THE KING AND HIS THREE SONS
Martha Ward Carey translation
ONCE there was a king who had three sons. He wanted to lay aside his crown. In his kingdom it was the custom to give it to the oldest; but as this king loved his three children equally, he could not resolve to obey this custom and exclude the youngest in advance. He wished that each of his children should have equal chance to succeed him. He decided that the crown should belong to whoever of his sons should bring him the most beautiful flower. He called them together and said to them,—
“The crown shall belong to the one who shall bring me the most beautiful flower; go and search.”
The three sons started out, each his own way, after having agreed to meet in a field well known to them. The first who reached the field was the oldest. He brought a beautiful flower. The second arrived next, with a flower still more beautiful. The oldest, seeing it, said bitterly,—
“I shall not have the crown!”
The youngest came last. His flower was so beautiful that it eclipsed those of his brothers.
“I shall not have the crown,” said the oldest to himself, angrily; and seizing the knife which hung from his girdle, he struck his youngest brother and killed him.
The father, grieved at not seeing his youngest child return, continued to wait for him before resigning his crown. The younger was so much afraid of the oldest that he dared not speak.
Several years had passed after the murder, when a shepherdess, who was keeping her sheep in the field where the three brothers had had their meeting, found a bone made like a flute.
She put it to her lips and blew. A voice came out of it which sang,—
“Blow softly, shepherdess, Blow, blow softly; The knife from the girdle Cruelly killed me.”
The king heard that the shepherdess had found a bone like a flute which made harmonious sounds. He had it brought to him, put it to his mouth and blew. The bone sang,—
“Blow softly, my father, Blow, blow softly; The knife from the girdle Cruelly killed me.”
The king called his younger son, handed him the bone and told him to blow in it. The son blew; the bone sang,—
“Blow softly, my brother, Blow, blow softly; The knife from the girdle Cruelly killed me.”
The king called his oldest son, handed him the bone and told him to blow in it. The son blew; the bone sang,—
“Blow softly, my brother, Blow, blow softly; The knife from thy girdle Cruelly killed me.”
At these words, “The knife from thy girdle,” the father understood it all. He had his oldest son quartered at once.
Told at Fraisses (Loire) by Jacques Bayon, Aug. 19, 1877.
V. S.