WESTERN SLAVONIANS. (continued 2)

Now those in the castle saw that George had again accomplished that task. ‘What, prithee, shall we do? Perhaps we must after all give him the damsel!’ ‘No, sire,’ said one of the attendants, ‘that cannot be; he is too lowborn to obtain a king’s daughter! On the contrary, we must clear him out of the world.’ So the king ordered them to note his words, what he should say. There was a hired female servant there, and she said to him: ‘George, it will be evil for you to-day; they’re going to clear you out of the world.’ He answered: ‘Oh, I’m not afraid. When I was only just twelve years old, I killed twelve of them at one blow!’ But this was the fact: when his mother was baking a flat-cake, a dozen flies settled upon her, and he killed them all at a single blow.

When they heard this, they said: ‘Nothing else will do but we must shoot him.’ So they drew up the soldiers, and said they would hold a review in his honour, for they would celebrate the wedding in the square before the castle. Then they conducted him thither, and the soldiers were already going to let fly at him. But George said to the man who held his thumb in the bottle in place of a stopper: ‘You said, if you pulled your thumb out, you could besprinkle everything. Pull it out—quick!’ ‘Oh, sir, I’ll easily perform that.’ So he pulled out his thumb and gave them all such a sprinkling, that they were all blind, and not one could see.

So, when they perceived that nothing else was to be done, they told him to go, for they would give him the damsel. Then they gave him a handsome royal robe, and the wedding took place. I, too, was at the wedding; they had music there, sang, ate, and drank; there was meat, there were cheesecakes, and baskets full of everything, and buckets full of strong waters. To-day I went, yesterday I came; I found an egg among the tree-stumps; I knocked it against somebody’s head, and gave him a bald place, and he’s got it still.

This story is related to Grimm’s tale of the ‘Golden Goose,’ but it is much more rationally constructed, and much more interesting. The man who jumps one hundred miles appears to be the rainbow, the man with bandaged eyes the lightning, and the man with the bottle the cloud. The interpretation will be very similar to that of No. 1, but the allegory is by no means so clear or so well constructed. As to the nonsense at the end, it is a specimen of the manner in which the narrators of stories frequently finish them in all Slavonic languages.

MORAVIAN STORIES.

MORAVIA is so named from the river Morava (in German the river March), of which, and its affluents, it is the basin. It falls into the Danube a little above Presburg. In very early times Moravia appears to have been more civilized and powerful than Bohemia; but later, Bohemia became a considerable kingdom, and Moravia a dependency of, and eventually a margravate under the Bohemian crown.

The Moravian stories differ but little in character from those of Bohemia. The country, unlike Bohemia, abounds in dialects, although the literary language is the Bohemian. On the east the Moravian melts into the Silesian, or ‘Water-Polish.’

No. 8, ‘Godmother Death,’ is an interesting variant of the Teutonic ‘Godfather Death,’ which is given by Grimm. The reason why Death is represented as a Godmother, rather than a Godfather, in the Moravian story, is, that Death (Smrt) is feminine in all Slavonic dialects. The story constructed on this basis is more graceful and fuller of incident than the Teutonic tale, in which Death is masculine.

No. 9 is another story falling under the head of ‘Natural Science in Allegory,’ which is clearer and simpler in construction and interpretation than any variant of it that I am acquainted with.

VIII.—GODMOTHER DEATH.

There was a man, very poor in this world’s goods, whose wife presented him with a baby boy. No one was willing to stand sponsor, because he was so very poor. The father said to himself: ‘Dear Lord, I am so poor that no one is willing to be at my service in this matter; I’ll take the baby, I’ll go, and I’ll ask the first person I meet to act as sponsor, and if I don’t meet anybody, perhaps the sexton will help me.’ He went and met Death, but didn’t know what manner of person she was; she was a handsome woman, like any other woman. He asked her to be godmother. She didn’t make any excuse, and immediately saluted him as parent of her godchild, took the baby in her arms, and carried him to church. The little lad was properly christened. When they came out of church, the child’s father took the godmother to an inn, and wanted to give her a little treat as godmother. But she said to him, ‘Gossip,[1] leave this alone, and come with me to my abode.’ She took him with her to her apartment, which was very handsomely furnished. Afterwards she conducted him into great vaults, and through these vaults they went right into the under-world in the dark. There tapers were burning of three sizes—small, large, and middle-sized; and those which were not yet alight were very large. The godmother said to the godchild’s father: ‘Look, Gossip, here I have the duration of everybody’s life.’ The child’s father gazed thereat, found there a tiny taper close to the very ground, and asked her: ‘But, Gossip, I pray you, whose is this little taper close to the ground?’ She said to him: ‘That is yours! When any taper whatsoever burns down, I must go for that man.’ He said to her: ‘Gossip, I pray you, give me somewhat additional.’ She said to him: ‘Gossip, I cannot do that!’ Afterwards she went and lighted a large new taper for the baby boy whom they had had christened. Meanwhile, while the godmother was not looking, the child’s father took for himself a large new taper, lit it, and placed it where his tiny taper was burning down.

The godmother looked round at him and said: ‘Gossip, you ought not to have done that to me; but if you have given yourself additional lifetime, you have done so and possess it. Let us go hence, and we’ll go to your wife.’

She took a present, and went with the child’s father and the child to the mother. She arrived, and placed the boy on his mother’s bed, and asked her how she was, and whether she had any pain anywhere. The mother confided her griefs to her, and the father sent for some beer, and wanted to entertain her in his cottage, as godmother, in order to gratify her and show his gratitude. They drank and feasted together. Afterwards the godmother said to her godchild’s father: ‘Gossip, you are so poor that no one but myself would be at your service in this matter; but never mind, you shall bear me in memory! I will go to the houses of various respectable people and make them ill, and you shall physic and cure them. I will tell you all the remedies. I possess them all, and everybody will be glad to recompense you well, only observe this: When I stand at anyone’s feet, you can be of assistance to every such person; but if I stand at anybody’s head, don’t attempt to aid him.’ It came to pass. The child’s father went from patient to patient, where the godmother caused illness, and benefited every one. All at once he became a distinguished physician. A prince was dying—nay, he had breathed his last—nevertheless, they sent for the physician. He came, he began to anoint him with salves and give him his powders, and did him good. When he had restored him to health, they paid him well, without asking how much they were indebted. Again, a count was dying. They sent for the physician again. The physician came. Death was standing behind the bed at his head. The physician cried: ‘It’s a bad case, but we’ll have a try.’ He summoned the servants, and ordered them to turn the bed round with the patient’s feet towards Death, and began to anoint him with salves and administer powders into his mouth, and did him good. The count paid him in return as much as he could carry away, without ever asking how much he was indebted; he was only too glad that he had restored him to health. When Death met the physician, she said to him: ‘Gossip, if this occurs to you again, don’t play me that trick any more. True, you have done him good, but only for a while; I must, none the less, take him off whither he is due.’ The child’s father went on in this way for some years; he was now very old. But at last he was wearied out, and asked Death herself to take him. Death was unable to take him, because he had given himself a long additional taper; she was obliged to wait till it burned out. One day he drove to a certain patient to restore him to health, and did so. Afterwards Death revealed herself to him, and rode with him in his carriage. She began to tickle and play with him, and tap him with a green twig under the throat; he threw himself into her lap, and went off into the last sleep. Death laid him in the carriage, and took herself off. They found the physician lying dead in his carriage, and conveyed him home. The whole town and all the villages lamented: ‘That physician is much to be regretted. What a good doctor he was! He was of great assistance; there will never be his like again!’ His son remained after him, but had not the same skill.

The son went one day into church, and his godmother met him. She asked him: ‘My dear son, how are you?’ He said to her: ‘Not all alike; so long as I have what my dad saved up for me, it is well with me, but after that the Lord God knows how it will be with me.’ His godmother said: ‘Well, my son, fear nought. I am your christening mamma; I helped your father to what he had, and will give you, too, a livelihood. You shall go to a physician as a pupil, and you shall be more skilful than he, only behave nicely.’ After this she anointed him with salve over the ears, and conducted him to a physician. The physician didn’t know what manner of lady it was, and what sort of son she brought him for instruction. The lady enjoined her son to behave nicely, and requested the physician to instruct him well, and bring him into a good position. Then she took leave of him and departed. The physician and the lad went together to gather herbs, and each herb cried out to the pupil what remedial virtue it had, and the pupil gathered it. The physician also gathered herbs, but knew not, with regard to any herb, what remedial virtue it possessed. The pupil’s herbs were beneficial in every disease. The physician said to the pupil: ‘You are cleverer than I, for I diagnose no one that comes to me; but you know herbs counter to every disease. Do you know what? Let us join partnership. I will give my doctor’s diploma up to you, and will be your assistant, and am willing to be with you till death.’ The lad was successful in doctoring and curing till his taper burned out in limbo.

IX.—THE FOUR BROTHERS.

There was, once upon a time, a huntsman who had four sons, and these sons wanted to go to gain experience in the world. When they were all over sixteen years old, they said to their father: ‘We are going into the world, father; we pray you give us money for our journey.’ The father gave them 100 florins and a horse apiece. They mounted their horses and rode to the mountains. On a mountain were four roads, and between them stood a beech-tree. At this beech-tree they halted, and the eldest said to the rest, ‘Brothers, let us separate here, and go each by a different road to seek his fortune in the world. Let us each stick his knife into this beech-tree, and in a year and a day let us all meet together here. These knives will be tokens for us; if any one of the knives is rusty, the one of us to whom it belongs will be dead; and he whose knife is free from rust will be alive and well.’ They separated, and went each his way, and when they came to suitable places they each learned a handicraft. The eldest learned to be a cobbler, the second to be a thief, the third to be an astrologer, and the fourth to be a huntsman. When the year and day arrived, they started on their return. The eldest came first to the beech-tree, pulled out his own knife and looked at the other knives. Seeing that they were all free from rust, he rejoiced, and said, ‘Praise be to God! we are all alive and well.’ He went home. When he came to his father, his father asked him, ‘What manner of handicraft have you learnt?’ The son replied, ‘Daddy, it’s no use telling you stories; I’m a cobbler.’ The father said, ‘Well, you’ve learned a nice gainful handicraft.’ The son answered, ‘But, daddy, I’m not a cobbler like other cobblers, but I’m this kind of cobbler: if anything is worn out, I only say, “Let it be mended up,” and it is so at once.’ The father had a coat worn out at the elbows, and told him to cobble it up. The son gave the command, ‘Let it be mended up,’ and in a moment the coat was mended up as if it were brand new, nor was it possible to know that it had been mended at all. Upon this the father said nothing more. The next day the second son came to the beech. He pulled out his own knife, and looked at the remaining two; the third was already gone. Seeing that they were both free from rust, he rejoiced, and said, ‘Praise be to God! we are all alive and well; our eldest brother is at home already.’ He also went home. When he came to his father, his father asked him, ‘What manner of handicraft have you learned?’ The son replied, ‘Dear daddy, it’s no use telling stories to you; I’m a thief.’ The father said, ‘Oh, you’ve learned a nice gainful trade! Shame on you!’ The son said to him, ‘But, daddy, I’m not a thief like a thief, but I’m such a thief that, if I think of anything, be it where it may, I have it with me at once.’ Just then a hare came running on the hillside; it could be seen through the window; the father told him to fetch the hare. The son immediately said, ‘Let yon hare be here,’ and it was with them at once. After this the father said no more. The third day the third son came to the beech, pulled out his own knife and looked at the other knife, two not being there. Seeing that it was clear of rust, he said, ‘Praise be to God! we are all alive and well; my two elder brothers are at home already.’ He also went home. When he came to his father, his father asked him what manner of handicraft he had learned. The son replied, ‘Dear daddy, it’s no use to tell you stories; I’m an astrologer.’ His father said to him that it was a nice pretty handicraft. The son answered, ‘But, daddy, I am this kind of astrologer: if I look at the sky, I see at once where anything is in the whole earth.’ On the fourth day the youngest son came to the beech and pulled out his knife, the other three being there no longer. He was glad, and said, ‘My brothers are already all at home.’ He also went home. When he came to his father, the father asked him what manner of handicraft he had learned. The son answered that he was a huntsman. The father said, ‘Anyhow, you have not despised my craft; for that you’re a good lad.’ The son said, ‘But, dear daddy, I’m not such a huntsman as you are, but one of this kind; if there is an unusually fine head of game, I say, “Let it be shot,” and immediately shot it is.’ There was a hare darting along the hillside; it was visible through the window. The father said, ‘Shoot it!’ The youngest son spoke the word, and the hare lay dead. The father said, ‘I don’t see whether it is lying dead.’ The astrologer looked at the sky, and said, ‘Yes, daddy, it’s lying there behind the bushes.’ The father said, ‘Yes, it’s lying there, but how are we to get it?’ The brother who was a thief said, ‘Let it be here,’ and immediately there it was. But it had come through thorny bushes, and was all torn. The father said, ‘The whole skin is torn; who’ll buy it of us?’ The brother who was a cobbler said, ‘Let it be mended up,’ and immediately mended up it was. The father said, ‘Well, you’ll all four maintain yourselves by your handicrafts.’

They lived for some time at home with their father, and maintained themselves well. Then a king lost the princess, his daughter, and made proclamation that whoever should find her, to that person he would give his daughter and the kingdom as well. The brothers said to one another, ‘Let us go thither.’ The father didn’t give them leave to go, but go they did, and gave out that they were the people who would find the lost princess. The king immediately sent a carriage for them. When they came to the king, they said that they understood he had made proclamation that his daughter was lost, and that he would give her and the kingdom as well to whoever should find her. The king said that this was very truth, and immediately asked them to tell him where his daughter was. The astrologer replied that he could not tell him just then, but when evening came he would perceive in the sky where she was. About eight or nine o’clock they went out and gazed at the sky. The astrologer said that she had been taken captive by a dragon; that the dragon had seized her as she was out walking, and was keeping her on an island beyond the Red Sea; that she was obliged to fondle him for two hours every day, and that the dragon then had his head placed on her lap. When day came, they assembled and drove in the carriage to the Red Sea. Then they got into a boat and rowed to the island where the princess was. When they arrived at the island, the princess was out walking, and the dragon wasn’t at home; but the princess made signs to them that they were in evil case, for the dragon was just flying home. The thief-brother called out with speed, ‘Let the princess be here!’ She was with them in the boat at once, but cried out that they were in evil case, and would all perish. They rowed speedily away in the boat, but the dragon, full of wrath, roared and growled and rose in the air above them. The astrologer said to the huntsman, ‘Brother, shoot him.’ The huntsman-brother said, ‘Let him be shot.’ The dragon was shot, but fell on the boat and broke a hole in it, so that the water came in. They threw the dragon into the sea, and the huntsman-brother gave the word to the cobbler-brother, ‘Mend the leak.’ The cobbler-brother mended the leak, so that not a drop of water came into the boat to them. Thus they arrived safely with the princess at the sea-shore, landed on the beach, took their seats in the carriage with the princess, and drove off. But as they drove along in the carriage, they disputed to which of them the princess and the kingdom belonged. The astrologer said, ‘The princess is mine. If it hadn’t been for me, we shouldn’t have known where the princess was.’ The thief said, ‘The princess is mine. If it hadn’t been for me, we shouldn’t have got the princess into the boat.’ The huntsman said that the princess was his; if it hadn’t been for him, they wouldn’t have shot the dragon. The cobbler shouted that the princess was his; if it hadn’t been for him, they would all have been drowned and have perished. When they came to the palace to the king, they asked him to decide to whom the princess belonged. The king said, ‘Dear brothers, I will judge you righteously. It is true that you have all deserved her, but you cannot all obtain her. According to my promise, the astrologer-brother must obtain her, for I made proclamation that whoever should find the lost princess should obtain her and the kingdom with her; the astrologer found her, and told us where she was. But, that none of you may be unfairly dealt with, each shall receive a district of his own, and ye shall each be kings in your own districts.’ They were all content. The astrologer, as soon as the wedding was over, sent home for his father. The father came, and was delighted that his sons had become monarchs each in his district. In the spring he lived with the cobbler, in the summer with the thief, in the autumn with the huntsman, and in winter with the astrologer, and enjoyed himself everywhere till death.

I think that this story is connected with the Ceres and Proserpine cycle, only the daughter is lost by a father instead of a mother. It will be seen, also, that at the conclusion of the story the order of the brothers is not the same as in the story itself. And I think the error is in the story, and that the astrologer ought to have been the youngest brother instead of the huntsman. The brothers are the four seasons of the year, which in ancient times began with spring, the cobbler, who mends up all things, and makes them new again; next comes summer, the thief, who gathers the products of the earth; third comes autumn, the huntsman, when the wild animals that have increased and multiplied during the year are destroyed and reduced within limits; last comes winter, the astrologer, when ploughing, sowing, and other agricultural operations that govern the whole year go on by calculation. Thus the princess herself, the earth or its fertility, is assigned to the representative of winter, while the other seasons are lords each in his own district.

This Moravian tale will bear an advantageous comparison with Grimm’s tale of the ‘Four Accomplished Brothers,’ in which neither of the brothers is allowed to obtain the princess.

HUNGARIAN-SLOVENISH STORIES.

THE Slovenes or Slovaks of North Hungary speak a great number of dialects, their literary language being, however, the Bohemian. They seem to be the débris of a much larger nation or assemblage of nations, which was forced out of the plains of Pannonia into the mountains by the invasion of the Magyar or Hungarian horsemen, who, according to the Russian chronicler Nestor, marched past Kief in A.D. 898, on their way to establish themselves in their present abode.

Their stories are not very dissimilar to the Bohemian tales, although they do not resemble them so closely as the Moravian stories do. No. 10 is one of the tales that especially attracted my attention, and caused me to entertain the idea of translating a considerable selection out of the hundred given by Erben. No. 11 contains incidents which occur again in the White Russian story (No. 22), and in the great Russian tale of ‘Ivan Popyalof,’ given by Ralston, though in other respects the stories are very different. No. 12 is a superior variant of the German ‘Rumpelstilskin’ given by Grimm, and No. 13 is a specimen of an entirely different kind of story, illustrating ‘The biter bitten.’

X.—THE THREE LEMONS.

There was once upon a time an old king who had an only son. This son he one day summoned before him, and spoke to him thus: ‘My son, you see that my head has become white; ere long I shall close my eyes, and I do not yet know in what condition I shall leave you. Take a wife, my son! Let me bless you in good time, before I close my eyes.’ The son made no reply, but became lost in thought; he would gladly with all his heart have fulfilled his father’s wish, but there was no damsel in whom his heart could take delight.

Once upon a time, when he was sitting in the garden, and just considering what to do, all of a sudden an old woman appeared before him—where she came, there she came. ‘Go to the glass hill, pluck the three lemons, and you will have a wife in whom your heart will take delight,’ said she, and as she had appeared so she disappeared. Like a bright flash did these words dart through the prince’s soul. At that moment he determined, come what might, to seek the glass hill and pluck the three lemons. He made known his determination to his father, and his father gave him for the journey a horse, arms and armour, and his fatherly blessing.

Through forest-covered mountains, through desert plains, went our prince on his pilgrimage, for a very, very great distance; but there was nothing to be seen, nothing to be heard of the glass hill and the three lemons. Once, quite wearied out with his long journey, he threw himself down under the cool shade of a broad lime-tree. As he threw himself down, his father’s sword, which he wore at his side, clanged against the ground, and a dozen ravens began croaking at the top of the tree. Frightened by the clang of the sword, they rose on their wings, and flew into the air above the lofty tree. ‘Hem! till now I haven’t seen a living creature for a long while,’ said the prince to himself, springing from the ground. ‘I will go in the direction in which the ravens have flown; maybe some hope will disclose itself to me.’

He went on—he went on anew for three whole days and three nights, till at last a lofty castle displayed itself to him at a distance. ‘Praise be to God! I shall now at any rate come to human beings,’ cried he, and proceeded further.

The castle was of pure lead; round it flew the twelve ravens, and in front of it stood an old woman—it was Jezibaba[2]—leaning on a long leaden staff. ‘Ah, my son! whither have you come? Here there is neither bird nor insect to be seen, much less a human being,’ said Jezibaba to the prince. ‘Flee, if life is dear to you; for, if my son comes, he will devour you.’ ‘Ah! not so, old mother, not so!’ entreated the prince. ‘I have come to you for counsel as to whether you cannot let me have some information about the glass hill and the three lemons.’ ‘I have never heard of the glass hill; but stay! when my son comes home, maybe he will be able to let you have the information. But I will now conceal you somewhat; you will hide yourself under the besom, and wait there concealed till I call you.’

The mountains echoed, the castle quaked, and Jezibaba whispered to the prince that her son was coming. ‘Foh! foh! there is a smell of human flesh; I am going to eat it!’ shouted Jezibaba’s son, while still in the doorway, and thumped on the ground with a huge leaden club, so that the whole castle quaked. ‘Ah, not so, my son, not so!’ said Jezibaba, soothing him. ‘There has come a handsome youth who wants to consult you about something.’ ‘Well, if he wants to consult me, let him come here.’ ‘Yes, indeed, my son, he shall come, but only on condition that you promise to do nothing to him.’ ‘Well, I’ll do nothing to him, only let him come.’

The prince was trembling like an aspen under the besom, for he saw before him through the twigs an ogre, up to whose knees he didn’t reach. Happily his life was safeguarded, when Jezibaba bade him come out from under the besom. ‘Well, you beetle, why are you afraid?’ shouted the giant. ‘Whence are you? What do you want?’ ‘What do I want?’ replied the prince. ‘I’ve long been wandering in these mountains, and can’t find that which I am seeking. Now I’ve come to ask you whether you can’t give me information about the glass hill and the three lemons.’ Jezibaba’s son wrinkled his brow, but, after a while, said in a somewhat gentler voice: ‘There’s nothing to be seen here of the glass hill; but go to my brother in the silver castle, maybe he’ll be able to tell you something. But stay, I won’t let you go away hungry. Mother, here with the dumplings!’ Old Jezibaba set a large dish upon the table, and her gigantic son sat down to it. ‘Come and eat!’ shouted he to the prince. The prince took the first dumpling and began to eat, but two of his teeth broke, for they were dumplings of lead. ‘Well, why don’t you eat? maybe you don’t like them?’ inquired Jezibaba’s son. ‘Yes, they are good; but I don’t want any just now.’ ‘Well, if you don’t want any just now, pocket some, and go your way.’ The good prince—would he, nould he—was obliged to put some of the leaden dumplings into his pocket. He then took leave and proceeded further.

On he went and on he went for three whole days and three nights, and the further he went, the deeper he wandered into a thickly wooded and gloomy range of mountains. Before him it was desolate, behind him it was desolate; there wasn’t a single living creature to be seen. All wearied from his long journey, he threw himself on the ground. The clang of his silver-mounted sword spread far and wide. Above him four and twenty ravens, frightened by the clash of his sword, began to croak, and, rising on their wings, flew into the air. ‘A good sign!’ cried the prince. ‘I will go in the direction in which the birds have flown.’

And on he went in that direction, on he went as fast as his feet could carry him, till all at once a lofty castle displayed itself to him! He was still far from the castle, and already its walls were glistening in his eyes, for the castle was of pure silver. In front of the castle stood an old woman bent with age, leaning on a long silver staff, and this was Jezibaba. ‘Ah, my son! How is it that you have come here? Here there is neither bird nor insect, much less a human being!’ cried Jezibaba to the prince; ‘if life is dear to you, flee away, for if my son comes, he will devour you!’ ‘Nay, old mother, he will hardly eat me. I bring him a greeting from his brother in the leaden castle.’ ‘Well, if you bring a greeting from the leaden castle, then come into the parlour, my son, and tell me what you are seeking.’ ‘What I am seeking, old mother? For ever so long a time I’ve been seeking the glass hill and the three lemons, and cannot find them; now I’ve come to inquire whether you can’t give me information about them.’ ‘I know nothing about the glass hill; but stay! when my son comes, maybe he will be able to give you the information. Hide yourself under the bed, and don’t make yourself known unless I call you.’

The mountains echoed with a mighty voice, the castle quaked, and the prince knew that Jezibaba’s son was coming home. ‘Foh! foh! there’s a smell of human flesh; I’m going to eat it!’ roared a horrible ogre already in the doorway, and thumped upon the ground with a silver club, so that the whole castle quaked. ‘Ah! not so, my son, not so; but a handsome youth has come and has brought you a greeting from your brother in the leaden castle.’ ‘Well, if he’s been at my brother’s, and if he has done nothing to him, let him have no fear of me either; let him come out.’ The prince sprang out from under the bed, and went up to him, looking beside him as if he had placed himself under a very tall pine. ‘Well, beetle, have you been at my brother’s?’ ‘Indeed, I have; and here I’ve still the dumplings, which he gave me for the journey.’ ‘Well, I believe you; now tell me what it is you want.’ ‘What I want? I am come to ask you whether you can’t give me information about the glass hill or the three lemons.’ ‘Hem! I’ve heard formerly about it, but I don’t know how to direct you. Meanwhile, do you know what? Go to my brother in the golden castle, he will direct you. But stay, I won’t let you go away hungry. Mother, here with the dumplings!’ Jezibaba brought the dumplings on a large silver dish, and set them on the table. ‘Eat!’ shouted her son. The prince, seeing that they were silver dumplings, said that he didn’t want to eat just then, but would take some for his journey, if he would give him them. ‘Take as many as you like, and greet my brother and aunt.’ The prince took the dumplings, thanked him courteously, and proceeded further.

Three days had already passed since he quitted the silver castle, wandering continuously through densely wooded mountains, not knowing which way to go, whether to the right hand or to the left. All wearied out, he threw himself down under a wide-spreading beech, to take a little breath. His silver-mounted sword clanged on the ground, and the sound spread far and wide. ‘Krr, krr, krr!’ croaked a flock of ravens over the traveller, scared by the clash of his sword, and flew into the air. ‘Praise be to God! the golden castle won’t be far off now,’ cried the prince, and proceeded, encouraged, onwards in the direction in which the ravens showed him the road. Scarcely had he come out of the valley on to a small hill, when he saw a beautiful and wide meadow, and in the midst of the meadow stood a golden castle, just as if he were gazing at the sun; and before the gate of the castle stood an old bent Jezibaba, leaning on a golden staff. ‘Ah! my son! what do you seek for here?’ cried she to the prince. ‘Here there is neither bird nor insect to be seen, much less a human being! If your life is dear to you, flee, for if my son comes, he will devour you!’ ‘Nay, old mother, he’ll hardly eat me,’ replied he. ‘I bring him a greeting from his brother in the silver castle.’ ‘Well, if you bring him a greeting from the silver castle, come into the parlour and tell me what has brought you to us.’ ‘What has brought me to you, old mother? I have long been wandering in this mountain range, and haven’t been able to find out where are the glass hill and the three lemons. I was directed to you, because haply you might be able to give me information about it.’ ‘Where is the glass hill? I cannot tell you that; but stay! when my son comes, he will counsel you which way you must go, and what you must do. Hide yourself under the table, and stay there till I call you.’

The mountains echoed, the castle quaked, and Jezibaba’s son stepped into the parlour. ‘Foh! foh! there’s a smell of human flesh; I’m going to eat it!’ shouted he, while still in the doorway, and thumped with a golden club upon the ground, so that the whole castle quaked. ‘Gently, my son, gently!’ said Jezibaba, soothing him; ‘there is a handsome youth come, who brings you a greeting from your brother in the silver castle. If you will do nothing to him, I will call him at once.’ ‘Well, if my brother has done nothing to him, neither will I do anything to him.’ The prince came out from under the table and placed himself beside him, looking, in comparison, as if he had placed himself beside a lofty tower, and showed him the silver dumplings in token that he had really been at the silver castle. ‘Well, tell me, you beetle, what you want!’ shouted the monstrous ogre; ‘if I can counsel you, counsel you I will; don’t fear!’ Then the prince explained to him the aim of his long journey, and begged him to advise him which way to go to the glass hill, and what he must do to obtain the three lemons. ‘Do you see that black knoll that looms yonder?’ said he, pointing with his golden club; ‘that is the glass hill; on the top of the hill stands a tree, and on the tree hang three lemons, whose scent spreads seven miles round. You will go up the glass hill, kneel under the tree, and hold up your hands; if the lemons are destined for you, they will fall off into your hands of themselves; but, if they are not destined for you, you will not pluck them, whatever you do. When you are on your return, and are hungry or thirsty, cut one of the lemons into halves, and you will eat and drink your fill. And now go, and God be with you! But stay, I won’t let you go hungry. Mother, here with the dumplings!’ Jezibaba set a large golden dish on the table. ‘Eat!’ said her son to the prince, ‘or, if you don’t want to do so now, put some into your pocket; you will eat them on the road.’ The prince had no desire to eat, but put some into his pocket, saying that he would eat them on the road. He then thanked him courteously for his hospitality and counsel, and proceeded further.

Swiftly he paced from hill into dale, from dale on to a fresh hill, and never stopped till he was beneath the glass hill itself. There he stopped, as if turned to a stone. The hill was high and smooth; there wasn’t a single crack in it. On the top spread the branches of a wondrous tree, and on the tree swung three lemons, whose scent was so powerful that the prince almost fainted. ‘God help me! Now, as it shall be, so it will be. Now that I’m once here, I will at any rate make the attempt,’ thought he to himself, and began to climb up the smooth glass; but scarcely had he ascended a few fathoms when his foot slipped, and he himself, pop! down the hill, so that he didn’t know where he was, or what he was, till he found himself on the ground at the bottom. Wearied out, he began to throw away the dumplings, thinking that their weight was a hindrance to him. He threw away the first, and lo! the dumpling fixed itself on the glass hill. He threw a second and a third, and saw before him three steps, on which he could stand with safety. The prince was overjoyed. He kept throwing the dumplings before him, and in every case steps formed themselves from them for him. First he threw the leaden ones, then the silver, and then the golden ones. By the steps thus constructed he ascended higher and higher till he happily attained the topmost ridge of the glass hill. Here he knelt down under the tree and held up his hands. And lo! the three beautiful lemons flew down of themselves into the palms of his hands. The tree disappeared, the glass hill crashed and vanished, and when the prince came to himself, there was no tree, no hill, but a wide plain lay extended before him.

He commenced his return homeward with delight. He neither ate nor drank, nor saw nor heard, for very joy. But when the third day came, a vacuum began to make itself felt in his stomach. He was so hungry that he would gladly have then and there betaken himself to the leaden dumplings if his pocket hadn’t been empty. His pocket was empty, and all around was just as bare as the palm of his hand. Then he took a lemon out of his pocket and cut it into halves; and what came to pass? Out of the lemon sprang a beautiful damsel, who made a reverence before him, and cried out: ‘Have you made ready for me to eat? Have you made ready for me to drink? Have you made pretty dresses ready for me?’ ‘I have nothing, beautiful creature, for you to eat, nothing for you to drink, nothing for you to put on,’ said the prince, in a sorrowful voice, and the beautiful damsel clapped her white hands thrice before him, made a reverence and vanished.

‘Aha! now I know what sort of lemons these are,’ said the prince; ‘stay! I won’t cut them up so lightly.’ From the cut one he ate and drank to his satisfaction, and thus refreshed, proceeded onwards.

But on the third day a hunger three times worse than the preceding, assailed him. ‘God help me!’ said he; ‘I have still one remaining over. I’ll cut it up.’ He then took out the second lemon, cut it in halves, and lo! a damsel still more beautiful than the preceding one placed herself before him. ‘Have you made ready for me to eat? Have you made ready for me to drink? Have you made pretty dresses ready for me?’ ‘I have not, dear soul! I have not!’ and the beautiful damsel clapped her hands thrice before him, made a reverence, and vanished.

Now he had only one lemon remaining; he took it in his hand and said: ‘I will not cut you open save in my father’s house,’ and therewith proceeded onwards. On the third day he saw, after long absence, his native town. He didn’t know himself how he got there, when he found himself at once in his father’s castle. Tears of joy bedewed his old father’s cheeks: ‘Welcome, my son! welcome a hundred times!’ he cried, and fell upon his neck. The prince related how it had gone with him on his journey, and the members of the household how anxiously they had waited for him.

On the next day a grand entertainment was prepared; lords and ladies were invited from all quarters; and beautiful dresses, embroidered with gold and studded with pearls were got ready. The lords and ladies assembled, took their seats at the tables, and waited expectantly to see what would happen. Then the prince took out the last lemon, cut it in halves, and out of the lemon sprang a lady thrice as beautiful as had been the preceding ones. ‘Have you made ready for me to eat? Have you made ready for me to drink? Have you got pretty dresses ready for me?’ ‘I have, my dear soul, got everything ready for you,’ answered the prince, and presented the handsome dresses to her. The beautiful damsel put on the beautiful clothes, and all rejoiced at her extraordinary beauty. Ere long the betrothal took place, and after the betrothal a magnificent wedding.

Now was fulfilled the old king’s wish; he blessed his son, resigned the kingdom into his hands, and ere long died.

The first thing that occurred to the new king after his father’s death was a war, which a neighbouring king excited against him. Now he was constrained for the first time to part from his hard-earned wife. Lest, therefore, anything should happen to her in his absence, he caused a throne to be erected for her in a garden beside a lake, which no one could ascend, save the person to whom she let down a silken cord, and drew that person up to her.

Not far from the royal castle lived an old woman, the same that had given the prince the counsel about the three lemons. She had a servant, a gipsy, whom she was in the habit of sending to the lake for water. She knew very well that the young king had obtained a wife, and it annoyed her excessively that he had not invited her to the wedding, nay, had not even thanked her for her good advice. One day she sent her maidservant to the lake for water. She went, drew water, and saw a beautiful image in the water. Under the impression that this was her own reflection, she banged her pitcher on the ground, so that it flew into a thousand pieces. ‘Are you worthy,’ said she, ‘that so beautiful a person as myself should carry water for an old witch like you?’ As she uttered this she looked up, and lo! it wasn’t her own reflection that she saw in the water, but that of the beautiful queen. Ashamed, she picked up the pieces and returned home. The old woman, who knew beforehand what had occurred, went out to meet her with a fresh pitcher, and asked her servant, for appearance’ sake, what had happened to her. The servant related all as it had occurred. ‘Well, that’s nothing!’ said the old woman. ‘But, do you know what? Go you once more to the lake, and ask the lady to let down the silken cord and draw you up, promising to comb and dress her hair. If she draws you up, you will comb her hair, and when she falls asleep, stick this pin into her head. Then dress yourself in her clothes and sit there as queen.’

It wasn’t necessary to use much persuasion to the gipsy; she took the pin, took the pitcher, and returned to the lake. She drew water and looked at the beautiful queen. ‘Dear me! how beautiful you are! Ah! you are beautiful!’ she screamed, and looked with coaxing gestures into her eyes. ‘Yes,’ said she; ‘but you would be a hundred times more beautiful if you would let me comb and dress your hair; in truth, I would so twine those golden locks that your lord could not help being delighted.’ And thus she jabbered, thus she coaxed, till the queen let down the silken cord and drew her up.

The nasty gipsy combed, separated, and plaited the golden hair till the beautiful queen fell sound asleep. Then the gipsy drew out the pin, and stuck it into the sleeping queen’s head. At that moment a beautiful white dove flew off the golden throne, and not a vestige remained of the lovely queen save her handsome clothes, in which the gipsy speedily dressed herself, took her seat in the place where the queen sat before, and gazed into the lake; but the beautiful reflection displayed itself no more in the lake, for even in the queen’s clothes the gipsy nevertheless remained a gipsy.

The young king was successful in overcoming his enemies, and made peace with them. Scarcely had he returned to the town, when he went to the garden to seek his delight, and to see whether anything had happened to her. But who shall express his astonishment and horror, when, instead of his beautiful queen, he beheld a sorry gipsy. ‘Ah, my dear, my very dear one, how you have altered!’ sighed he, and tears bedewed his cheeks. ‘I have altered, my beloved! I have altered; for anxiety for you has tortured me,’ answered the gipsy, and wanted to fall upon his neck; but the king turned away from her and departed in anger. From that time forth he had no settled abode, no rest; he knew neither day nor night; but merely mourned over the lost beauty of his wife, and nothing could comfort him.

Thus agitated and melancholy, he was walking one day in the garden. Here, as he moved about at haphazard, a beautiful white dove flew on to his hand from a high tree, and looked with mournful gaze into his bloodshot eyes. ‘Ah, my dove! why are you so sad? Has your mate been transformed like my beautiful wife?’ said the young king, talking to it and caressingly stroking its head and back. But feeling a kind of protuberance on its head, he blew the feathers apart, and behold! the head of a pin! Touched with compassion, the king extracted the pin; that instant the beautiful mourning dove was changed into his beautiful wife. She narrated to him all that had happened to her, and how it had happened; how the gipsy had deluded her, and how she had stuck the pin into her head. The king immediately caused the gipsy and the old woman to be apprehended and burnt without further ado.

From that time forth nothing interfered with his happiness, neither the might of his enemies nor the spite of wicked people. He lived with his beautiful wife in peace and love; he reigned prosperously, and is reigning yet, if he be yet alive.

XI.—THE SUN-HORSE.

There was once upon a time a country, sad and gloomy as the grave, on which God’s sun never shone. But there was a king there, and this king possessed a horse with a sun on his forehead; and this sun-horse of his the king caused to be led up and down the dark country, from one end to the other, that the people might be able to exist there; and light came from him on all sides wherever he was led, just as in the most beautiful day.

All at once the sun-horse disappeared. A darkness worse than that of night prevailed over the whole country, and nothing could disperse it. Unheard-of terror spread among the subjects; frightful misery began to afflict them, for they could neither manufacture anything nor earn anything, and such confusion arose among them that everything was turned topsy-turvy. The king, therefore, in order to liberate his realm and prevent universal destruction, made ready to seek the sun-horse with his whole army.

Through thick darkness he made his way as best he could to the frontier of his realm. Over dense mountains thousands of ages old God’s light began now to break from another country, as if the sun were rising in the morning out of thick fogs. On such a mountain the king came with his army to a poor lonely cottage. He went in to inquire where he was, what it was, and how to get further. At a table sat a peasant, diligently reading in an open book. When the king bowed to him he raised his eyes, thanked him, and stood up. His whole person announced that he was not a man like another man, but a seer.

‘I was just reading about you,’ said he to the king, ‘how that you are going to seek the sun-horse. Journey no further, for you will not obtain him; but rely on me: I will find him for you.’ ‘I promise you, good man, I will recompense you royally,’ replied the king, ‘if you bring him here to me.’ ‘I require no recompense; return home with your army—you’re wanted there; only leave me one servant.’

The next day the seer set out with the servant. The way was far and long, for they passed through six countries, and had still further to go, till in the seventh country they stopped at the royal palace. In this seventh country ruled three own brothers, who had to wife three own sisters, whose mother was a witch. When they stopped in front of the palace, the seer said to his servant: ‘Do you hear? you stay here, and I will go in to ascertain whether the kings are at home; for the horse with the sun is in their possession—the youngest rides upon him.’ Therewith he transformed himself into a green bird, and, flying on the gable of the eldest queen’s roof, flew up and down and pecked at it until she opened the window and let him into her chamber. And when she let him in he perched on her white hand, and the queen was as delighted with him as a little child. ‘Ah, what a dear creature you are!’ said she, as she played with him; ‘if my husband were at home he would indeed be delighted with you; but he won’t come till evening; he has gone to visit the third part of his country.’

All at once the old witch came into the room, and, seeing the bird, screamed to her daughter, ‘Wring the accursed bird’s neck, for it’s making you bleed!’ ‘Well, what if it should make me bleed? it’s such a dear; it’s such an innocent dear!’ answered the daughter. But the witch said: ‘Dear innocent mischief! here with him! let me wring his neck!’ and dashed at it. But the bird cunningly transformed itself into a man, and, pop! out through the door, and they didn’t know whither he had betaken himself.

Afterwards he again transformed himself into a green bird, flew on the gable of the middle sister, and pecked at it till she opened the window for him. And when she let him in he flew on to her white hand, and fluttered from one hand to the other. ‘Oh, what a dear creature you are!’ cried the queen, smiling; ‘my husband would indeed be delighted with you if he were at home; but he won’t come till to-morrow evening; he has gone to visit two thirds of his kingdom.’

Thereupon the witch burst into the room. ‘Wring the accursed bird’s neck! wring its neck, for it’s making you bleed!’ cried she as soon as she espied it. ‘Well, what if it should make me bleed? it’s such a dear, such an innocent dear!’ replied the daughter. But the witch said: ‘Dear innocent mischief! here with it! let me wring its neck!’ and was already trying to seize it. But at that moment the green bird changed itself into a man, ran out through the door, and disappeared, as it were, in the clap of a hand, so that they didn’t know whither he had gone.

A little while afterwards he changed himself again into a green bird and flew on the gable of the youngest queen’s roof, and flew up and down, and pecked at it until she opened the window to him. And when she had let him in he flew straight on to her white hand, and made himself so agreeable to her that she played with him with the delight of a child. ‘Ah, what a dear creature you are!’ said the queen; ‘if my husband were at home he would certainly be delighted with you, but he won’t come till the day after to-morrow at even; he has gone to visit all three parts of his kingdom.’

At that moment the old witch came into the room. ‘Wring, wring the accursed bird’s neck!’ screamed she in the doorway, ‘for it is making you bleed.’ ‘Well, what if it should make me bleed, mother? it is so beautiful, so innocent,’ answered the daughter. The witch said, ‘Beautiful innocent mischief! here with him! let me wring his neck!’ But at that moment the bird changed itself into a man, and pop! out through the door, so that none of them saw him more.

Now the seer knew where the kings were, and when they would arrive. He went to his servant and ordered him to follow him out of the town. On they went with rapid step till they came to a bridge, over which the kings were obliged to pass.

Under this bridge they stayed waiting till the evening. When at even the sun was sinking behind the mountains, the clatter of a horse was heard near the bridge. It was the eldest king returning home. Close to the bridge his horse stumbled over a log of wood, which the seer had thrown across the bridge. ‘Ha! what scoundrel was that who threw this log across the road?’ exclaimed the king in anger. Thereat the seer sprang out from under the bridge and rushed upon the king for ‘daring to call him a scoundrel,’ and, drawing his sword, attacked him. The king, too, drew his sword to defend himself, but after a short combat fell dead from his horse. The seer bound the dead king on the horse, and gave the horse a lash with the whip to make him carry his dead master home. He then withdrew under the bridge, and they waited there till the next evening.

When day a second time declined towards evening, the middle king came to the bridge, and, seeing the ground sprinkled with blood, cried out, ‘Somebody’s been killed here! Who has dared to perpetrate such a crime in my kingdom?’ At these words the seer sprang out from under the bridge and rushed upon the king with drawn sword, exclaiming, ‘How dare you insult me? Defend yourself as best you can!’ The king did defend himself, but after a brief struggle yielded up his life under the sword of the seer. The seer again fastened his corpse upon the horse, and gave the horse a lash with the whip to make him carry his dead master home. They then withdrew under the bridge and waited till the third evening came.

The third evening, at the very setting of the sun, up darted the youngest king on the sun-horse, darted up with speed, for he was somewhat late; but when he saw the red blood in front of the bridge, he stopped, and gazing at it exclaimed, ‘It is an unheard-of villain who has dared to murder a man in my kingdom!’ Scarcely had these words issued from his mouth when the seer placed himself before him with drawn sword, sternly bidding him defend himself, ‘for he had wounded his honour.’ ‘I don’t know how,’ answered the king, ‘unless it is you that are the villain.’ But as his adversary attacked him with a sword, he, too, drew his, and defended himself manfully.

It had been mere play to the seer to overcome the first two kings, but it was not so with this one. Long time they fought, and broke their swords, yet victory didn’t show itself either on the one side or on the other. ‘We shall effect nothing with swords,’ said the seer, ‘but do you know what? Let us turn ourselves into wheels and start down from the hill; the wheel which breaks shall be the conquered.’ ‘Good!’ said the king; ‘I’ll be a cart-wheel, and you shall be a lighter wheel.’ ‘Not so,’ cunningly said the seer; ‘you shall be the lighter wheel, and I will be the cart-wheel;’ and the king agreed to it. Then they went up the hill, turned themselves into wheels, and started downwards. The cart-wheel flew to pieces, and bang! right into the lighter wheel, so that it all smashed up. Immediately the seer arose out of the cart-wheel and joyfully exclaimed, ‘There you are, the victory is mine!’ ‘Not a bit of it, sir brother!’ cried the king, placing himself in front of the seer; ‘you have only broken my fingers. But do you know what? Let us make ourselves into flames, and the flame which burns up the other shall be the victor. I will make myself into a red flame, and do you make yourself into a bluish one.’ ‘Not so!’ interrupted the seer; ‘you make yourself into a bluish flame, and I will make myself into a red one.’ The king agreed to this also. They went into the road to the bridge, and, changing themselves into flames, began to burn each other unmercifully. Long did they burn each other, but nothing came of it. Thereupon, by coincidence, up came an old beggar with a long gray beard, a bald head, a large scrip at his side, leaning upon a thick staff. ‘Old father!’ said the bluish flame, ‘bring some water and quench this red flame; I’ll give you a penny for it.’ The red flame cunningly exclaimed, ‘Old father! I’ll give you a shilling if you’ll pour the water on this bluish flame.’ The old beggar liked the shilling better than the penny, brought water and quenched the bluish flame. Then it was all over with the king. The red flame turned itself into a man, took the sun-horse by the bridle, mounted on his back, called the servant, thanked the beggar for the service he had rendered, and went off.

In the royal palaces there was deep grief at the murder of the two kings; the entire palaces were draped with black cloth, and the people crowded into them from all quarters to gaze at the cut and slashed bodies of the two elder brothers, whose horses had brought them home. The old witch, exasperated at the death of her sons-in-law, devised a plan of vengeance on their murderer, the seer. She seated herself with speed on an iron rake, took her three daughters under her arms, and pop! off with them into the air.

The seer and his servant had already got through a good part of their journey, and were then crossing desert mountains, a treeless waste. Here a terrible hunger seized the servant, and there wasn’t even a wild plum to assuage it. All of a sudden they came to an apple-tree. Apples were hanging on it; the branches were all but breaking under their weight; their scent was beautiful; they were delightfully ruddy, so that they almost offered themselves to be eaten. ‘Praise be to God!’ cried the delighted servant; ‘I shall eat one of those apples with an excellent appetite.’ ‘Don’t attempt to gather one of them!’ cried the seer to him; ‘wait, I’ll gather some for you myself.’ But instead of plucking an apple, he drew his sword and thrust it mightily into the apple-tree; red blood spouted out of it. ‘There,’ said he, ‘you would have come to harm if you had eaten any of those apples, for the apple-tree was the eldest queen, whose mother placed her there to put us out of this world.’

After a time they came to a spring; water clear as crystal bubbled up in it, all but running over the brim and thus attracting wayfarers. ‘Ah!’ said the servant, ‘if we can’t get anything better, let us at any rate have a drink of this good water.’ ‘Don’t venture to drink of it!’ shouted the seer; ‘but stay, I’ll get you some of it.’ Yet he didn’t get him any water, but thrust his drawn sword into the midst of it; it was immediately discoloured with blood, which began to flow from it in mighty waves. ‘That is the middle queen, whose mother placed her here to put us out of this world,’ said the seer, and the servant thanked him for his warning, and went on, would he, nould he, in hunger and thirst, whithersoever the seer led him.

After a time they came to a rose-bush, which was red with delightful roses, and filled the air round about with their scent. ‘Oh, what beautiful roses!’ said the servant; ‘I never saw such beauties in all my life. I’ll go and gather a few of them; I will at any rate comfort myself with them if I can’t assuage my hunger and thirst.’ ‘Don’t venture to gather one of them!’ cried the seer; ‘I will gather them for you.’ With that he cut into the bush with his sword; red blood spurted out, as if he had cut the vein of a human being. ‘That is the youngest queen,’ said the seer to his servant, ‘whom her mother, the witch, placed here with the intention of taking vengeance upon us for the death of her sons-in-law.’ They then went on.

When they crossed the frontier of the dark realm, flashes flew in all directions from the horse’s forehead, and everything came to life again, beautiful regions rejoiced and blossomed with the flowers of spring. The king didn’t know how to thank the seer sufficiently, and offered him the half of his kingdom as a reward, but he declined it. ‘You are king,’ said he; ‘rule over the whole realm, and I will return to my cottage in peace.’ He took leave and departed.

XII.—THE GOLDEN SPINSTER.

Far away somewhere beyond the Red Sea, there was a certain young lord. When he had grown up in body and mind, he bethought himself that indeed it would not be a bad thing to look round him in the world and seek out a nice wife for himself, and a good mistress for his household. Well, as he determined, so he did. He went out into the world, but could not find such a one as he would have liked. At last he went somehow into the house of a widow, who had three daughters, all maidens. The two elder were as active as wasps for work, but the youngest, who was named Hanka, was like a leaden bird for everything that wanted doing. When the young lord came to them at spinning time he was astounded. ‘How is it,’ thought he, ‘that Hanka can be sleeping in the chimney-corner, while the other spinsters are hard at work at their tasks?’ He said to their mother: ‘But, old lady, tell me, why don’t you make that one, too, take a distaff? She is quite a grown-up girl, and would amuse herself by work.’ ‘Ah! young sir,’ replied the mother, ‘I would allow her to spin with all my heart; I would fill her distaff myself; but what then? She is such a spinster, that by herself she would by morning spin up not only all our spinning materials, but all the thatch from the roof, and that into golden threads; nay, at last she would betake herself to my gray hairs; I am obliged, therefore, to give her a holiday.’ ‘If this be so,’ said the delighted suitor, ‘and if it is God’s will, you can give her to me to wife. You see, I have a nice establishment—flax, hemp, whole heaps of the finer and commoner kinds of tow; she could spin away to her heart’s content.’ At such language the old woman did not take long for consideration, and Hanka woke from her slumbers. They brought the bridegroom expectant a handsome olive-coloured handkerchief out of the clothes-chest, adorned him with periwinkles, and performed the marriage ceremony that very evening. The other spinsters were somewhat mortified at Hanka’s good fortune, but finally were content at it, hoping that they, too, would get rings on their fingers,[3] now that the idle hand, as they nicknamed Hanka, had obtained a husband. The next day our young bridegroom ordered his horses to be harnessed, and when all was ready, placed the tearful bride beside him in a handsome carriage, gave his hand to his mother-in-law, called out ‘Farewell!’ to the bride’s sisters, and they left the village at a gallop.

For better or worse! Poor Hanka sat by her youthful husband mournful and tearful, just as if the chickens had eaten up all her bread. He talked to her enough, but Hanka was as mute as a fish. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ said he. ‘Don’t be frightened. At my house, indeed, there will be no going to sleep for you. I shall give you all that your heart desires. You will have flax, hemp, fine and coarse tow enough for the whole winter, and I have got in a store of apples for spittle.’ But our Hanka became more sorrowful the further they went. Thus they arrived in the evening at the young lord’s castle, got down from the carriage, and, after supper, the future lady was conducted into a large room, in which, from top to bottom, lay nothing but spinning materials. ‘Well,’ said he, ‘here you have distaff, spindle, and spindle-ring, and rosy apples and a few peas for spittle—spin away! If you spin all this, by morning, into golden threads, we shall be man and wife at once; if not, I shall cause you to be put to death without further ado.’ Thereupon the young lord went out and left the spinster to spin. When Hanka was left alone, she didn’t seat herself under the distaff, for she didn’t even know how to twirl the threads, but began sorrowfully to exclaim: ‘Oh God! God! here I am come out to vile disgrace! Why did not my mother teach me to work and spin like my two sisters? I might then have reposed in peace at home; but, as it is, sinful creature that I am, I must perish miserably.’ As she was thus expressing her feelings, the wall suddenly opened, and a little mannikin stood before the terrified Hanka, with a red cap on his head and an apron girt round his waist; before him he pushed a little golden hand-cart. ‘Why have you your eyes so tearful?’ inquired he of Hanka. ‘What has happened to you?’ ‘As if, sinful soul that I am, I should not weep,’ said she; ‘only think, they have ordered me to spin all these spinning materials into golden threads by morning, and if I don’t do so, they will have me put to death without any ceremony. Oh God! God! what shall I do, forlorn in this strange world?’ ‘If that is all,’ said the mannikin, ‘don’t be frightened. I will teach you to spin golden threads cleverly; but only on this condition, that I find you this time next year in this very place. Then, if you do not guess my honourable name, you will become my wife, and I shall convey you away in this cart. But, if you guess it, I shall leave you in peace. But this I tell you: if you choose to hide yourself anywhere this time next year, and if you fly ever so far beneath the sky, I shall find you, and will wring your neck. Well, have you agreed to this?’ It was not, sooth to say, very satisfactory to Hanka; but what could the poor thing do? At length she bethought herself: ‘Let it be left to God, whether I perish this way or that! I agree.’ The mannikin, on hearing this, made three circuits round her with his golden cart, seated himself under the distaff, and repeating:

taught and instructed her to spin golden threads. After this, as he came, so he departed, and the wall closed up of itself behind him. Our damsel, from that time forth a real golden spinster, sat under the distaff, and seeing how the spinning materials decreased and the golden threads increased, spun and spun away, and by morning had not only spun up all, but had had a good sleep into the bargain. In the morning, as soon as the young lord awoke, he dressed himself and went to visit the golden spinster. When he entered the room he was all but blinded by the glitter, and wouldn’t even believe his eyes, that it was all gold. But when he had satisfied himself that so it was, he began to embrace the golden spinster, and declared her his true and lawful wife. Thus they lived in the fear of God, and if our young lord had previously loved his Haniczka for the golden spinning, he then loved her a thousand times more for the beautiful son that she in the meantime bore him.

But what? There’s no footpath without an end, neither could the joy of our wedded pair endure for ever. Day passed after day, till finally the appointed time approached within a span. Now our Hanka began to be more sorrowful from moment to moment; her eyes were as red as if they were baked, and she did nothing but creep like a shadow from room to room. And, indeed, it was a serious thing for a young mother to have to lose all at once her good husband and her beautiful son! Hitherto her poor husband knew nought about anything, and comforted his wife as well as he could; but she would not be comforted. When she bethought herself what a nasty dwarf she was going to obtain instead of her shapely husband, she all but dashed herself against the walls from excessive agony. At last she managed to overcome herself, and revealed everything to her husband as it had occurred to her on that first night. He became, from horror, as pale as a whitewashed wall, and caused proclamation to be made throughout the whole district that, if anyone knew of such a dwarf, and should make known his real name, he would give him a piece of gold as large as his head. ‘Ah! what a windfall such a piece of gold as that would be!’ whispered neighbour to neighbour, and they dispersed on all sides, examined all corners, all but looked into the mouseholes, searched and searched as for a needle, but, after all, couldn’t find anything out. Nobody knew and nobody had seen the dwarf, and as for his name, no living soul could guess it. Under such circumstances the last day arrived; nothing had been seen or heard of the mannikin, and our Hanka, with her boy at her breast, was wringing her hands at the prospect of losing her husband. Her unhappy husband, whose eyes were almost exhausted from weeping, in order, at any rate, to escape from beholding the agony of his wife, took his gun on his shoulder, fastened his faithful hounds in a leash, and went out hunting. After hunting time—it was about the hour of afternoon luncheon—it began to lighten on all sides and in all directions, rain poured so that it would have been a shame to turn a dog out into the roads, and in this tempest all our young lord’s servants sought shelter where they could, and got so lost that he remained with only one on a densely wooded unknown hill, and that as soaked and dripping as a rat. Where were they to seek shelter before the ever-increasing storm? where to dry themselves? where to obtain harbour for the night? The unlucky pair, master and servant, looked round on all sides to see whether they couldn’t espy a shepherd’s hut or a cattle-shed; but where nothing is, there is nothing. Finally, when they had almost strained their eyes out of the sockets, they saw where, out of the hole of the side shaft of a mine, puffs of smoke were rolling, as from a limekiln. ‘Go, lad,’ said the young lord to the servant, ‘look whence this smoke issues; there must be people there. Ask them whether they will give us lodging for the night.’ The servant went off and returned in a jiffy with the intelligence that neither door, nor shed, nor people were there. ‘Fie, you’re only a duffer!’ said the lord to his servant with chattering teeth. ‘I’ll go myself; you, for a punishment, shall drip and freeze.’ Well, the noble lord took the job in hand, but neither could he espy anything, save that in one place smoke kept continually issuing out of the side shaft. At last in disgust he said: ‘Whatever devil on devil may bring, know I must whence all this smoke comes.’ So he went to the hole itself, knelt beside it and peeped in. As he was thus peeping, he espied, somewhere under ground, where food was cooking in a kitchen, and covers were laid for two on a stone table. Round this table ran a little mannikin in a red cap with a golden hand-cart before him, and from time to time, after making the circuit, he sang:

And again he ran like mad round the table and shouted:

The young lord wanted nothing more; he ran as fast as his legs could carry him to his servant, and, as it now cleared up a little, they were fortunate enough to find a path, by which they hastened home. He found his wife at home in agony, in misery, streaming with tears; for she thought she would not be able even to take leave of her husband, as he was so long away. ‘Don’t afflict yourself, my wife,’ were the young lord’s first words when he entered the room. ‘I know what you require; his name is Martynko Klyngas.’ And then he, without delay, recounted to her everything, where he had gone and what had happened to him. Hanka could scarcely keep on her feet for joy, embraced and kissed her husband, and betook herself joyfully into the room, in which she had spent the first night, to finish spinning the golden threads. At midnight the wall opened, and the mannikin with the red cap came in, as he had done that time last year, and running round her with the golden cart shouted with the utmost power of his lungs:

‘I’ll have a try to guess,’ said Hanka; ‘your name is Martynko Klyngas.’ As soon as she had uttered this, the little dwarf seized his cart, threw his cap on the ground, and departed as he had come; the wall closed, and Hanka breathed in peace. From that time forth she spun no more gold, and, indeed, neither was it necessary for her so to do for they were rich enough. She and her husband lived happily together, their boy grew like a young tree by the water’s side; and they bought a cow, and on the cow a bell, and here’s an end to the tale I tell.

[This story may be compared with ‘Rumpelstiltskin’ in Grimm. The principle is the same; but, I think, the variation in the details is much in favour of the Slavonic tale.]

XIII.—ARE YOU ANGRY?

Where it was, there it was, a certain village there was, in which lived a father with three sons. One of them was silly, and always sat in the chimney corner,[4] but the other two were considered clever. One of these went out to service in a village not far off. His mother put on his back a wallet full of cakes baked under the ashes. He went into a house and made an engagement with the master upon the terms that whichever got angry first was to have his nose cut off. The servant went to thresh. He was not called by his master either to breakfast or to dinner. His master asked him: ‘Well, Mishek, are you angry?’ ‘What have I to be angry for?’ Evening came, and supper was cooked; again they did not ask Mishek. His master asked him: ‘Well, Mishek, are you angry?’ ‘What have I to be angry for?’ He wasn’t angry, for the cakes from home still held out. But during the second and third day the wallet was emptied, and again he wasn’t summoned to dinner. His master asked him: ‘Mishek, are you not angry?’ ‘Wouldn’t even the devil be angry, when you are thus killing me with hunger?’ Then his master pulled out a knife and cut off Mishek’s nose. He hastened home noseless, and complained to his father and brothers of his wicked master. ‘You simpleton!’ said the next brother, Pavko. ‘Stay, I’ll go! Hey, mother, bake some cakes under the ashes!’ Pavko started off and went straight to the same village and to the same house, and made an engagement with the same master, on the terms that whichever was the first to become angry was to have his nose cut off. They set him, too, to thresh for three days, but neither on the first, nor on the second, nor on the third day, did they call him to take a meal. ‘Pavko, are you not angry?’ ‘Wouldn’t even devils be angry with you? My belly has already grown to my backbone.’ Thereupon his master pulled out a knife and cut off Pavko’s nose. Pavko went home noseless, and said to his elder brother: ‘That’s a cruel house of entertainment; the devil’s got my nose.’ Then Adam, the youngest, shouted from the chimney-corner: ‘You are idiots! I’ll go, and you’ll see that I shall make a good job of it.’ He went with cakes baked under the ashes in his wallet, and hit right upon the same village in which his brothers had been, and engaged himself with the same master upon the terms that whichever got angry first should have his nose cut off. But Adam knew how to proceed intelligently. When his master didn’t call him to dinner, he went to the public-house with what he had threshed and pawned it all. His master came and didn’t see a grain of corn. Adam then asked him: ‘Master, are you angry?’ ‘Why should I be angry?’ This occurred several times, and his master always said that he wasn’t angry, for fear of losing his nose. Once there came a day on which the master and mistress were obliged to be from home, and they ordered Adam by their return to kill the first sheep that looked at him when he entered the stable, to dress it and boil it in a caldron, putting parsley with it. Adam went into the stable with great banging and noise, so that all the sheep looked at him at once, whereupon he slaughtered them all. One he dressed and put in the caldron, but instead of parsley he threw in a dog called by that name. His master and mistress came and asked Adam whether he had done everything properly? He said: ‘I’ve slaughtered the sheep and thrown Parsley into the caldron till I saw his feet. Now, master, are you angry?’ ‘What have I to be angry about?’ he replied, for he preferred keeping his nose. On Christmas Eve, when they had to go to church, it was very dark. Adam’s master said to him: ‘It would be a good thing if somebody would light us as far as the church.’ ‘Go! go! I’ll light you.’ He took fire and set the roof on fire, till the whole house was in flames. The master hurried up, and Adam said to him: ‘Master, are you angry?’ ‘Why should I be angry?’ said he; for his nose was dearer to him than his house. But what was he to do without a house, without everything? They went into the world, master, mistress, and servant. They wanted to put him to death; and planned together, that when he was asleep his master should throw him into the water. But Adam was up to this; he didn’t lie down on the side nearest the water, but got up in the night and threw his mistress, who was on that side, into the water. His master woke, and saw that his wife was gone; and began to cry out. But Adam asked him: ‘Well, master, are you angry?’ ‘Wouldn’t even the devil be angry, now that you’ve done me out of everything?’ Adam took a knife and cut off his master’s nose. He then took to his heels, went home, and said to his brothers: ‘Now you see, you wiseacres, that I’ve earned the nose.’

UPPER AND LOWER LUSATIAN STORIES.

THE Upper Lusatian language is spoken in a district which may be marked by the towns of Löbau, Bautzen, and Muskau, while the Lower Lusatians dwell round the towns of Spremberg and Kottbus. Of the Upper Lusatians the larger portion live in Saxony and the smaller in Prussian territory; the Lower Lusatians are all Prussian subjects.

The Upper Lusatian story illustrates, in folklore style, a moral principle of great value. The Lower Lusatian tale is a variant of our own ‘Little Red Ridinghood.’ But it completes the story in such a manner as to explain the allegorical meaning of the narrative in the sense in which I am inclined to interpret it, as will be shown at the conclusion of the story.

But the Slavonic remnant in Lusatia is so surrounded by German territory, that most of its folklore has already been pressed into the service of the Germans.

A remarkable point in the Lusatian language is the completeness of the dual number in both nouns, adjectives, and verbs.

XIV.—RIGHT ALWAYS REMAINS RIGHT.

There was once upon a time a huntsman, who had a son, who was also a huntsman. He sent his son into a foreign land, to look about him and learn something additional. Here he went into a tavern, where he found a stranger, with whom he entered into conversation. They told each other all the news, till they also began to talk about right and wrong. The stranger asserted that the greatest wrong could be made right for money. But the huntsman opined that right always remained right, and offered to bet three hundred dollars upon it, if the stranger would do the same.[5] The stranger was content therewith, and they agreed to ask three advocates the question at once. They went to the first advocate, and he said that it was possible to make wrong right for money. They then went to another. He also asserted that wrong could be made right for money. Finally, they went to a third. He also told them that wrong could be made right for money. They then went back again, and as they had been going about the whole day, it wasn’t till late in the evening that they got to their tavern. The stranger then asked the huntsman whether he still disbelieved that the greatest wrong could be made right for money, and the huntsman replied that he should soon be obliged to believe it on the assertion of the three advocates, although he was very unwilling to do so. The stranger was willing to grant him his life if he consented to pay three hundred dollars; but as they were talking about it, in came a man who overpersuaded the stranger that he must needs abide by what they had previously agreed upon. He did not, however, do this, but only, with a red-hot iron, took his eyesight from him, and told him at the same time, that he would then and then only believe that right remained right in the world, when the huntsman regained his sight.

The huntsman entreated the host of the tavern to put him on the right road to the town. He put him on the road to the gallows, and went his way. When the huntsman had gone a little further, there was the end of the road, and he heard it strike eleven. He couldn’t go any further, and remained lying where he was in hope that perhaps somebody would come there in the morning. After a short time he heard a clatter, and soon somebody came up; nor was it long before a second and a third arrived. These were three evil spirits, who quitted their bodies in the night time, and perpetrated all manner of villainy in the world. They began to talk together, and one said: ‘To-day it is a year and a day since we were here together and related the good deeds that we had done during the year before. A year has again elapsed, and it is therefore time that we should ascertain which of us has done the best action during the past year.’ The first spoke, and said: ‘I have deprived the inhabitants of the city of Ramul of their water supply; they can only be helped if somebody finds out what it is that stops up the spring.’ ‘What’s that?’ said the second; and the first replied: ‘I have placed a great toad on the spring out of which the water at other times flowed; if that be removed, the water will spring up again as before.’ The second said: ‘I have caused the beauty of the princess of Sarahawsky to disappear, and herself to fade away to skin and bones; she cannot be helped until the silver nail, which hangs above her bed, be pulled out.’ The third said: ‘Yesterday I caused a person to be deprived of his eyesight with a red hot iron; he can only be helped by washing his eyes with the water that is in the well not far from this gallows.’ It then struck twelve in the town, and the three disappeared at once, but the huntsman remembered all that he had heard, and rejoiced that it was in his power to regain his eyesight.

Early on the morrow he heard somebody passing by, and begged him to send him people from the town, to tell where the healing spring was. Then all manner of people came to him, but no one could show him the spring, save at length one old woman. He caused himself to be led thither, and as soon as he had washed his eyes in it, he immediately obtained his eyesight again.

He now asked the way to the city of Ramul, and went thither. As soon as he arrived, he told the town council that he would restore them their water. But plenty of people had been there already, and the city had spent a great deal of money upon them, yet no one had effected aught, so, as it had been all in vain, they intended to have nothing more to do with the matter. Well, he said that he would do it all for nothing, only they must give him some labourers to help him. It was done. When they had dug as far as the place where the pipes, through which the water used to flow, were laid into the spring, he sent all the workmen away and dug a little further himself, and behold! a toad, like a boiler, was sitting on the spring. He removed it, and immediately the water began to flow, and ere long all the fountains were filled with water. The citizens got up a grand banquet in his honour, and paid him a large sum of money for what he had done.

He then went on and came to Sarahawsky. Then in a short time he learnt that the princess was ill, just as he had heard, and that no physician was able to help her; moreover that the king had promised that the person who could cure her malady should obtain her to wife. He therefore equipped himself very handsomely, went to the king’s palace, and there declared that he had come from a far country, and would cure the princess. The king replied to him that he had scarce any hope left, but would nevertheless make the experiment with him. The huntsman said that he would fetch his medicine. He went out and bought all manner of sweet comfits, and then went to the princess. He gave her a first dose, and looked about to see in what part of her bed’s head the silver nail was sticking. Early on the second day he came again, gave her again some of his medicine, took the opportunity of laying hold of the nail, and pulled it till it began to move. In the afternoon the princess felt that she was better. The third day he came again, and while the princess was taking the medicine, pulled again at the bed’s head, pulled the nail clean out, and put it secretly into his pocket. At noon the princess was so far recovered, that she wanted to have her dinner, and the king invited the huntsman to a grand banquet. They settled when the wedding was to take place, but the huntsman considered that he must first go home.

And when he had got home, he went again to the tavern where he had lost the sight of his eyes, and the stranger was there also. They began to tell each other all the news, and the huntsman related what he had heard under the gallows; how he had discovered the water, and finally how he had regained the sight of his eyes, and said that the stranger must now believe that in the world right always remained right. The stranger marvelled exceedingly, and said that he would believe it.

After this the huntsman went on and came to his princess, and they had a grand wedding festival, which lasted a whole week. The stranger bethought himself that he, too, would go under the gallows; peradventure he might also hear some such things as the huntsman had heard, and might in consequence also obtain a princess to wife. And when the year had elapsed, he also went there. He heard it strike one, and in a short time he heard a clatter; then up came somebody again, and it wasn’t long before a second and third arrived. They began to talk together, and one said: ‘It cannot but be, that some one overheard us last year, and through that everything that we have done is ruined. Let us, therefore, make a careful search before we again recount to each other what we have done.’ They immediately began to search, and found the stranger. They tore him into three pieces and hung them up on the three corners of the gallows.

When the old king died they took the huntsman for king, and if he has not died, he is reigning still at the present day, and firmly believes that in his realm right will always remain right.

XV.—LITTLE RED HOOD.

Once upon a time, there was a little darling damsel, whom everybody loved that looked upon her, but her old granny loved her best of all, and didn’t know what to give the dear child for love. Once she made her a hood of red samite, and since that became her so well, and she, too, would wear nothing else on her head, people gave her the name of ‘Red Hood.’ Once her mother said to Red Hood, ‘Go; here is a slice of cake and a bottle of wine; carry them to old granny. She is ill and weak, and they will refresh her. But be pretty behaved, and don’t peep about in all corners when you come into her room, and don’t forget to say “Good-day.” Walk, too, prettily, and don’t go out of the road, otherwise you will fall and break the bottle, and then poor granny will have nothing.’ Red Hood said, ‘I will observe everything well that you have told me,’ and gave her mother her hand upon it.