SOUTHERN SLAVONIANS. (continued 3)

He went. Now, he thought to himself: ‘What shall I do? I am a hero, but I have not what a hero requires.’ Then he went to a smith, at whose smithy were five-and-twenty smiths. ‘God help you, smith!’ ‘God help you, Kraljevitch Marko! why have you come to me?’ ‘I have come to you that you may forge me a sword weighing twelve hundredweight; then you shall also forge me a mace, if you make the sword well; but you must know that it must be stronger than your anvil. If it cuts it through, you shall receive payment; otherwise, not. Have you understood me?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Well, then make it now.’ All five-and-twenty smiths went immediately and forged the sword. When it was ready, Marko came. ‘Well, smith, have you got it ready?’ ‘Yes, Marko.’ ‘Now come, let me see.’ Marko struck, but the sword broke into two pieces, and not the anvil. ‘Ah! friend smith, you’ve not done it well; you get no pay.’ He went on to another smith. ‘God help you, smith!’ ‘God help you, Kraljevitch Marko! What work do you want done?’ ‘I have come to you to make me a sword weighing twelve hundredweight, and to make it stronger than your anvil, because, if it cuts through your anvil, you will receive payment; if not, you will get nothing. Have you understood me?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Then make it.’ Then up came the thirty smiths, worked at the sword, and worked until they had finished forging it. Marko came: ‘Well, smith, is the sword ready?’ ‘It is, Marko.’ ‘Show it me that I may see it.’ Marko took it, struck, cut through the anvil, and cut right into the block. ‘Well, smith, you’ve made it well. Now that you’ve made me a sword, make me also a sheath for the sword, and also a club, that is, a mace, weighing twelve hundredweight, then I will pay you all at once. But when I throw the mace, it must not break; if it breaks, then you get no payment.’ He made him a mace also, but did not make it well. When Marko threw it, he let it fall upon himself, and the mace broke. Then said Marko: ‘You have made me the sword well, but not the mace. Reach out your hand that I may pay you for the sword.’ The smith reached out his hand, and Marko cut it off with the sword, saying: ‘There’s your payment, smith, for the sword, that you may no more make such swords for any hero.’ Then he went to a third smith, with whom thirty-eight smiths were at work, and said: ‘God help you, smith!’ ‘God requite you, Marko! why have you come to me?’ ‘I have come to you to make me a club, that is, a mace, weighing twelve hundredweight; I tell you the truth, if I throw it up on high, and it breaks when it falls, you get no payment.’ All thirty-eight smiths worked till they forged it. Marko came: ‘Well, is the mace ready?’ ‘It is, Marko.’ ‘Show it, that I may see it.’ When he gave it him, he threw it so high into the air that it was three days and three nights in the sky. When it came down, Marko presented his back; it fell upon him, and cast him to the ground, and blood flowed from his nose and teeth, but the mace remained sound. But Marko sprang up quickly, and said to the smith: ‘Ah! dear smith! you’ve made it well for me; reach out your hand that I may pay you.’ He reached out his hand to him, and he cut his hand off with his sword. ‘Let this be your payment, smith, that you may no more make such staves for any hero.’

Then he went off to his mother and said to her: ‘Mother, you see in me a hero; if you revile me, I shall go about the world.’ Then his mother began to scold him: ‘Why are you like this? Why don’t you live like other people? You have oxen; go, then, on to the green hill and plough the fallows and pastures, and thereby support your old mother.’ Marko obeyed her, took the oxen, and went. But he didn’t go on to the green hill, to plough the fallows and pastures, but he went and ploughed the emperor’s highroads. When the Turks saw this, they went to Marko—three hundred Turks, all chosen warriors—and said to him: ‘Why, Marko, do you plough the emperor’s highroads? you have the fallows and pastures!’ Then at him, to cut him down. When Marko saw this, he hadn’t with him either his sword or his mace, so seized his plough and felled all three hundred Turks. Then said he: ‘Ah! gracious God! a wondrous hero!’ Then he took the Turks’ gold from them, left his plough, unyoked the oxen, and turned them loose on the green hill: ‘Go, little oxen, on to the green hill, and feed and graze from pine to pine, like the cuckoo; Marko has not managed to plough with you, and now never will he more.’ And home he went singing: ‘Here, mother, you have gold enough, live upon it, and I will go into the world, that your eye may see me no more.’

He took his mace and sword, went and came to an inn, where some Turks were drinking red wine and conversing. ‘We should be glad to make the acquaintance of Kraljevitch Marko and see him. We have heard that he is a celebrated hero. His brother Andro is in Stambol here. He is a hero, but they say that he is a still greater hero.’ ‘In whose service is Andro Kraljevitch?’ ‘In that of a pasha; he will soon come riding past here.’ ‘Good; I will wait for him.’ Up came Andro Kraljevitch, riding with the pasha. Marko called out to him: ‘Eh, adopted brother, Kraljevitch Andro!’ ‘Thanks, unknown hero, perhaps you are Kraljevitch Marko?’ ‘Quite true, I am Kraljevitch Marko.’ ‘Good; let us go into the inn to drink a cup of wine, that love and the fortune of heroes may thus unite us. Now we are not afraid of going into combat against any empire.’ So they went on the way to an inn. Kraljevitch Marko said: ‘Prithee, sing me a song, Andro.’ ‘Dear brother, I dare not. The Vila of the cloud would shoot me.’ ‘Don’t be afraid; I am here.’ Andro obeyed, and sang so that all the branches began to fall. All at once a spear flew against Andro and struck him down. Marko looked about to see whence it came, and espied a Vila in the cloud; he seized his mace and threw it at the Vila, so that it at once struck her to the ground. The Vila began to shriek: ‘Let me go, Marko! I will bring Andro back to life, and will give you a wondrous horse, so that you will be able to fly in the air.’ Marko agreed, and she took certain grasses, and brought Andro back to life. Marko obtained the wondrous horse, and both rode off to an inn and drank red wine. But in the inn there was a wicked harlot. She became enamoured of Andro, but he would not even look at her. She therefore put sweet honey into his wine, that he might drink the wine. Marko went out for a short time, and the wicked woman murdered Andro. But when Marko came in he seized the wicked woman, and spitted her on his sword: ‘Take that, wretch, for murdering my brother Andro.’

He went on into the world. He roamed hither and thither, and when he met with any hero, he tried the fortune of combat with him, as in his encounter with black Arapin. Arapin built a tower beside the level sea. When he had built it handsomely and raised it high, he said thus to it: ‘Handsomely, my tower, handsomely have I built thee, and high have I raised thee, for I have no father nor mother, no brother nor sister, nor even my beloved, to walk about in thee. But I have a love, the daughter of the emperor Soliman. I will write him the leaf of a white book, and send up to him by a black Tatar; for if he will not give her to me, let him meet me in single combat.’ He wrote the leaf of a white book and sent it by a black Tatar. When Soliman read over the leaf of the white book, he shed tears abundantly, and his empress Solimanitza came to him and questioned him: ‘Why do you weep, emperor Soliman? Ofttimes have letters come for you, and you have not shed abundant tears; what distress is tormenting you?’ He told her this, that black Arapin had written to him, that, if he did not give him his daughter, he must meet him in single combat; and how could he meet him in single combat? She advised him to write the leaf of a white book to Kraljevitch Marko to come, promising to give him three loads of money. He wrote the leaf of a white book and sent it by a black Tatar. When Kraljevitch Marko read over the leaf of the book, he began to laugh greatly: ‘Yes, i’ faith, emperor Soliman! what will your money do for me, if black Arapin severs my head from my shoulders?’ And he said not whether he would go or not go. The emperor Soliman was anxiously expecting the Tatar, who brought to him the words, that Marko neither said that he would come, nor that he would not come. Thereupon the emperor was sorrowful, for he had no such man who would deliver his daughter. There arrived a second letter from black Arapin, that he must give him his daughter; if he did not give her, he must meet him in single combat. As he read it, he shed abundant tears. Thereupon his only daughter came to him and asked him: ‘Why do you weep, emperor Soliman? Letters have ofttimes arrived for you, and you have not shed abundant tears.’ He replied to her: ‘Dear daughter! You see that black Arapin writes to me, that, if I do not give you to him, I must meet him in single combat; and how shall I, poor man that I am, meet him?’ ‘You know, dear father, that there is one hero, Kraljevitch Marko. Write to him, that you will give him nine loads of money, if he will come and meet him in single combat.’ The emperor Soliman wrote to Kraljevitch Marko the leaf of a white book, and sent it to him by a black Tatar. When he read over the leaf of the white book he laughed greatly: ‘I’ faith, emperor Soliman! what will your money be to me, if black Arapin severs my head from my shoulders?’ Thereupon he did not say whether he would come or not come. Sorrowful thereat, the emperor did not know what to do. Then came a third letter from black Arapin, that he was coming, and that he must prepare, would he, nould he, to give him his daughter, and that all inns and shops must be shut for fear of him. Thereupon the emperor Soliman shed abundant tears as he read it. His daughter came to him: ‘Why do you weep, emperor Soliman? Letters have ofttimes arrived for you, and you have not shed abundant tears. What distress is assailing you?’ ‘You see, dear daughter, that black Arapin writes to me, that if I don’t give you to him, I must meet him in single combat! But how shall I, poor man, meet him?’ ‘Write, dear father, to Kraljevitch Marko to come, and offer him twelve loads of money, and a shirt which is neither spun nor woven nor bleached, but made of nothing but pure gold, and a serpent that holds a tray in its mouth, and on the tray a golden casket, and in the casket a precious stone, by aid of which you can sup at midnight just as well as at mid-day.’ He wrote the leaf of a white book and sent it to Kraljevitch Marko by a black Tatar, and offered him all that his daughter told him. When Marko read the leaf of the white book, he laughed greatly, and said: ‘I’ faith, emperor Soliman! what will your money do for me, if black Arapin severs my head from my shoulders?’ And then, too, he did not say that he would come or not come. Thereupon came the leaf of a white book from black Arapin, that Arapin had now got ready three hundred heroes, all in silver armour, and all chosen warriors. Then said Kraljevitch Marko to his piebald horse: ‘Eh! piebald horse, my pearl! you know well that you must be faithful to me, for, if not, I shall cut off your feet at the knees, and that you must bear yourself valiantly.’ And the piebald horse replied that he must saddle and mount with speed to go soon, and that black Arapin was already near. Marko saddled and mounted him, and went to the city where the emperor Soliman reigned.

Now, when he had ascertained by which road Arapin’s men were coming, he presented himself to a young innkeeper, and said, knocking at the door: ‘Open, and bring some wine.’ But he excused himself, saying that he dared not draw any, for all inns and shops were obliged to be shut for fear of black Arapin. But the hero said to him: ‘You must bring some for me, or I shall cleave your head to the shoulders.’ The innkeeper saw that it could not be otherwise, and was obliged to bring him a cup of wine. Marko drank half, and gave half to his piebald horse. Then he brought two cups, one for Marko, and one for the horse. Meanwhile, Marko went into the garden to look about him. When he got there, he saw by the side of a brook a damsel in sorrow, and wondered what ailed her that she wept so piteously, saying: ‘Ah! my rivulet! I would rather abide in you, than lie behind black Arapin’s back.’ When Marko saw that it was Soliman’s daughter, he said: ‘What ails you, damsel, that you weep so piteously?’ She replied to him: ‘Go hence, unknown hero! As to what you ask me, you cannot aid me.’ ‘Now, only tell me; maybe I shall aid you.’ ‘Black Arapin will come, and will take me away from my father and mother; but I had a man, who could have set me free, but he will not. I offered him twelve loads of money, and a shirt, which is neither spun nor bleached, but is made of pure gold; and a serpent, that holds in its mouth a tray, and on the tray a golden casket, and in the casket a precious stone, by aid of which he could sup at midnight, as well as at mid-day; but he won’t. The sun has not seen him, neither has the moon thrown its light upon him, nor has he seen his mother more, nor has a bird sung to him.’ Marko answered her: ‘Don’t chatter, don’t chatter; but go and say that I have arrived. I am Marko; and let him dress and furnish you handsomely, and give you all that is requisite for Arapin, and all that he shall desire.’ Then she ran to her father, and told him all that Marko said. Meanwhile, while Marko was conversing with the damsel, Arapin arrived, saw an inn open, and a horse in front of it standing tethered at the entrance. He said: ‘Who is this, that is not afraid of my terror?’ And thereupon he said that he would soon teach him to be afraid of him. After this, he shouted an order to the bedelija; the bedelija (such is the [Turkish] name for a horse) would not stir. ‘Well, I’ll go thither; I won’t make quarrels; maybe I shall obtain possession of the damsel without any disturbance.’ And, in fact, thither he went, obtained possession of the damsel, and all that he needed was given him. Then he went again to the inn, and saw the horse again standing there. Again he was about to go to the innkeeper to slay him; but he shouted to the horse, the horse wouldn’t stir. Said Arapin: ‘Well, I won’t make quarrels, now that I have obtained the damsel without any quarrel.’ When Arapin proceeded on his way, Marko came out of the garden, and his piebald horse said to him: ‘Where have you been so long, that Arapin might easily have killed me?’ ‘Now don’t fear, my piebald; we shall soon kill him, please God, not he you.’ Then he called for one more cup of wine for himself, and one for his piebald. When they had finished drinking, they started on their way, and in pursuit of Arapin. Arapin had already told his chief officer to look round to see whether any dark fog came out behind them. He looked round, but saw nothing. But when he afterwards looked round a second time, he espied a dark fog, and said to Arapin: ‘Yes, my lord, a dark foul fog is coming behind us.’ Scarcely had he said this, when Marko attacked, and began to slaughter, his rearguard. Arapin said to him: ‘Don’t be silly, Marko; why are you playing the fool with us? I don’t know whether you are jesting, or playing the fool.’ ‘I am neither jesting nor playing the fool, but am in earnest.’ ‘Do, then, what you can; throw what you have.’ ‘I won’t; but throw you your mace.’ Marko’s piebald threw himself down, and Arapin’s mace went over Marko’s head. Then Marko threw his mace, and felled Arapin to the ground, and the piebald leapt to Arapin, and said to Marko: ‘Come, see that you cut off Arapin’s head.’ When the piebald leapt, Marko, too, struck with his sword, and cut off Arapin’s head, and the piebald quickly leapt backwards thirty paces. Then he left Arapin’s carcase on the ground, gave the head to the damsel, and said: ‘Kiss him, now that he is dead, though you wouldn’t when he was living.’ They went home, and the emperor caused a great entertainment to be prepared, and all Marko’s friends, and his father and mother, to be invited, and Marko obtained his promised reward.

So, too, he tried the fortune of combat with Musa Urbanusa.[19] He had three hearts. Marko fought with him for three nights and three white days without cessation, so that red foam already issued from Marko, while not even white foam came from Musa Urbanusa. Then Kraljevitch Marko shouted: ‘Eh! sister Vila!’ The Vila replied: ‘I cannot help you, because the baby has fallen asleep in my arms; but don’t you know your secret weapon?’ Then said Kraljevitch Marko: ‘Look, Musa Urbanusa, whether the sun is now rising or setting.’ Musa looked at the sun, and Marko drew his knife, and ripped Musa up. Musa seized hold of him so powerfully that he barely dug his way out from under Musa, whom he had ripped up. There he lay, and Marko pushed himself sideways, and when he had extricated himself, went to look what there was in this man that was so strong. He saw that Musa had three hearts, one was beating, the second was beginning to beat a little, and the third did not yet know aught about it. On the third he saw a snake lying, and the snake said to Marko: ‘Thank God that I didn’t know of it; you wouldn’t have done what you have done. But open your mouth, Marko, that I may enter into you, that you, too, may be as strong as he was.’ Marko became angry, and cut the snake to pieces, saying: ‘I don’t need such a foul creature as you are.’

Then he proceeded on his way, and went about till firearms were invented. He went up to a shepherd, who was shooting birds. Then Marko asked him: ‘What’s this that you are doing?’ ‘Eh! you see, I’m shooting birds; and I could shoot you, also.’ ‘And how would you kill me with this thing? Heroes have not killed me; could you do so?’ Then he reached his hand to him, and said: ‘Shoot into my hand here.’ He shot, and shot through his hand. Then said Marko: ‘It is not worth my while to live any longer in the world; now any cuckoo could slay me; I had rather quit it.’ He went into a cavern, and lives there still at the present day. Into this cavern a man was compelled to go, who was let down by a rope in a chest. When he arrived within, the Vila immediately stepped up to him, and said: ‘Christian soul, why come you here?’ He told her why and how. But Marko heard that somebody was conversing, and immediately asked the Vila who it was that had come in. She told him that a soul from that world had come to see what was in the cavern. Marko immediately said that he must come to him, that he might see how strong people in the world still were, and he must give him his hand. But she gave him a red-hot iron, and Marko took it, and squeezed it in his hands so that water spirted out of it, and said: ‘Ah, ah! I could still live in the world if no one would talk about me for three days.’ He also commissioned him to tell the lords that he should come there. He gave him a letter, too, and sealed it with his own hand, and allowed him to go up. He shook the rope, and got into the chest. Then they pulled him up, and he gave the letter to the lords; but, for fear of Marko’s coming, the lords did not make the letter public for people to know how Marko had gone into the cavern. The footprints of his horse are still recognised.

LIII.—THE DAUGHTER OF THE KING OF THE VILAS.

There was a mother, who was expecting. As she once upon a time came out of church from mass, her pains fell upon her. Whither should she go? She concealed herself under a bridge, and became the happy mother of a son. The three Royenitzes also came thither. They are hags, who determine by what death every child is to pass from this world. One said: ‘Let us kill him at once.’ The second said: ‘Not so; but when he grows up, then let us kill him, that his mother’s sorrow for him may be greater.’ But the third said: ‘Let us not do so; but if he does not take the daughter of the king of the Vilas to wife, then let us kill him.’ And so it was settled.

When he had grown up, he said to his mother: ‘Mamma, I should like to marry.’ ‘Ah, my son, you say that you would like to marry; but there is no one to be married to you.’ He asked her: ‘Why not?’ She told him: ‘Yes; the Suyenitzes have pronounced your fate, that if you do not take the daughter of the king of the Vilas to wife, they will put you to death.’ He then said: ‘Well, I’ll go in search of her; but first I’ll go to ask a certain old smith; maybe he’ll be able to tell me where she is.’ The smith said: ‘My son, it will be difficult for you to find out; but go to the mother of the moon; if she can’t tell you, I don’t know who will be better able to tell you than she.’ He also gave him three pairs of iron shoes, and sent him off to the mother of the moon. ‘Only, when you come to her, take her by the arm, then she will ask you at once what you want, and tell her without delay.’ He went off, and just as he was on the point of wearing out the shoes, he came to the moon’s mother, and took her by the arm. She asked him immediately what he wanted. He said: ‘I want to find the daughter of the king of the Vilas.’ She said: ‘Well, my son, I don’t know; but maybe my son knows. Wait till he comes home, and then you can ask him. But he mustn’t find you; he would tear you to pieces at once. When he comes home, he will notice that you are here. I will conceal you, and when he asks for the third time where the Christian soul is, then say to him: “Here I am!” and he won’t be able to do anything to you.’ The old woman hid him under a trough. The moon came home, and asked: ‘Mamma, you have a Christian soul here.’ And when he asked for the third time where the Christian soul was, he announced himself: ‘Here I am.’ And then he could do nothing to him, otherwise he would have crushed him to powder. He asked him what he wanted. He said: ‘I want to find the daughter of the king of the Vilas.’ The moon: ‘I don’t know, but if the sun’s mother doesn’t know, I don’t know who else does.’ And he showed him the way by which he must go.

He put on the second pair of shoes, and when he was just on the point of wearing them out, he came to the sun’s mother, and took her by the arm. She said to him at once: ‘What do you want?’ He said to her that, if she knew where the Vilas’ castles were, he wanted to obtain the daughter of the king of the Vilas. She then said to him: ‘Ah, my son, I don’t know; but if my son doesn’t know, I don’t know who else does. Wait a little till he comes home.’ She, too, concealed him under a trough, and he announced himself the third time that the sun asked: ‘Mother, you have a Christian soul here:’ saying, ‘Here I am.’ Neither could the sun do anything to him, but asked him what he wanted. He replied that he was in search of the Vilas’ castles, and the daughter of the king of the Vilas. Then the sun said to him: ‘Ah, I don’t know; but if the storm-mare (that is, the storm or wind) doesn’t know, then I don’t know who will know.’ Then he showed him the road, and said: ‘When you come to a meadow where the grass is up to your knees, there the storm-mare is. If you don’t find her there, wait for her; she will come to feed. Don’t go directly to her, but hide behind a tree or in a hole, and when she comes, take her at once by the bridle, otherwise it will not be good for you.’

He went off, and put on the third pair of shoes, then went and went, and arrived at the meadow. When he got there, the storm-mare was not there till dawn. He hid himself under a bridge, and when she came to the bridge to drink water, he seized her by the bridle, and she asked him what he wanted. He replied that he wanted to find the daughter of the king of the Vilas. She answered him: ‘Mount on my back.’ He mounted, and she then said to him: ‘But you mustn’t fall off.’ She reared; he almost fell off, but kept himself on with his foot. She reared a second time, and then, too, he almost fell off. A third time she reared, and then, too, he almost fell off, only he kept himself on with his knee. Then she said to him: ‘This will be harmful to me.’ She went off with him like a bird, and sped and sped up to two steps. When she came near them, the steps split in twain from the gust, but speedily closed again, and tore off a piece of the mare’s tail. Then the mare said to him: ‘You see how you harmed me when you almost fell off.’ Then they went on till they arrived at the Vilas’ castles. Then she said: ‘Don’t get drunk or forget, so as not to come to me.’ He said that he would come, and went off upwards. They received and entertained him, and he asked them at once to give him the king’s daughter. They promised that they would give her to him. Then they feasted, and ate and drank till darkness came on. And when evening arrived, he said that he must go out on his own account, and would return directly. He went off to the storm-mare. They had brought her a hundred quintals of hay. He concealed himself in the mare’s tail. They sought him, and couldn’t find him; but nevertheless they almost found him at dawn; but a cock began to crow, and then they could do nothing to him. Afterwards he went indoors, and they gave him again to eat and drink, and asked him where he had been. He replied: ‘I slept under a hedge; I fell down, and soon fell asleep on the spot.’ They gave the mare a hundred quintals of hay and several measures of oats. They enjoyed themselves the whole day till evening. He went out again and hid himself in the mare’s mane. They sought him all night long, but couldn’t find him; but at dawn an old witch told them that he was in the mane. They would almost have found him there, but the cocks began to crow, and they couldn’t kill him now. But afterwards they killed all the cocks in the whole village. He went again into the castle. They gave him what he wanted to eat and drink, and the mare, as usual, a hundred quintals of hay and several measures of oats, and said to him: ‘You must not go out anywhere in the evening; we will prepare everything for you that you require.’ When evening came, they were on friendly terms with him, but nevertheless dispersed. He went out, and went to the mare. Where did she bestow him? She hid him under her foot in her shoe, for she had a large foot. They went to seek him again. But during the day he took two eggs, and the mare hatched them by evening in her throat, and they had almost grown up by evening. When they sought him again, they couldn’t find him. At dawn they consulted the old witch. She told them that he was under the mare’s hoof. They wanted now to take him out, but the cockerels which the mare had hatched in her throat began to crow. They could do nothing to him, but they wrung the two cockerels’ necks. Now he said that they must give him the king’s daughter, that he might depart. But the king said that he wouldn’t give her to him, because he had not slept where he had prepared a bed for him. He declared that he had been drunk and had gone out, had fallen down, and gone to sleep on the spot. But the king would not believe him. Now he begged him to bring his daughter to him, that he might at any rate give her a kiss. But beforehand the mare instructed him that, when she came to kiss him, he was to seize her and pull her on to her (the mare), and they would escape with her. And he was also to take a brush with which horses are cleaned, a comb with which horses are combed, and a glass of water, and make good preparations for himself. But when the king granted his request that his daughter should come for him to kiss her, she stood on his foot in the stirrup, and as she stood to give the kiss, off started the mare, and made her way through the gate, and on and on she went. The king saw this, called for his horse, and after them. They were already far on their way. All of a sudden the mare said: ‘Look round to see whether anyone is coming behind us.’ He looked round and said: ‘There is; he is all but catching you by the tail.’ The mare said: ‘Throw the brush!’ He threw the brush, and a forest placed itself behind them, so that he could scarcely make his way through; the poor king could scarcely get through for thorn bushes. And they had meanwhile got a long way forward. The king, however, forced his way through, and again after them with speed, till he was again on the point of catching them. Then the mare said: ‘Look round to see whether anyone is coming behind us.’ He looked round and saw that he was already near, and the mare was all but caught by the tail, and said: ‘He is near, and you are all but caught by the tail.’ The mare said: ‘Throw the comb.’ He threw it, and a great chain of mountains, one after the other, placed itself there; and on they went further, so that they had already gone a great space, and the king with difficulty made his way over the mountains, and again after them, so that he was again on the point of overtaking them. The mare told him to look round to see whether anyone was coming behind them. He said that there was, and that she was all but caught by the tail. The mare said: ‘Throw the glass with water.’ He threw it, and a great flood of water arose, so that the king could with difficulty get across. And they had already got a long way on. No sooner had the king got out of the water, when on he went with speed, with speed, again after them, and was already on the point of overtaking them, when the mare was already near the steps, and the steps opened from the gust of wind, and the mare sped through, and they closed again, and the king couldn’t proceed further through the steps, and shouted loudly: ‘Son-in-law, don’t go any further; I cannot do so. Let not my daughter complain that I have given her nothing.’ Then he somehow threw his girdle over the steps, for he had nought else to give her save that girdle. And the girdle was such that whatsoever its owner wanted, he obtained. Then the king returned, and they remained happy. He thanked the storm-mare courteously, and went home with speed, for he bade the girdle place them at his house. They prepared a grand banquet, for they had plenty, and I was at the banquet and feasted.

LIV.—THE WONDER-WORKING LOCK.

There was once upon a time a woman who had one son. This son maintained himself and his mother; he fed their one cow, and brought wood and carried it to the town for sale, and with the money bought bread to support his mother and himself. On one occasion he carried sticks to market, and bought bread and went homewards. As he went homewards with the bread, he went through a wood, came up to some shepherds, and saw that they were going to kill a puppy, and said to them: ‘Don’t kill it; the poor animal has done you no wrong; give it rather to me.’ The shepherds said to him: ‘What will you give us? Give us that loaf.’ He gave them the loaf, took the dog, and carried it home. When he got home, his mother asked him: ‘Have you brought any bread?’ ‘No, but I have bought a puppy with the bread.’ She then said: ‘Wherewith shall we support it, when we’ve nothing to eat ourselves?’ ‘Well, I’ll go gather sticks, sell them, and buy bread.’ He went a second time to gather sticks, took them and sold them, then bought bread, went through the wood, and saw where the shepherds were killing a kitten, and said to them: ‘Don’t kill the animal; it has done you no harm; rather give it to me?’ They said to him: ‘What will you give us?’ He said: ‘What should I give you, when I’ve got nothing?’ The shepherds said: ‘That loaf of bread.’ He gave it them and carried the kitten home. The old woman was again anxiously expecting bread. When he got home his mother said to him: ‘Do you bring me any bread?’ ‘No, but I’ve bought a kitten with the bread.’ The old woman then said: ‘You’ve nothing to eat yourself, much less the cat.’ He then said: ‘It, too, will be serviceable. I’ll go gather sticks, sell them, and buy bread.’ He went a third time, gathered and sold sticks, bought bread, and went homewards. Going through the wood, he saw the shepherds killing a snake, and said: ‘Don’t kill the snake, it has done you no harm; why should you kill it?’ He begged for it, too, because he compassionated it; it was beautifully marked, and he fancied it. Then said the shepherds: ‘What will you give us not to kill it?’ He said: ‘This little loaf of bread.’ He gave it them, and they gave him the snake. He went home with the snake, and the snake said to him: ‘Now feed me; when I grow up you shall carry me home.’ When he got home his mother said to him: ‘Why haven’t you brought some bread? Why have you brought this?’ He said: ‘It, too, will be of service.’ Then he went a fourth time to gather sticks, took them to market, sold them, bought four loaves of bread, and brought them home. Then they all ate their fill—the dog, the cat, the snake, his mother, and himself. He maintained the whole set of animals. The snake grew big; he now carried it home. It said to him: ‘Do you hear? my mother will offer you gold and silver, but don’t take any, but let her give you the lock which hangs behind the door. Whenever you want anything whatever, only knock on the lock; twelve young men will come, who will ask you: “What are your commands?” Only say what you wish for, and you will have it immediately.’ When he carried it home, its parents asked him what he wanted for bringing their daughter home. He said according to his instructions: ‘Nothing but that lock, which hangs behind the door.’ They said to him: ‘We can’t give you that; and what good would you do yourself with the lock? Let us rather give you a quantity of money, as much as you can carry.’ He then said: ‘I don’t wish for your money; only give me the lock.’ When they long refused to give it him, he was about to depart. But they saw that he ought not to go away without payment, so gave him the lock. Now, when he had obtained the lock, and had gone a little distance from the house, he knocked on the lock, and immediately out came twelve young men, who asked him: ‘What are your commands?’ ‘Only that you place me at home at once.’ He immediately stood in front of his cottage, and when his mother saw him, she rejoiced: ‘Oh, my son! you have come home; how miserable I have been because you were not at home!’ ‘Well, mamma, don’t talk! we shall now live better than we have done hitherto; I have brought you such a thing, that we shall live with ease.’ Then he gently knocked on the lock, and up darted the twelve young men: ‘What are your commands?’ ‘Food and drink for me, my mother, the dog and the cat.’ And so it was. This pleased the old woman, and she loved her son still more.

Now it came into his head that he should like to get married, and he said to his mother: ‘Mamma, go you to our king, and ask him to give me his daughter to wife.’ His mother jeered him: ‘What is this nonsense that you are talking?’ ‘Well, go you to the king and tell him!’ The old woman did not venture to go at once; but at last go she did, and told the king that her son wished to marry his daughter. The king said to her: ‘Good! provided he performs for me what I shall command him; if he breaks up these hills by to-morrow morning, as far as my eyes can see, so that the best wheat shall grow, and I shall eat a cake from it to-morrow, then it is good; if that shall not be done, he will lose his head.’ She went home weeping: ‘My son, you have done an evil thing; the king has said to you, you must break up all these hills by to-morrow morning, as far as the king’s eyes can see, so that the best wheat shall grow there, and the king shall eat a cake from it to-morrow; and if that be not done, you will lose your head.’ ‘Well, mamma, if that’s all he said, then she will be mine.’ ‘Ah! my sonny! how can this be? You cannot do it.’ ‘Don’t talk, mamma, but let us go to sleep; you will see whether all will be ready to-morrow or no.’ They took their supper, and his mother went off to sleep. Then he knocked on the lock, and out sprang the twelve young men. ‘What are your commands?’ ‘I ask that these hills be broken up, as far as the king’s eyes can see, and the best wheat must grow there.’ It was done. In the morning the old woman went to the king with the cake. The king rose up and saw that it was really accomplished, and the old woman was waiting with the cake. The king came out, and she said to him: ‘Good-morning; I have brought it.’ Then the king said: ‘Good! he has done this; now tell him that by to-morrow he must clear all the woods, as far as he can see, and the best vineyards must be there, and he’ (the king) ‘must eat grapes and drink new wine to-morrow; and if he does not do this, he will lose his head.’ She went again weeping home, and told her son all that the king had said to her. But he only smiled and said: ‘Well, well, only go to sleep, you will see whether all will be ready to-morrow or no.’ When they had supped, the old woman went off to sleep, and he knocked on the lock, and the twelve young men sprang out: ‘What are your commands?’ ‘I command that these woods be all cleared, and that they produce the best grapes.’ This, too, was done. In the morning the king rose up and saw that the change was really effected. The old woman, too, was really waiting for him with grapes and new wine. The king said to her: ‘Well, good! tell your son that he must accomplish one thing more, and then he will win my daughter. If he shall have as much cattle, and such a castle as I have, he will win my daughter; if not, he will lose his head.’ The old woman went home again, and told him what the king said. Then he knocked on the lock, and immediately out sprang the twelve young men: ‘What are your commands?’ He ordered that by the morrow a better castle must be built than the king had ever seen, and that he must have more cattle than the king, and there must be a covered way from his castle to the king’s, and that a better garden must be formed, and in it all kinds of trees, and all sorts of birds to sing in it. This, too, came to pass. On the morrow he caused his six best horses to be harnessed, and went to fetch the king’s daughter, to go to the wedding. Then the king said that there should be wedding festivities for five years. They were married, and the wedding festivities took place. Entrance was free to everyone. The festivities had already lasted three years, when the king’s resources were exhausted. Then said the young man: ‘Now I will entertain for three years.’ The king of the sea came, too, to the festivities, and fancied the king’s daughter, whom the other had married. Once upon a time he saw how he knocked upon the lock, and that which he wanted immediately presented itself. When they went to sleep, the king of the sea stole the lock, and knocked upon it; up sprang the twelve young men: ‘What are your commands?’ ‘That this castle and this lady be placed on the black sea.’ It was done. In the morning the young man and his mother were terrified out of their wits, because they were lying in a simple cottage. But he knew at once that he had lost the lock. Then he went to the king and prayed him to take charge of his mother, that he might go to look for his castle. Well, he went to look for it, with his dog and cat. He approached that sea, saw his castle, and said: ‘Cat and dog, do you see our castle? But how shall we get into it?’ They went to the sea and sat down. He was weary, and fell asleep as he sat. Then said the dog and the cat: ‘Let us go for the lock.’ The dog said: ‘You can’t swim; sit on my back; I will carry you.’ They went and came up to the wall. Then said the dog: ‘I can’t climb up a wall.’ The cat said to him: ‘You hang on somehow behind me.’ And thus they arrived at the corridor. Now said the cat: ‘You, dog, stay outside; I’ll go in by myself.’ The king of the sea had just such a cat. The cat went to the door and mewed: ‘Miau.’ Then said the king of the sea: ‘Let the cat in.’ Then the cat went in and took the lock so neatly that the king of the sea didn’t see it; he then went to the door and mewed: ‘Miau.’ Then said the king of the sea: ‘Let the cat out.’ The cat went out, and the dog asked it: ‘Have you got it?’ ‘I have; only go.’ They went over the wall and into the sea; and when they were already not far from their master, the dog wanted to have hold of the lock, to carry it up to his master, and said to the cat: ‘Give me the lock; if you don’t, I will throw you into the sea.’ Then they squabbled, and the lock fell into the sea, and a fish swallowed it; but the cat seized the fish, and said: ‘If you don’t give up the lock I will kill you.’ The fish said: ‘Don’t kill me; I’ll give you the lock,’ and immediately brought the lock up. They went to their master, and carried up the lock. When their master awoke and rose up, he said: ‘In what condition have you come?’ They said: ‘Our master, we have brought the lock.’ ‘Where is it?’ ‘Here.’ Then he took it and knocked upon it, and out sprang the twelve young men: ‘What are your commands?’ ‘I command that my castle be placed where it was, as well as that king and my wife.’ It was done. Then he went into the castle, and she immediately ran to him and they kissed each other. But he caused the king of the sea to be impaled on a spit in the midst of the sea. Thus he obtained his castle back again, and lived happily with his wife, but the king of the sea was destroyed.

LV.—THE SHE-WOLF.

There was an enchanted mill, so that no one could stay there, because a she-wolf always haunted it. A soldier went once into the mill to sleep. He made a fire in the parlour, went up into the garret above, bored a hole with an auger in the floor, and peeped down into the parlour. A she-wolf came in and looked about the mill to see whether she could find anything to eat. She found nothing, and then went to the fire, and said: ‘Skin down! skin down! skin down!’ She raised herself upon her hind-legs, and her skin fell down. She took the skin, and hung it on a peg, and out of the wolf came a damsel. The damsel went to the fire, and fell asleep there. He came down from the garret, took the skin, nailed it fast to the mill-wheel, then came into the mill, shouted over her, and said: ‘Good-morning, damsel! how do you do?’ She began to scream: ‘Skin on me! skin on me! skin on me!’ But the skin could not come down, for it was fast nailed. The pair married, and had two children. As soon as the elder son got to know that his mother was a wolf, he said to her: ‘Mamma! mamma! I have heard that you are a wolf.’ His mother replied: ‘What nonsense you are talking! How can you say that I am a wolf?’ The father of the two children went one day into the field to plough, and his son said: ‘Papa, let me, too, go with you.’ His father said: ‘Come.’ When they had come to the field, the son asked his father: ‘Papa, is it true that our mother is a wolf?’ His father said: ‘It is.’ The son inquired: ‘And where is her skin?’ His father said: ‘There it is, on the mill-wheel.’ No sooner had the son got home, than he said at once to his mother: ‘Mamma! mamma! you are a wolf! I know where your skin is.’ His mother asked him: ‘Where is my skin?’ He said: ‘There, on the mill-wheel.’ His mother said to him: ‘Thank you, sonny, for rescuing me.’ Then she went away, and was never heard of more.

LVI.—MILUTIN.

A certain man had two children—one a boy, and the other a girl. This man required his children to relate to him every morning what they had dreamed. Indeed, the girl related her dream, whatever she had dreamed, every morning, but the boy did not, for he dreamed every night what eventually happened to him; he dreamed that he killed a king, took to wife a count’s daughter, and became king in the kingdom in which he killed the king. Exasperated at this, his father thought the reason why he did not tell his dream was because he was afraid, and drove him out along a road, and beat him so that he cried piteously. A count was driving past, and heard the child crying. He ordered his servant to go to the man, and tell him not to beat the child, but say how much he should give him to take it away himself. The man said, in reply, that he need only take it away from before his eyes. He immediately took it, and delivered it to the count, and the count took it away home. The count had one daughter, who took a great affection for the boy. It was also a custom with the count that the children were obliged to relate what they dreamed. But he would not reveal his dream to the count, and say what he had dreamed; and he had dreamed the very same dream that he had dreamed at his father’s. Then the count became very angry, and caused a vault to be built in his garden, inside which he was to be thrown, and it was to be constructed of such masonry that nobody should be able to give him anything to eat, and that no light should by possibility enter it. But the count’s daughter, who was very sorry for the boy, went out to the masons, and promised them a purse of money, only to construct it in such a manner that she would be able to give him food at night. This the masons did, in return for the good money. He was seven years inside, and unable to sit or lie.

Now came a time when king sent a staff to the count, and said he would attack him with an army, if he did not tell him on which side the staff opened. Now the damsel came at night, and brought the lad food, saying: ‘Now, I have brought you food for the last time, because a king has sent us a staff, and my father must open it; if he does not open it, he will attack us with an army. We must perish under the open sky, but you in this vault.’ He replied that she was not to frighten herself, ‘but go, lie down, and soon jump up and say to your father: “My dear papa, I have dreamt of good luck for us.” He will say: “What?” Reply to him: “I dreamt that I should tell you that, if you will open the staff, you need only fill a tub with water, and put the staff in it; the staff will turn with that side up on which it opens.”’ Even so it came to pass. Her father did so, sealed up the staff on that side, and sent it to the king. The king wrote back to him: ‘You have certainly done it, but not with your own stupid head. But you have one hard by your house, of whom you know not; he has done this for you.’ Then he wrote a letter again to the count, and said: ‘I shall send you three horses all alike, and you must tell me how many years old each is.’ And all alike they were. One was one year old, the second two, and the third three years old. Then the damsel took him food, and said to him: ‘Now I am bringing you food for the last time; you will have to die here, and we in the open air, for the king has sent us three horses exactly alike, and we must tell him how old each is.’ He replied that she must go and lie down, and say that she had dreamt thus: that he must prepare three heaps of oats of three different years, and let the horses go to the oats, and they would go of themselves each to his own heap; the one which was one year old would go to the one-year-old oats, the second to the second, and the third to the third heap. She told him this. And it came to pass just as she told him. Then he wrote in reply to the king, and the king to him: ‘Certainly, you have done this, but not with your own stupid head; but you have another who does it for you, of whom you are not aware. But I shall send you one thing more. I shall send you, on a given day, at the hour when you will be at dinner, a war-mace, weighing three hundredweight; it will strike the spoon out of your mouth. You must throw it back to me just as I threw it to you.’ Indeed, this, too, came to pass. The mace flew in, knocked his spoon out of his hands, and flew off with speed into the cellar, inside which it stuck so fast that a score of soldiers couldn’t move, much less throw, it. Now the count assembled, and invited all people, but no one was able to do it. She took him food again, and said to him: ‘You have set us free twice, but certainly the third time you will not be able to do so, and now you will die here, and all of us in the open air.’ He then asked her what sort of work it was that had to be done. She told him, and he answered: ‘Go home and lie down, then get up and say that you have dreamt that no one else but I can do it, so I tell you; but the count will not believe you, yet will think, since you have twice dreamed with success, that possibly now, too, it may be true.’ And so it came to pass. The count caused him to be dug out. He saw how weak he was, and said: ‘I am stronger than he, but I can’t throw it; how, then, can he throw it?’ He then said: ‘Go to a certain king; he has nine hundred cows, and has them all registered when each was calved. Buy for me one cow, which is neither more nor less than nine years old, and whatever he says you are to pay for it, pay. If you pay one kreutzer less, I shall be two hundredweight lighter.’ Well, he went thither, and inquired whether he had such a cow. The king answered that he had. Then he asked the price. The king replied: ‘Nine thousand pieces of silver.’ He paid them, drove it home, and had it slaughtered immediately. The young man then said that he must be three months by himself in a house, without anybody being allowed to go in to him. Now he took at once two pounds of beef, but did not eat the flesh, but only the soup. This lasted for three months. Well, the cook told the count that he would not eat the flesh, in order to serve his own interests. Then the count went himself to him, and asked him why he would not eat the flesh. He replied that something must be brought him to eat. Now he took a piece, threw it upon the wall, and said to the count: ‘You see the flesh has fallen down, and the soup has stuck to the wall; and so it is with me: the soup abides with me, and the flesh goes down from me.’ Then he went out to look at the mace. He was already able to move it. Then he went in for three months to eat. Then he was able, with his left hand, to throw it two hundred fathoms high into the air. He went in once more to eat for three months. Now he was exceedingly strong, and told the count to write freely to the king, that on such and such a day, at such and such an hour, the mace would arrive, and knock the spoon out of his mouth at dinner. In fact, so it was. He threw it a hundred and twenty-five hours walk into the other kingdom. Now the king saw that he had done this also. Then he wrote to him: ‘Certainly you have done all that I told you, but not with your own stupid head, but he has done it for you, whom you caused to be walled up in a vault. But you must send him here to me, that I may see him.’ But he wanted to slay him. Now, the count was unwilling to let him go, but, nevertheless, he was obliged to do so. ‘But do you know what, count? Cause all your people to be summoned hither, and we will select as many as ever we can that resemble me.’ There were only nine such, and he was himself the tenth. Now he told him to have exactly similar uniforms made for them all, so that, at any rate, no one would know one to be different from another, and to provide similar horses for all, and then he would go thither. Even so it came to pass. Then the ten went. But before they arrived at the town, he said to them: ‘Indeed, you don’t know why we are going thither; we are going to be put to death; but I tell you not to be in any wise afraid. This king will give you the word of command when we enter: “Milutin (such was the boy’s name), dismount!” Then you must all dismount so that no one is behindhand, but all alike, and at once. Then he will say: “Milutin, go into the house!”—all go into the house. “Milutin, shut the door!”—all off to shut it. “Milutin, take your seat at table!”—all do it at once. “Milutin, go to bed!”—all off to bed at once.’ Even so it was. Thus the king could in no wise recognise him, and did not venture to slaughter them, but ordered his servant to conceal himself under a bed, and listen which spoke most wisely, and put a mark upon him. Now they all lay down, and began to converse as to what would come out of this. Milutin then said: ‘Doubtless, till now he has not recognised me, and will ride after me, and will overtake us; but never mind that, only kneel down and pray to God. Then notice well: if I first emit fire out of my mouth, kill yourselves; but if he emits it first, have no fear whatever; this signifies to you that human flesh will seethe in human blood.’ The man under the bed heard this speech, and cut off a piece from the heel of his boot. Morning arrived, and Milutin told them that each must look well at his clothes: maybe there would be some mark on someone’s uniform. But all at once he observed that just his boot-heel had been cut off, and said: ‘All give me your boots, that I may cut off each of the heels just as I have mine cut off.’ Now the king came to summon them: ‘Milutin, come to breakfast!’ and they all went at once. And the king saw that they all had a similar mark, and, therefore, did not know which to put to death. Then he reprimanded the servant. Now said the king: ‘Milutin, go home!’ and they all went homeward at once. But erelong the king recognised Milutin by his horse—for he had the horse from the count—and overtook him. They immediately knelt down, as he had previously bidden them, and he began first to fight on horseback, but nothing came of it. Then they both dismounted from their horses, and fought thus, each leaping against the other so that the earth quaked under them. Thus they fought terribly for some time. But all at once they observed that the king emitted fire out of his mouth, and then Milutin afterwards. Then the king spat pure fire out of his mouth at Milutin, and Milutin also spat fire. The two fought on in this frightful manner; but suddenly Milutin overcame the king, threw him down, cut off his head, and carried it home to the count. Now all was merriment, and Milutin married the count’s daughter, took possession of the realm of the king whom he had slain, and there was a grand festival. That’s the end.

ILLYRIAN-SLOVENISH STORIES.

I AM afraid that our delightful friend Oliver Goldsmith has pre-occupied the British mind with a certain amount of prejudice against the region,

But if the said rude and inhospitable person had been addressed in a tongue ‘understanded of the people,’ his reception of the ‘Traveller’ might possibly have been very different. Be that as it may, the folklore tales of the Styrian and Carinthian Slavonians are full of interest, and in them we certainly find the fullest account of the Vilas, and even a Vila marriage with a human being, which ends in an unfortunate separation, like those in Irish legends between mermaids and men. No. 57 gives us a singular variant of ‘Cinderella,’ in which the circumstances are different down to the conclusion, which is similar to that of the Bulgarian version, No. 37. No. 58 carries us completely into wonderland, where several old acquaintances will meet us in new dresses and relations. In No. 59 we have a singular legend of a white snake, an animal connected with which there are also superstitions in the Scotch Highlands.

The backwardness of the Slovenes is mainly due to the ferocity with which Protestantism was stamped out by Ferdinand II., who, as well as his father, Ferdinand I., wrote his name in blood in the annals of Bohemia. (See Morfill’s ‘Slavonic Literature,’ pp. 176, 177.)

As regards the language, the dual is as fully developed as in Lusatian.

LVII.—THE FRIENDSHIP OF A VILA AND OF THE MONTHS.

A wicked woman married a poor man, who had already a little daughter named Maritza. Afterwards God gave her a daughter of her own, whom she loved and cherished more than her own eyes. On her stepdaughter, who was a good and very handsome child, she could scarcely bear to cast a look; therefore she drove her about, teased and tormented her, in order as soon as possible to make an end of her; she threw her the poorest remnants of food and everything, just as she would have done to a dog. Indeed, she would have given her a snake’s tail to eat, if she had had one at hand; and instead of a bed, she sent her to sleep in an old trough.

When her so-called mother saw that the girl, in spite of all this, was good and patient, and grew handsomer than her daughter, she thought and thought how to find a pretext to get rid of the orphan out of the house, and devised one.

One day she sent her daughter and stepdaughter to wash wool; to her own daughter she gave white wool, to her stepdaughter black, and said to her with sharp threats: ‘If you don’t wash the black wool as white as my daughter will hers, don’t come home any more, or else I shall beat you out of the house.’ The poor stepdaughter wept piteously, entreated her, and said that it was impossible for her to do this. But all in vain. Seeing that there was no mercy for her, she tied up the wool and went weeping after her half-sister. When they came to the water, they undid their bundles, and began to wash, when a beautiful fair damsel from somewhere joined and saluted them: ‘Good luck, friends! do you want any help?’ The stepmother’s daughter said with a scornful laugh: ‘I want no help; my wool will soon be white; but our stepdaughter’s yonder will not be so in a hurry.’ Thereupon the strange damsel stepped up to the sorrowful Maritza, saying: ‘Come! let us see whether that wool will allow itself to be washed white.’ Both began immediately to rinse and wash, and in a jiffy the black wool became as white as fresh-fallen snow. When they had finished washing, her fair friend vanished nobody knew whither. The stepmother, seeing the white wool, was amazed and angry, because she had no excuse for driving her stepdaughter away.

Some time after this came sharp cold and snow. The wicked stepmother was continually thinking how best to persecute her unfortunate stepdaughter, and now ordered her: ‘Take a basket and go off to the mountain; there gather me ripe strawberries for the new year. If you don’t bring me them, it will be better for you to stay on the mountain.’ The orphan Maritza wept piteously, entreated her and said: ‘How shall poor I procure ripe strawberries in sharp winter cold?’ But all in vain. She was obliged to take the basket and go.

As she was going all in tears over the mountain she met twelve young men, whom she saluted courteously. They received the salutation in a friendly manner, and asked her: ‘Whither are you wading, dear girl, in the snow thus in tears?’ She told them the whole story prettily. The young men said to her: ‘We will help you if you will tell us which month of the whole year is the best?’ Maritza said in reply: ‘They are all good, but the month of March is the best, for it brings us most hope.’ They were pleased with her answer, and said: ‘Go into the first glen on the sunny side; there you will get as many strawberries as you wish.’ And indeed she brought her stepmother a basketful of most excellent strawberries for the new year, and told her that the young men whom she had met on the mountain had shown them to her.

Some days later, when the weather had become milder, the mother said to her own daughter: ‘Go now into the mountain for strawberries; maybe you will find those young men, and they will give you similar good fortune, for they have shown themselves so wonderfully kind to our greasy stepdaughter.’ The daughter dressed herself grandly, took the basket, and skipped off merrily on to the mountain. When she got there, she did actually meet the twelve young men, to whom she said haughtily: ‘Show me where the strawberry-plants grow, as you showed our stepdaughter.’ The young men said: ‘Good! provided you guess which month is the best of the whole year.’ She answered quickly: ‘They are all bad, and the month of March is the worst.’ But at that speech the whole mountain clouded over in a jiffy, and a storm beat upon her so that she scarcely panted home alive. The young men were the twelve months.

Meanwhile the goodness and beauty of the ill-used stepdaughter was noised about in the district, and a young, rich and honourable lord arranged with her stepmother to come on such and such a day with his retinue to betroth the stepdaughter to be his wife. The stepmother, jealous of the orphan, did not tell her a single word of this, but thought to thrust her own daughter surreptitiously into this good fortune.

When the appointed evening came the infamous stepmother packed her stepdaughter off in good time to the trough to sleep, then cleared up the house, prepared supper, dressed out her daughter to the best of her ability, and placed her at table with some knitting in her hands. Thereupon up came the betrothal party; the stepmother welcomed them, conducted them into the house, and said to them: ‘There is my dear stepdaughter.’ But what good was it? For in the house they had a cock, who began with all his might, and without intermission, to crow: ‘Kukuriku, pretty Maritza in trough! kukuriku, pretty Maritza in trough!’ and so forth. When the betrothal party understood and comprehended the cock’s crowing, they insisted that the real stepdaughter must come out of the trough, and when they saw her, they could not sufficiently express their admiration at her beauty and grace, and took her away with them that very evening, and the wicked stepmother and her daughter remained put to shame before all people. Maritza was happy with her husband and with all her house to a great age and an easy death, for a Vila and all the months were her friends.

LVIII.—THE FISHERMAN’S SON.

Once upon a time there was a lord on the Danube who had a fisherman to catch fish for him. This lord was preparing a great banquet, and ordered his fisherman to catch three hundredweight of fish in three days. On the first day the fisherman went early in the morning to catch the fish. But he could not obtain any. The second day he went again very early in the morning. He made the round of the water, but again took none. The third day came. The fisherman went to catch fish, and went on till mid-day, but could not net any. In the afternoon he determined to go home by the waterside, and carried himself as if he were very much out of sorts. Suddenly up sailed a striped boat. In the boat sat a gentleman clad in green. He questioned the fisherman saying: ‘Man, why are you so sorrowful here by the water?’ The fisherman said: ‘How should I not be sorrowful? My lord ordered me to catch three hundredweight of fish in three days; to-day is the last day, and I have not obtained any.’ Then said the gentleman: ‘Promise me that which you don’t know that you have, and you shall to-day catch plenty.’ The fisherman thought to himself: ‘What I don’t know that I have, I shall easily do without, if I do promise him.’ And the gentleman at the same time added: ‘And I will wait twenty years. In twenty years you will be able to fulfil your promise.’ ‘Agreed,’ said the fisherman. He cast his nets and drew them out full of fish. He cast them a second time, and it was just the same. He cast them once more. The gentleman said to him: ‘Only send home for them to come with a waggon and four horses.’ They came with four horses. They packed the fish in, so that they scarcely drew them with the four horses. But before they went home the gentleman asked the fisherman: ‘But do you know what you have promised me?’ The fisherman said: ‘My lord, I do not. What I don’t know that I have, I have promised you, be it what it may.’ The gentleman smiled, and said: ‘You don’t know that your wife will be the mother of a son, and this son you have promised to me. When twenty years have elapsed, you must just bring him here.’ Then the fisherman took the fish home. On the one hand he was glad, on the other very downcast. When he brought them home his lord began to grumble, saying: ‘You’re a thorough fool! Why did a messenger come to me to say that you could not obtain any? Now you have brought me such a quantity that I hardly know where to stow them.’ The fisherman excused himself, and related to his lord the whole series of occurrences from beginning to end. Afterwards he put a question to his lord: ‘God only knows how it will be now, since I have done such an evil thing, that I have promised him my son.’ His lord said: ‘What of that? Twenty years is a long time. By then all may be changed.’

It came to pass. The fisherman’s wife became the mother of a boy. He grew up right handsome. When he became a little older they sent him to school. At school he learnt so well, that at sixteen he had learnt enough to be ordained a priest. But his father and mother said: ‘Not a priest, for he is promised. Let us rather place him for four years more in the black school.’ When he had completed the course of the black school, he came back to the Danube, with all before him in the future, as if he were about to succeed, and behind in the past, because he had already been successful. Then said he to his father: ‘Father, now it is time for us to go.’ The father: ‘To go? whither?’ The son: ‘Whither you promised me.’ The father: ‘Who promised you any whither?’ The son: ‘What? don’t you know to whom you promised me twenty years ago? Let us go to that piece of water, where you then went to catch fish.’ The father became very sorrowful. The son then said: ‘Don’t be afraid. Only quickly coat over arm and follow me. Only you must do what I instruct you to do. If you obey me, no harm will happen to you and me.’ On the way he also instructed his father as follows: ‘When we come to that piece of water, the striped boat will sail up just as when you caught the fish. In it will sit the gentleman in green to whom you promised me. The gentleman will push the boat to the shore in shallow water. I shall step on it with one foot, and stand on dry land with the other. Then say: “My son, I commend you to God the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost. May these three always be with you!” When you have uttered these holy words I shall spring into the boat.’ Everything happened exactly as the son told his father and instructed him on the way. The striped boat sailed up on the water. In it was the gentleman dressed in green. The son stepped with one foot on the boat, and stood with the other on dry land. His father commended him to God the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. The son sprang on board the boat, and the gentleman pushed it from the shore. All at once all sank, the boat, the gentleman, and the son. The father was terribly frightened, and cried out at the top of his voice: ‘Jesus, Maria! my son has gone down to hell!’ He then crept home very sorrowful.

His son passed through the water into a town which is called Perdonkorten.[20] In this town all the population was enchanted. He walked and walked about the town, but nowhere was there anybody. Hunger took possession of him, but he could get nothing to eat. He bethought himself of going to catch some fish. He went to the water, caught some, lit a fire, cooked them, and ate his fill. He then went into the shade, laid himself down, and fell asleep. He dreamt that he was told to go to pass the night in a lordly castle, to seat himself at table, to light a taper on each side of him, and wait. He did according as he had dreamt. The clock struck midnight, when suddenly the door opened outside of itself. A huge snake glided into the house. It came up opposite the young man, and besought him: ‘Kiss me.’ He cursed it, and said: ‘Take thyself off from me, Satan! Thou hast no power over me.’ The snake retired through the door. Thereupon day broke. The young man walked and walked again about the town. He saw here and there carriages ready harnessed, but no human being. In the afternoon he went again to the water to catch fish. When he had eaten his fill, he went into the shade. He lay down, and soon fell asleep. Erelong he dreamt what would have happened, if he had kissed the snake. He woke up, and thought: ‘This evening I will go back, and will kiss it if it comes.’ In fact, he went again into the same house, seated himself at table, lit two tapers, and waited. The clock struck twelve. The door opened. Through it glided a very much larger snake, with two heads. It came up the room opposite him, and besought him again: ‘Kiss me!’ Terror seized him, for it was much more horrible than the one he had seen the preceding night. Therefore he cursed it again: ‘Take thyself off from me, Satan! Thou hast no power over me.’ The snake again quitted the house. Afterwards day broke. He went again into the town, caught fish, and ate his fill. When he had eaten, he went into the shade, lay down, and fell asleep. Ere long he dreamt again: ‘Thou wouldst, nevertheless, have only done rightly if thou hadst kissed the snake.’ He woke up, and said: ‘This evening I will kiss it, even if it appears still more terrible.’ In the evening he went into the same house. He seated himself at table, lit two tapers, and waited. When the tower clock struck twelve, the door opened. A terrible snake glided in. It had three heads, and was still larger than the one he saw the preceding evening. It came puffing opposite him. It began to twine round him, and beseech him: ‘Kiss me!’ He pressed his lips to it, and kissed it.

As soon as he had kissed it, the snake turned into a beautiful maiden, as beautiful as a damsel could be. The snake was the enchanted daughter of the lord of the castle. After the kiss, all belonging to the castle, and the whole town, were disenchanted. Erelong the father and mother of the disenchanted daughter came into the room. They welcomed him with the greatest joy. The father said to him: ‘Friend, I give you my kingdom and my daughter, if she pleases you.’ He replied: ‘Let us wait a bit, that we may make a little acquaintance with each other.’ Thereupon they prepared a grand supper. They supped, and did not go to bed till late. In the morning they got up. The young man and the damsel went a walk in the town. The whole town rejoiced over him, and pointed at him, saying: ‘That is our deliverer.’

Now the young man was content with all. Only he still felt sorry, when he bethought himself: ‘Here am I in such good fortune, while my father on the Danube is thinking that I have fallen into the abyss of hell. If I could only just go to my father on the Danube, to tell him of my luck, I should then be completely content.’ Thereupon the damsel said to him: ‘I have something such that you could easily go to your father, if you would but be sure to come back.’ He said: ‘You know that I shall come. Nowhere have I had such good fortune as here.’ Now they agreed that she would wait for him seven years, if he did not return before. The damsel gave him a certain ring, and said: ‘Here is this ring, look through it, and think to yourself that you would like to be with your father by the Danube, and you will find yourself there. When you wish to come back to me, look again through the ring, and think to yourself that you would like to be with me, and you will find yourself here with me. But you must not show it to anybody, lest you lose it. If you lose it, it will be very difficult for you ever to come to us.’ The young man looked through the ring, thought to himself that he would like to be with his father by the Danube, and in a moment there he was. His father and mother were very, very glad to see him safe and sound once more. They asked him all manner of questions. He related to them how he had darted through the water into an enchanted city, and what had been his hap afterwards. The whole household jumped for joy at hearing how fortunate he had been. Especially rejoiced was his mother, who walked continually on tiptoe for joy. Afterwards his father took him to his lord, for whom he still caught fish. There, again, the whole household rejoiced greatly over him. The lord had two daughters. Erelong he said to him: ‘Stay with us. I will give you a portion of my kingdom and one daughter, if it pleases you.’ He thought to himself: ‘There there awaits me a whole kingdom, and a larger one than this. The lady, too, there, is handsomer than this one.’ Nevertheless he said within himself: ‘Suppose I stay here a day or two. I shall easily go back before the time is out. Seven years don’t pass so quickly.’

It came to pass that he went a walk one day with the two daughters. On the road the silly fellow showed them the ring, and told them how he had come back into that country. They thought to themselves: ‘Behold! if we could but take that ring from him, then he would be glad to stay with us.’ They went a little farther on, and one of them said: ‘Let us sit down a bit here in the shade.’ They sat down on the grass under a tree. They had not sat there long when one of them said to him: ‘Listen! listen! What have you got in your hair?’ He: ‘I don’t know that I’ve anything.’ She: ‘You have something; you have indeed. Let me look at your head.’ Now she began to examine and stroke his head till he fell fast asleep. The other, on seeing this, put her hand quickly into his pocket, and took out his ring. They rose up, and prolonged their walk. They walked and walked about the country, when he put his hand into his pocket, and found that the ring was no longer there. He said: ‘I’ve lost my ring. What shall I do now?’ They said: ‘Let us go back. We will look for it. Maybe we shall find it.’ They went back to the self-same place where they had been sitting. They helped him to look for it carefully. They looked for it in vain, for one of them had got it in her own pocket.

After this, he remained five years more in that house. When the fifth year had elapsed, he said: ‘This won’t do. If I remain here, I shall never get to Perdonkorten. Now go I must. There will be two years for me, eventually, to get there.’ Once upon a time he was benighted. He went through thickets, where there was no living soul. He espied a light on another hill. He said: ‘Thither I must go. There will be people there.’ He went thither. There was nobody at home but a woman. He asked whether they would take him in for the night. The woman said to him: ‘I would willingly take you in for the night, but I do not advise you to stay here. My three brothers are three thieves. When night is over, they will come home, and will soon put you to death.’ He said: ‘Never fear! Only bring me a pint of wine, that I may drink and wait for them here at the table.’ When night was over, up came the three brothers home. He sat in the house at the table, and busied himself with the wine. They asked him: ‘Who are you?’ He replied: ‘I don’t know who I am. I’m a poor fellow who roams hither and thither in the world, wheresoever I must.’ They said: ‘But to what family do you belong?’ He said: ‘That also I don’t know. All through I am knocking about in the world. Nowhere am I at home.’ They said: ‘What is your name? How do you write yourself?’ He had gone through the course of study at the black school; therefore he knew how they wrote their names, and that they had lost a brother. He therefore told them their surname, and the name of their lost brother. They said: ‘You are indeed our own brother, whom we lost many years ago.’ He said: ‘It is easy to see that I am.’ They asked him: ‘But are you willing to take up our business?’ He said: ‘Why not, if your business is honest, and one can easily get one’s living from it?’ They said: ‘From our handicraft a living is got right easily. At home we do nothing at all, and have always plenty to eat and plenty to drink.’ He inquired: ‘What have you gained to-day?’ They replied: ‘To-day we have gained more than we ever gained before. We have obtained shoes: whoever puts them on will fly two hundred miles in half an hour. We have obtained a mantle: whoever wraps himself in it, nobody sees him. We have obtained a hat: whoever puts it on his head, and throws it before him, hills open themselves to him, so that he follows it whithersoever he will.’ He: ‘But is this true?’ They: ‘It is.’ He: ‘Now, then, let’s try this dress on me. We’ll see how it will fit me.’ He put on the shoes, wrapped himself in the mantle, clapped the hat on his head, and stepped a little way from them. He asked them: ‘But don’t you really see me?’ They said: ‘Nobody sees you.’ Then he gave a jump, so that the earth quaked. They hurried after him, as it were, in the dark; but he escaped them, for nobody saw him.

He then flew to the place where the sun rises. He thought to himself: ‘The sun gives light in all regions; he will therefore know the way to Perdonkorten.’ When he came to the sun’s house, he asked the servant: ‘Is my lord the sun at home?’ The servant: ‘He is not; he is gone to give light on the earth. He will come home in the evening. You must wait for him if you want to speak with him. Only I tell you that when he comes home, there will be such a heat, that you will curl up like a rasher of bacon, if you don’t hide yourself.’ The traveller: ‘If it is so, I will bury myself in the ground. When the sun comes home, come and call me.’ He went, and did bury himself deep in the ground. When the sun came home and flew down, the servant came to call him. ‘Now, then, my lord the sun is at home.’ He got up and went to the sun. When he came into the house the sun asked him: ‘What have you got to say?’ He said: ‘I have come to ask you the road to the city of Perdonkorten. You enlighten all lands; surely you know the way thither.’ The sun: ‘I don’t know the way thither. It must be somewhere among hills and narrow dales, where I never go. The moon gives light more in hollow places; you must go where she rises.’

He went. He leaped, and was at once at the place where the moon rises. Neither was she at home. He asked her lady’s maid: ‘Whither has my lady moon gone that she is not at home?’ The maid: ‘She is gone to give light on the earth.’ He: ‘I will wait, then.’ The maid: ‘It is dangerous to wait. When she flies faintly shining home, such a frost will be caused that you will stiffen like an icicle.’ He: ‘I’ll bury myself therefore in the ashes. When she returns home, come and call me.’ Towards morning the moon came freezing home. He shivered in the ashes, but didn’t stiffen. When the moon had put herself to rights, her maid went to call him, and said: ‘Now come; the moon is at home.’ He rose out of the ashes, shivered a little, and went to the moon. When he entered the house, the moon asked him: ‘What do you want? What have you got to say?’ He said: ‘Nothing wrong, my lady moon—nothing wrong. I have come to ask you the road to the city of Perdonkorten. You throw light into all dark holes; therefore, you surely know which way to go thither.’ The moon: ‘I don’t know that. It must be among such hills that I never get there. If you wish to learn it, you must go where the wind rises. He flies over all abysses, therefore he will surely be able to indicate you the way thither.’

In a jiffy he was there. The wind was just then at home. He asked him: ‘My lord the wind, do you know the way to the city of Perdonkorten?’ The wind: ‘Of course I do. Anyhow, I’m going thither to-morrow morning at three. The king’s daughter there is betrothed, and I am going to blow for them at the wedding, that it may not be too warm. But I shall go through such abysses and such rocks, that I don’t know whether you will be able to follow me.’ The traveller: ‘My lord the wind, never fear. No rock will stop me. I have such a hat, that if I throw it, the ground opens and I go after it whithersoever I will.’ The wind: ‘Well, then, let us go.’ They went at three. They came to a terrible rock. The wind roared, and made his way by a hole through the terrible rock. He could not follow him. Therefore he took off his hat and threw it against the rock. The rock opened. The wind glided on in front and he followed quickly behind.

When it was half-past four in the morning, they had made their way to the city of Perdonkorten. The wind went to blow at the wedding that it mightn’t be too warm for them. He went into the church, seated himself on a bench, and waited for the wedding-party. At eleven music was heard, and fifty couples of wedding guests came into the church. One was more handsomely dressed than the rest. His reverence the chaplain proceeded to say mass for them. After mass he began to take the marriage service. He was sitting on a bench, but nobody saw him, because he had that mantle on. Suddenly he rose from the bench, and gave a thump on the chaplain’s books, so that they fell with a bang on the floor. The chaplain said: ‘One of you two must have such a sin upon him, that you are unfit to receive this sacrament.’ Now the bride began to relate how someone had once come to deliver them. With this person a mutual engagement had been made that she would wait for him seven years, etc. The chaplain: ‘How much time has elapsed?’ She: ‘Five years and a half.’ The chaplain: ‘Now you two must wait a year and a half more. If in that time nothing is heard of him, then you may marry.’ The chaplain, moreover, asked her: ‘Which would you rather have, this one or that other?’ The lady: ‘I should prefer the other, should he come. But I know that I shall never see him again.’

He heard these words, and they pleased him. Now they went home from the church. He who had thumped the books walked amidst the wedding-party, but nobody saw him, because he had the mantle on. The damsel’s father thought it hard thus to send the wedding guests away home, therefore he gave them several cups of wine. The guests drank the wine, and he went up and down in the house, but nobody saw him. When all the wedding guests had taken themselves off home, he doffed his mantle, hung it on a peg, and they recognised him as their deliverer. The beautiful damsel met him in the middle of the house. She threw her arms round his neck, and said: ‘Behold! to-day I should have been married to another husband, if God had not protected me.’

Hereupon they soon prepared a marriage with this new bridegroom. They went to the wedding. The wedding passed off successfully. They got ready a right handsome wedding-feast for them. They had plenty of everything—plenty to drink, and plenty to eat. Moreover, they gave me wine to drink out of a sieve, and bread to eat out of a glass, and one on the back with a shovel. After that I took myself off.