not come. Every God-given evening she went out before the house and waited till nearly midnight; then she spread the bed for him, but he did not lie in it. So the first day passed, and the second, and the third,—day after day, but still the dear brother came not; therefore the princess, crying and weeping, went out to look for her brother. She journeyed and travelled upon his trail till she came to the first enchanted castle, and the second, and at last the third. The devil there stood on guard, with a great whip like a chain, so as to strike on the head, without pity or mercy, every one going up or down; and he shouted angrily at the little girl, “Who art thou?”
“I.”
“Thou art Marishka?” For meanwhile, let it be said, this was the name of the king’s son’s sister.
“I am.”
“Why art thou travelling in this strange land, where not even a bird goes?”
“I am looking for my brother. Hast thou not heard of him, lord elder brother?”
“Of course I have heard,—of course! He is in this enchanted castle, turned into stone; he had to be, for he would not obey me. Thou wilt go that way, too, if thou wilt not hold to my word.”
Now the little girl took the golden rod from the devil, who told her what to do with it, and struck the wall of the enchanted castle with it three times. The door opened before her in a twinkle, the princess ran in; but she looked neither to the right nor the left. She ran straight to the ninth chamber; there she took the rusty cage, struck her brother three times on the side with the rod, then ran as if shot from a cannon. And a thousand-fold was her luck that she did not delay an eye-twinkle longer, for the stone-wall door, as it was, cut the edge of her skirt off when it closed.
The princess had barely come out of the enchanted castle when she heard behind her frightful thundering, hammering and blowing, swearing and cursing, with threats; they shouted after her: “Wait, thou!—this-and-that-kind-of-wretch, it will soon be bitter for thee!” But she did not turn to them; she ran like a hunted deer till she reached home. Who was waiting for her there? No one else but her dear brother.
The brother and sister then put up the sweetly speaking bird on the world-beautifully sounding tree, and the sweetly speaking bird spoke, sang more sweetly than any cithara, so that whoever heard it became ten years younger. If the flowery garden had been famous before, it now stood in seven times greater fame, so that from seven kingdoms the people came to look at it; and the king, hearing of the fair fame of the flowery garden, resolved in his mind that, though he had not gone yet, he would go to see it now.
The old witch barely divined this intention of the king when she gave him powders in black coffee, from which the king became so sick that this time, too, his visit to the beautiful garden came to nothing. And then the old woman, without invitation, stood before him, and said: “High king, thou hast such a great desire to see the flowery garden, I will go at once, and bring back word if its beauty is as great as its fame.”
The king agreed, and the old woman went to see the flowery garden. She had barely put foot in it when the two children ran out to meet her, received her very cordially, and did not know where to seat her.
“Beautiful children,” began the old sinner, “the marble palace is beautiful, the flowery garden is beautiful, the world-sweetly speaking bird is beautiful; but the flowery garden would be still more beautiful if the silver lake were flowing in it, and in the lake golden fish were playing.”
“What must I do to get the lake?” asked the king’s son.
“Only this,” answered the old skeleton. “In a certain place, in an enchanted castle, is the world-silver lake, and in it the world-golden fish; it is only necessary to go for the silver lake, for the golden fish will come in it. All that is needed is to bring the lake.”
Then the old woman took leave of the pair pleasantly, and went home. But the king’s son from that day had no rest, so he took leave of his dear sister, and went out into the world for the silver lake. He travelled and journeyed across forty-nine kingdoms, and the Operentsia Sea, till he came to the first enchanted castle. A devil was guarding there, who sent him to his elder brother, and he to his eldest. The king’s son arrived at the third enchanted palace. A devil stood guard there, with an enormous knotty club, to hit every man going up or down, without mercy or pity.
“God give thee good evening, my lord elder brother.”
“God receive thee, Yanoshka; whither art thou faring in this strange land, where not even a bird goes?”
“I am looking for the world-silver lake. Hast thou not heard of it, lord elder brother?”
“Of course I have heard,—of course; it is here in this enchanted castle. But, my younger brother, thou wilt have to tie up thy drawers well if ’tis thy wish to take that away; for if thou dost not obey my word, I tell thee, on my true soul, that thou wilt reach Pilate by supper-time. I wish to say this: Here is a golden rod; strike the side of the enchanted palace with it, and suddenly the door will open before thee, run in straight to the garden. Thou wilt hear thy name called, but listen not. Every kind of beautiful maiden will come before thee, offering meat and drink; but eat not, neither drink. Thou wilt find on the way every kind of rich thing,—gold, silver, diamonds,—but touch nothing. Then every kind of disgusting snake and toad will come out, but be not afraid; run straight to the silver lake, which flows in the garden, run around it three times towards home, and then run out as thou didst go in.”
Well, the king’s son took the golden rod, struck the side of the enchanted castle three times, and the door opened before him; scarcely had he put foot inside when maidens called him by name. “This way, this way, Yanoshka! Eat, drink, with relish, Yanoshka! This way, Yanoshka, my embracing two arms are open to thee, run no farther!”
The king’s son, as if deaf, did not listen, but ran farther. Then maidens more and more beautiful came before him,—some sprang at him, dangled their golden hair in his face; the king’s son did not stop, but struck at them rudely, rushing on. He had barely left the maidens when he fell on to piles of treasure thrown in his way: beaten gold was piled high, and milk-white silver coin,—here every kind of diamond ring, there swords set in diamonds; but the king’s son touched nothing, and ran on. Then every kind of crawling, creeping thing swarmed around him,—here hissing snakes, there warty toads. Yanoshka looked not under his feet, but ran till he came to the silver lake, around which he rushed three times, and went out as he had come. A thousand-fold was his fortune, for had he been an instant later the stone wall would have closed before him; as it was it took the heel off his boot, but he cared nothing for that. He left his boots there and ran home barefoot; when he reached home the silver lake was already flowing through the flowery garden, and in it all kinds of precious golden fish were jumping.
Hitherto the marble palace and the flowery garden with the sounding tree and the sweetly speaking bird had been in fair fame, but now, when the silver lake was flowing through the garden, and golden fish playing in it, now I say their fame spoke to the seven worlds, and people came to look at them. When this reached the ears of the king he resolved that he would neither eat nor drink till he saw the marble palace with all its wonders. Though the old witch offered him black coffee repeatedly, the king did not take it; but sitting in the golden carriage with his wife, he drove to see the flowery garden.
Scarcely had the king and queen entered the flowery garden when the brother and sister ran out before them, panting, and kissed their hands.
“Oh, father, this little girl is like thee!” cried the queen; “she is thy carved second!”
“And the little boy looks like thee,” answered the king.
Well, the king and the queen went around the garden in order, and they could not do justice to its beauty; when they saw the sounding tree and the sweetly speaking bird, they clapped their hands. The boy went up in a moment on the sounding tree, plucked from it a couple of golden apples, gave one to the king and the other to the queen, who could not praise sufficiently his kindness. Then the king and queen looked at the silver lake and the golden fish in it; they visited the marble palace, and went from chamber to chamber till they had gone through seven in order.
The king and queen were unable to praise sufficiently the beauty of the rooms; but when they came to the most beautiful of all, the king found this to say, speaking speech: “Well, my little servant, wilt thou not answer a question of mine?”
“And what is it?” asked the prince.
“I should like to know why that picture is covered with velvet, and what it depicts.”
One word is not much, but the king’s little son did not say that much; speechless he drew the velvet covering aside. The king and queen were amazed, and knew their own children, whom they had never seen before. One embraced one of them, and the other the other; they could not speak, but they wept and laughed, and then the world-sounding tree and the sweetly speaking bird were heard.
Great was the rejoicing of every kind, but sad grew the old sinner when the king seized her, made her fast to a tree, and piled up beneath her a fire of sulphur.
NOTES.
Letters in the Russian names and titles in this volume have the following values:—
| a | as | a | in hat |
| ai | as | ai | in bait |
| i accented | as | ee | in beet |
| j accented | as | the French J | |
| kh and h | as | ch | in the Gaelic loch |
| o accented | as | o | in bone |
| o unaccented | as | u | in full |
| u | as | oo | in moon |
In this volume Russian names and titles without printed accents are accented on the penult. Names and titles accented on syllables other than the penult have the accents indicated in the following list:—
Adór
Afrón
Andrónovich
Baba-Yagá
Bulát
Dolmát
Fedót
Goróh
Gosudár
Iván
Ivánushka
Kirbít
Kirbítyevna
Simeón
Svaitozár
Vóronovich
Yélena
The few titles in the Russian tales are:—
| Tsarevich, | Tsar’s son. |
| Tsarevna, | Tsar’s daughter. |
| Tsaritsa, | Tsar’s wife. |
| Korolyevna, | King’s daughter, princess. |
In Chekh and Magyar the accent is always on the first syllable.
In the Magyar consonantal combinations cs = ch, gy = dy, s = sh. Examples are Csako, pronounced Chako,—one of the cows sold by the poor man to the King of the Crows. This is a name given in Hungary to a cow with horns grown outward. Kiss Miklos, pronounced Kish Miklosh, means in English Nicholas Little. Magyar is pronounced Modyor, the unaccented a in Magyar being the equivalent, or nearly so, of our o.
The Russian myth-tales in this volume are all taken from Afanasyeff’s[9] collection. At the end of each title are given, in parentheses, the part and page of the tale in the original work.
[9] The Russian title of Afanasyeff’s work is, “Naródniya Rússkiya Skazki. A. N. Afanásieva, Moskvá.” There are eight parts, usually bound in three volumes, and dated 1860-61-63.
The Three Kingdoms,—The Copper, the Silver, and the Golden. Page [1]. (Part vii. p. 97.)
The first name, that of the Tsar Bail Bailyanyin, is best translated as “White of White Land.” There is in Russian mythology a lady of unspeakable beauty, Nastasya or Anastasya of the sea, who causes the sun to blush twice each day; she is perhaps the Nastasya, Golden Tress, of this story. Bail Bailyanyin, “White of White Land,” may well be Bail Bog, the White God of pre-Christian Russians. And here a few words touching the persistence of myth-conceptions may not be out of place. In the tales of the Indians, and in fact of all men who have retained firm traces of primitive thought, the people of the myth-tellers are on the side of light and goodness, and their enemies on that of darkness and harm. This is parallel with the antithesis of day and night. The Russian phrases baili dyen, baili svait, “white day,” “white world,” are good examples of the old-time idea with which is connected, in all likelihood, the title Baili Tsar, “the White Tsar,” still existent in Russia.
Ivan Tsarevich, The Fire-Bird, and the Gray Wolf. Page [20]. (Part vii. p. 121.)
The variants of this tale among the Russians and other Slavs, as well as in Germany, are many, and would fill a volume of good size if collected and published. In some Russian variants Ivan Tsarevich retains Yelena the Beautiful, not through the art and friendship of the Wolf, but by his own craft and daring. When he has received the golden-maned steed in exchange for Yelena, and is going, he asks to take leave of the maiden; the request is granted. He raises the beauty to the saddle-bow, puts spurs to the steed, rises in the air, shoots on above the standing forest, below the moving cloud, vanishes, holds on his way till he comes to the Tsar to whom he had promised to give the steed for the Fire-Bird. When the time comes for parting he asks to take a last ride on the steed, if only through the court-yard; the Tsar agrees. Ivan mounts with the cage in his hand; the steed rises as before, and he vanishes, comes to the place where he had left Yelena, and fares homeward with her till he meets his evil brothers.
Ivan the Peasant’s Son and the Little Man Himself One-finger Tall, his Mustache Seven Versts in Length. Page [37]. (Part viii. p. 109.)
[Written down in the government of Saratoff, by Guskóff.]
In this tale we have Freezer and Great Eater, with powers exhibited on a smaller scale than those of the comrades of Kiss Miklos in the Magyar myth. The picture of the boat serving for the reality has its parallel quite frequently in Indian belief.
The Feather of Bright Finist the Falcon. Page [47]. (Part viii. p. 1.)
Written down in the government of Vologda.
The Pig with Gold Bristles, the Deer with Golden Horns, and the Golden-Maned Steed with Golden Tail. Page [59]. (Part ii. p. 268.)
Written down in the government of Voronej.
Water of Youth, Water of Life, and Water of Death. Page [72]. (Part vii. p. 66.)
The sleeping maiden in this tale, with her slumbering host, reminds us at once of the Queen of Tubber Tintye in “The King of Erin and the Queen of Lonesome Island.” See “Myths and Folk-lore of Ireland.”
The Footless and Blind Champions. Page [82]. (Part v. p. 164.)
This tale has many variants in Russian, and resembles the Brünhilde and Gunter story in the “Niebelungen Lied.”
The Three Kingdoms. Page [97]. (Part viii. p. 91.)
This story is remarkable for the change or metamorphosis of Raven, the great power, into a common raven after his defeat by Ivan Tsarevich and the surrender of the feather staff.
Raven is a great personage in American mythology, especially in that of the Modocs. Whenever he appeared and uttered his spell with an ominous laugh, everything was turned to stone. There are many rock groups of Eastern Oregon described in the myths as ancient mighty personages turned into stone by Raven. As soon as the body became stone, however, the spirit escaped, and took physical form in some other place. Over the spirit, Raven had no power.
Koshchéi Without-Death. Page [106]. (Part vii. p. 72.)
[Written down in the government of Archangel.]
This name has been translated, but incorrectly, Koshchéi, the “Deathless” or “Immortal.” Koshchéi was not deathless. His death was in the world, but in a place apart from him, which is simply another way of saying that the source of his life was at a distance. We may find in this fact one very important clew to the discovery of the nature of personages like Koshchéi. No matter how they are cut up or slaughtered, where they act, they are alive and as strong as ever next instant; it is as vain to try to kill them by attacking their bodies as it is to destroy winter by making bonfires in the open country, or destroy the summer by artificial cooling. There are two ways by which we may draw conclusions as to who these personages are,—one by discovering what or where their life or death is, the other by examining their acts. We do not know much at present about Koshchéi, from the fact that his death is in a duck’s egg; but if we could learn who the women are whom he carries away, that would throw light on his character. Let us take an American example. There is a personage, Winter, in a certain Indian myth whose heart is hidden away at a distance, and whose song brings frost and snow. The heart is found by the enemy of the Snow-maker; this enemy burns it, and the Snow-maker dies. In another Indian myth the hero’s enemy is pounded to pieces, but comes to life, is killed repeatedly without result. At last the hero learns that his enemy’s heart is in the sky, at the western side of the sun at midday; straightway he reaches up, gets the heart, crushes it, and his enemy dies. In this case the enemy is surely not a snow-maker.
Vassilissa Golden Tress, Bareheaded Beauty. Page [124]. (Part viii. p. 367.)
[Written down by Bronnitski.]
The name of the Tsar Svaitozar means “light-shining,” “resplendent.”
The wise blacksmith of the Savage Serpent receives a reward from Ivan Tsarevich similar to that given by Cucúlin to the Strong Smith in “Myths and Folk-lore of Ireland;” he is made king.
The Ring with Twelve Screws. Page [137]. (Part viii. p. 541.)
The Footless and the Blind. Page [149]. (Part viii. p. 191.)
The struggle to the bitter end between Nikita and Yelena the Beautiful is well brought out in this tale.
Koshchéi Without-Death. Page [165]. (Part viii. p. 69.)
For an interesting parallel to this tale, see “Phakir Chand” in “Folk-tales of Bengal,” by the Rev. Lal Behari Day.
Go to the Verge of Destruction and Bring Back Shmat-Razum. Page [179]. (Part vii. p. 38.)
In the original text the last task given by the king is to go “I know not where and bring back I know not what.” Shmat-Razum is a variant.
Marya Morevna. Page [203]. (Part viii. p. 98.)
Morevna means “daughter of the sea.”
This is a very fine tale, in which the ancient characters are well preserved. Koshchéi Without-Death, however, has his death with him this time.
Yelena the Wise. Page [218]. (Part vii. p. 304.)
The Seven Simeons, Full Brothers. Page [228]. (Part i. p. 370.)
The Simeons remind us at once of the brothers in “Fin MacCumhail, the Seven Brothers, and the King of France.” See “Myths and Folk-lore of Ireland.”
The Enchanted Princess. Page [238]. (Part viii. p. 138.)
This tale contains a good deal of myth material. Specially interesting is the withering of the trees when the soldier is put to sleep, and their budding forth when South Wind brings him back.
Vassilissa the Cunning, and the Tsar of the Sea. Page [249]. (Part vi. p. 218.)
Vassilissa is written Vasilisa in Russian. I have doubled the s to assist the reader, but regret now that I did not preserve the Russian orthography and call attention to the pronunciation.
Tsar Unchristened Forehead is in the original text, and Tsar of the Sea is given as a variant. I have taken the variant, which is undoubtedly earlier than the name in the text. The battle between beasts and birds in the beginning of the tale is very curious. In Indian mythology struggles between beasts and birds are common; not, however, beasts and birds of the present kind, but the beings who lived before men appeared, and who fell from their former high places, becoming such beasts and birds as those that we see now. The eagle in this story corresponds in character to the mythologic birds before their fall.
It is noteworthy that the struggles for superiority in Indian myths are not carried on through fighting (the usual method in Aryan myths), but through trials of skill, strength, dexterity,—through playing ball, dice, foot-races, wrestling, and shooting. The opponents always bet their heads, and the head of the losing party is cut off without delay.
The “Chekh Myths and Folk-Tales,” except “The Cuirassier and the Horned Princess,” are taken from a work in two parts called, “Folk-Tales,” by J. K. z. Radostova.[10] Prague, 1872.
[10] Národní Pohádky, od J. K. z. Radostova. V. Praze, 1872.
Boyislav, Youngest of Twelve. (Part ii. p. 241.)
The Table, the Pack, and the Bag. (Part i. p. 81.)
The King of the Toads. (Part i. p. 133.)
The Mouse-hole, and the Underground Kingdom. (In the original, “Mouse-Hole.” Part ii. p. 361.)
The Treacherous Brothers. (Part ii. p. 321.)
“The Cuirassier and the Horned Princess” (in the original, “Concerning a Cuirassier”) is taken from “Moravian Folk-Tales, Stories, Customs, and Beliefs,” collected and written down by Benesh Method Kulda.[11] Prague, 1874. This work is in two parts.
[11] Moravské Národní Pohádky, Pověstí, Obyčeje a Pověry sebral a napsal. Beneš Method Kulda. V. Praze, 1874.
The “Magyar Myths and Folk-Tales” are taken from the following sources,—
From “Original Folk-Tales of the Sayo Valley,” collected by László Merényi.[12] (2 parts).
[12] Sajovölgyi Eredeti Népmesék Összegyüjtötte. Merényi László. Pest, 1862.
The Poor Man, and the King of the Crows. (Part ii. p. 113.)
Kiss Miklos, and the Green Daughter of the Green King. (In the original, “The Lead Friend.” Part i. p. 1.)
From “Original Folk-Tales,” collected by László Merényi.[13] Pest, 1861. (2 parts).
[13] Eredeti Népmesék Összegyüjtötte. Merényi László. Pest, 1861.
The Reed Maiden. (Part ii. p. 35.)
From “Original Folk-Tales of the Danube Border,” collected by László Merényi.[14] (2 parts).
[14] Dunamelléki Eredeti Népmesék Összegyüjtötte. Merényi László. Pest, 1864.
The Useless Wagoner. (Part ii. p. 143.)
The Hedgehog, the Merchant, the King, and the Poor Man. (In the original, “The Hedgehog.” Part ii. p. 5.)
From “Wild Roses. A Collection of the Mental Creations of the Sekler People,” by Yanosh Kriza.[15] Klausenburg, 1863. (Volume I., all, I believe, that was published, contains ballads songs, and tales.)
[15] Vadrószák, Székely Népköltési Gyüjtemény. Szerkeszti Kriza János. Kolozsvartt, 1863.
Mirko, the King’s Son. (Part i. p. 436.)
This beautiful tale was printed in the Keresturfiszek variety of Sekler Magyar, and has not been put into ordinary Magyar, so far as I know.
Transcriber’s Note
Archaic and variant spelling is preserved as printed.
Minor punctuation errors have been repaired.
Hyphenation has been made consistent.
Assuming typographic errors, the following amendments have been made:
Page [100]—kingdom amended to Kingdom—... was the Tsaritsa of the Golden Kingdom, ...
Page [169]—pursurers amended to pursuers—... went some versts, and met pursuers twice as many; ...
Page [212]—Baga-Yaga amended to Baba-Yaga—... crossed the fiery river, and went to Baba-Yaga.
Page [221]—pited amended to pitied—... pitied the poor prisoners, ...
Page [232]—anwered amended to answered—... answered the seventh Simeon, ...
Page [244]—Greeting amended to Greetings—“Greetings to thee, grandmother!...”
Page [245]—Greeting amended to Greetings—“Greetings to thee, grandmother!...”
Page [263]—Spendid amended to Splendid—“Splendid fellow!” said the Tsar; ...
Ditto marks in the notes section at the end of the book have been replaced with the appropriate word(s) in each case.