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THE SHOEMAKER'S
APRON
CZECHOSLOVAK FOLK
_and_ FAIRY TALES
PARKER FILLMORE
$3.50
THE SHOEMAKER'S APRON
_A Book of Czechoslovak Fairy Tales and Folk Tales_
Retold in English by PARKER FILLMORE.
With illustrations and decorations by JAN MATULKA.
A collection of twenty stories, drawn from original sources, and chosen
for their variety of subject and range of interest. Here are fairy tales
conceived with all the gorgeousness of the Slavic imagination; charming
little nursery tales that might be told in nurseries the world over;
folk tales illustrative of the wit of a canny people; and rollicking
devil tales as surprising to the Anglo-Saxon imagination as they are
entertaining.
They are not in any sense academic translations, but vivid renditions by
a man who, besides being a student of folklore, was an accomplished
story-teller in his own right.
_Harcourt, Brace and Company_
383 MADISON AVENUE, NEW YORK 17, N.Y.
THE SHOEMAKER'S
APRON
_A Second Book of Czechoslovak
Fairy Tales and Folk Tales_
RETOLD BY
PARKER FILLMORE
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
AND DECORATIONS BY
JAN MATULKA
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY
PARKER FILLMORE
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
[Illustration]
NOTE
The stories in this volume are all of Czech, Moravian, and Slovak
origin, and are to be found in many versions in the books of folk tales
collected by Erben, Nemcova, Kulda, Dobsinsky, Rimavsky,
Benes-Trebizsky, Miksicek. I got them first by word of mouth and
afterwards hunted them out in the old books. My work has been that of
retelling rather than translating since in most cases I have put myself
in the place of a storyteller who knows several forms of the same story,
equally authentic, and from them all fashions a version of his own. It
is of course always the same story although told in one form to a group
of children and in another form to a group of soldiers. The audience
that I hope particularly to interest is the English-speaking child.
Some few of the stories--such as Nemcova's very beautiful _Twelve
Months_ and Erben's spirited _Zlatovlaska_ and to a less degree
Nemcova's hero tale, _Vitazko_--are already in such definitive form that
it would be profanation to "edit" them. They--especially the first
two--have been told once and for all. But the same cannot be said of
most of the other stories. Nemcova's renderings are too often diffuse
and inconsequential, Kulda's dry, pedantic, and homiletic. Erben, the
scholarly old archivist of Prague, seems to me the greatest literary
artist of them all. His chief interest in folklore was philological, but
he was a poet as well as a scholar and he carried his versions of the
old stories from the realm of crude folklore to the realm of art.
A small number of the present tales have appeared in earlier English
collections coming, nearly always, by way of German or French
translations. In the one case they have been squeezed dry of their
Slavic exuberance and in the other somewhat dandified. So I make no
apology for offering them afresh.
Variants of most of the tales are, of course, to be found in other
countries. Grimm's _The White Snake_, for instance, is a variant of
_Zlatovlaska_. My rule of selection has been to take stories that do not
have well-known variants in other languages. I have to confess that _The
White Snake_ is very well known, but here I break my own rule on account
of the greater beauty of the Slavic version.
In Grimm there are also to be found variants of _A Gullible World (The
Shrewd Farmer)_, _The Devil's Little Brother-in-Law (Bearskin)_, _Clever
Manka (The Peasant's Clever Daughter)_, _The Devil's Gifts (The Magic
Gifts)_, _The Candles of Life (The Strange Godfather and Godfather
Death)_, _The Shoemaker's Apron (Brother Jolly)_. In all these tales the
same incidents are presented but with a difference in spirit and in
background that instantly marks one variant Teutonic and its fellow
Slavic. Moreover, as stories, the German versions of these particular
tales are neither as interesting nor as important as the Slavic
versions.
Both German and Slavic versions go back, in most cases, to some early
common source. Take _Clever Manka_, for instance, and its German
variant, _The Farmer's Shrewd Daughter_. _Clever Manka_ is very popular
among the Czechs and Slovaks and is considered by them especially
typical of their own folk wisdom and folk humor. And they are right: it
is. But it would be rash to say just how early or how late this story
began to be told among the peoples of the earth. The catch at the end
appears in a story in the Talmud and at that time it has all the marks
of a long and honorable career. The story of the devil marrying a scold,
another great favorite with the Slavs, also has its Talmudic parallel in
the story of Azrael, the Angel of Death, marrying a woman. The Azrael
story contains many of the incidents which are used in different
combinations in some half-dozen of the folk tales in the present
collection. And yet when comparative folklore has said all that it has
to say about variants and versions the fact remains that every people
puts its own mark upon the stories that it retells. The story that, in
the Talmud, is told of Azrael is Hebrew. The same story passed on down
the centuries from people to people appears finally as _Gentle Dora_ or
_Katcha and the Devil_ or _The Candles of Life_ and then it is
essentially Slavic in background, humor, and imagination.
Besides its fairy tales and folk tales the present volume contains a
cluster of charming little nursery tales and a group of rollicking
devil tales. It is intended as a companion volume to my earlier
collection, _Czechoslovak Fairy Tales_. Together these two books present
in English a selection of tales that are fairly representative of the
folk genius of a small but highly gifted branch of the great Slav
people.
P. F.
_May, 1920._
[Illustration]
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE TWELVE MONTHS: The Story of Marushka and the Wicked
Holena 1
ZLATOVLASKA THE GOLDEN-HAIRED: The Story of Yirik and the
Snake 23
THE SHEPHERD'S NOSEGAY: The Story of the Princess Who Learned
to say "Please" 45
VITAZKO THE VICTORIOUS: The Story of a Hero Whose Mother Loved
a Dragon 57
FIVE NURSERY TALES:
I KURATKO THE TERRIBLE: The Story of an Ungrateful Chick 91
II SMOLICHECK: The Story of a Little Boy Who Opened the
Door 99
III BUDULINEK: The Story of Another Little Boy Who Opened
the Door 109
IV THE DEAR LITTLE HEN: The Story of a Rooster that Cheated 123
V THE DISOBEDIENT ROOSTER: The Story of Another Little Hen 133
THE NICKERMAN'S WIFE: The Story of Lidushka and the Imprisoned
Doves 139
BATCHA AND THE DRAGON: The Story of a Shepherd Who Slept all
Winter 149
CLEVER MANKA: The Story of a Girl Who Knew What to Say 165
THE BLACKSMITH'S STOOL: The Story of a Man Who Found that
Death was Necessary 177
A GULLIBLE WORLD: The Story of a Man Who Didn't Beat His Wife 187
THE CANDLES OF LIFE: The Story of a Child for Whom Death Stood
Godmother 197
THE DEVIL'S GIFTS: The Story of a Man Whom the Devil Befriended 207
GENTLE DORA: The Story of a Devil Who Married a Scold 225
THE DEVIL'S MATCH: The Story of a Farmer Who Remembered What
His Grandmother Told Him 239
THE DEVIL'S LITTLE BROTHER-IN-LAW: The Story of a Youth Who
Couldn't Find Work 251
THE SHOEMAKER'S APRON: The Story of the Man Who Sits Near the
Golden Gate 271
THE TWELVE MONTHS
THE STORY OF MARUSHKA AND THE WICKED HOLENA
[Illustration]
THE TWELVE MONTHS
There was once a woman who had two girls. One was her own daughter,
the other a stepchild. Holena, her own daughter, she loved dearly,
but she couldn't bear even the sight of Marushka, the stepchild.
This was because Marushka was so much prettier than Holena.
Marushka, the dear child, didn't know how pretty she was and so she
never understood why, whenever she stood beside Holena, the
stepmother frowned so crossly.
Mother and daughter made Marushka do all the housework alone. She
had to cook and wash and sew and spin and take care of the garden
and look after the cow. Holena, on the contrary, spent all her time
decking herself out and sitting around like a grand lady.
Marushka never complained. She did all she was told to do and bore
patiently their everlasting fault-finding. In spite of all the hard
work she did she grew prettier from day to day, and in spite of her
lazy life Holena grew uglier.
"This will never do," the stepmother thought to herself. "Soon the
boys will come courting and once they see how pretty Marushka is,
they'll pay no attention at all to my Holena. We had just better do
all we can to get rid of that Marushka as soon as possible."
So they both nagged Marushka all day long. They made her work harder,
they beat her, they didn't give her enough to eat, they did everything
they could think of to make her ugly and nasty. But all to no avail.
Marushka was so good and sweet that, in spite of all their harsh
treatment, she kept on growing prettier.
One day in the middle of January Holena took the notion that nothing
would do but she must have a bunch of fragrant violets to put in her
bodice.
"Marushka!" she ordered sharply. "I want some violets. Go out to the
forest and get me some."
"Good heavens, my dear sister!" cried poor Marushka. "What can you be
thinking of? Whoever heard of violets growing under the snow in
January?"
"What, you lazy little slattern!" Holena shouted. "You dare to argue
with me! You go this minute and if you come back without violets I'll
kill you!"
[Illustration: _Marushka and Holena_]
The stepmother sided with Holena and, taking Marushka roughly by the
shoulder, she pushed her out of the house and slammed the door.
The poor child climbed slowly up the mountain side weeping bitterly. All
around the snow lay deep with no track of man or beast in any direction.
Marushka wandered on and on, weak with hunger and shaking with cold.
"Dear God in heaven," she prayed, "take me to yourself away from all
this suffering."
Suddenly ahead of her she saw a glowing light. She struggled towards
it and found at last that it came from a great fire that was burning
on the top of the mountain. Around the fire there were twelve
stones, one of them much bigger and higher than the rest. Twelve men
were seated on the stones. Three of them were very old and white;
three were not so old; three were middle-aged; and three were
beautiful youths. They did not talk. They sat silent gazing at the
fire. They were the Twelve Months.
For a moment Marushka was frightened and hesitated. Then she stepped
forward and said, politely:
"Kind sirs, may I warm myself at your fire? I am shaking with cold."
Great January nodded his head and Marushka reached her stiff fingers
towards the flames.
"This is no place for you, my child," Great January said. "Why are you
here?"
"I'm hunting for violets," Marushka answered.
"Violets? This is no time to look for violets with snow on the ground!"
"I know that, sir, but my sister, Holena, says I must bring her violets
from the forest or she'll kill me and my mother says so, too. Please,
sir, won't you tell me where I can find some?"
Great January slowly stood up and walked over to the youngest Month. He
handed him a long staff and said:
"Here, March, you take the high seat."
So March took the high seat and began waving the staff over the fire.
The fire blazed up and instantly the snow all about began to melt. The
trees burst into bud; the grass revived; the little pink buds of the
daisies appeared; and, lo, it was spring!
While Marushka looked, violets began to peep out from among the leaves
and soon it was as if a great blue quilt had been spread on the ground.
"Now, Marushka," March cried, "there are your violets! Pick them
quickly!"
Marushka was overjoyed. She stooped down and gathered a great bunch.
Then she thanked the Months politely, bade them good-day, and hurried
away.
Just imagine Holena and the stepmother's surprise when they saw Marushka
coming home through the snow with her hands full of violets. They opened
the door and instantly the fragrance of the flowers filled the cottage.
"Where did you get them?" Holena demanded rudely.
"High up in the mountain," Marushka said. "The ground up there is
covered with them."
Holena snatched the violets and fastened them in her waist. She kept
smelling them herself all afternoon and she let her mother smell them,
but she never once said to Marushka:
"Dear sister, won't you take a smell?"
The next day as she was sitting idle in the chimney corner she took the
notion that she must have some strawberries to eat. So she called
Marushka and said:
"Here you, Marushka, go out to the forest and get me some strawberries."
"Good heavens, my dear sister," Marushka said, "where can I find
strawberries this time of year? Whoever heard of strawberries growing
under the snow?"
"What, you lazy little slattern!" Holena shouted. "You dare to argue
with me! You go this minute and if you come back without strawberries,
I'll kill you!"
Again the stepmother sided with Holena and, taking Marushka roughly by
the shoulder, she pushed her out of the house and slammed the door.
Again the poor child climbed slowly up the mountain side weeping
bitterly. All around the snow lay deep with no track of man or beast
in any direction. Marushka wandered on and on, weak with hunger and
shaking with cold. At last she saw ahead of her the glow of the same
fire that she had seen the day before. With happy heart she hastened
to it. The Twelve Months were seated as before with Great January on
the high seat.
Marushka bowed politely and said:
"Kind sirs, may I warm myself at your fire? I am shaking with cold."
Great January nodded and Marushka reached her stiff fingers towards the
flames.
"But Marushka," Great January said, "why are you here again? What are
you hunting now?"
"I'm hunting for strawberries," Marushka answered.
"Strawberries? But, Marushka, my child, it is winter and strawberries do
not grow in the snow."
Marushka shook her head sadly.
"I know that, sir, but my sister, Holena, says I must bring her
strawberries from the forest or she will kill me and my mother says so,
too. Please, sir, won't you tell me where I can find some?"
Great January slowly stood up and walked over to the Month who sat
opposite him. He handed him the long staff and said:
"Here, June, you take the high seat."
So June took the high seat and began waving the staff over the fire.
The flames blazed high and with the heat the snow all about melted
instantly. The earth grew green; the trees decked themselves in
leaves; the birds began to sing; flowers bloomed and, lo, it was
summer! Presently little starry white blossoms covered the ground
under the beech trees. Soon these turned to fruit, first green, then
pink, then red, and, with a gasp of delight, Marushka saw that they
were ripe strawberries.
"Now, Marushka," June cried, "there are your strawberries! Pick them
quickly!"
Marushka picked an apronful of berries. Then she thanked the Months
politely, bade them good-bye, and hurried home.
Just imagine again Holena and the stepmother's surprise as they saw
Marushka coming through the snow with an apronful of strawberries!
They opened the door and instantly the fragrance of the berries filled
the house.
"Where did you get them?" Holena demanded rudely.
"High up in the mountain," Marushka answered, "under the beech trees."
Holena took the strawberries and gobbled and gobbled and gobbled. Then
the stepmother ate all she wanted. But it never occurred to either of
them to say:
"Here, Marushka, you take one."
The next day when Holena was sitting idle, as usual, in the chimney
corner, the notion took her that she must have some red apples. So she
called Marushka and said:
"Here you, Marushka, go out to the forest and get me some red apples."
"But, my dear sister," Marushka gasped, "where can I find red apples in
winter?"
[Illustration: _Marushka reached up and picked one apple_]
"What, you lazy little slattern, you dare to argue with me! You go this
minute and if you come back without red apples I'll kill you!"
For the third time the stepmother sided with Holena and, taking Marushka
roughly by the shoulder, pushed her out of the house and slammed the
door.
So again the poor child went out to the forest. All around the snow lay
deep with no track of man or beast in any direction. This time Marushka
hurried straight to the mountain top. She found the Months still seated
about their fire with Great January still on the high stone.
Marushka bowed politely and said:
"Kind sirs, may I warm myself at your fire? I am shaking with cold."
Great January nodded and Marushka reached her stiff fingers towards the
flames.
"Why are you here again, Marushka?" Great January asked. "What are you
looking for now?"
"Red apples," Marushka answered. "My sister, Holena, says I must bring
her some red apples from the forest or she will kill me, and my mother
says so, too. Please, sir, won't you tell me where I can find some?"
Great January slowly stood up and walked over to one of the older
Months. He handed him the long staff and said:
"Here, September, you take the high seat."
So September took the high seat and began waving the staff over the
fire. The fire burned and glowed. Instantly the snow disappeared. The
fields about looked brown and yellow and dry. From the trees the leaves
dropped one by one and a cool breeze scattered them over the stubble.
There were not many flowers, only wild asters on the hillside, and
meadow saffron in the valleys, and under the beeches ferns and ivy.
Presently Marushka spied an apple-tree weighted down with ripe fruit.
"There, Marushka," September called, "there are your apples. Gather them
quickly."
Marushka reached up and picked one apple. Then she picked another.
"That's enough, Marushka!" September shouted. "Don't pick any more!"
Marushka obeyed at once. Then she thanked the Months politely, bade them
good-bye, and hurried home.
Holena and her stepmother were more surprised than ever to see Marushka
coming through the snow with red apples in her hands. They let her in
and grabbed the apples from her.
"Where did you get them?" Holena demanded.
"High up on the mountain," Marushka answered. "There are plenty of them
growing there."
"Plenty of them! And you only brought us two!" Holena cried angrily. "Or
did you pick more and eat them yourself on the way home?"
"No, no, my dear sister," Marushka said. "I haven't eaten any, truly I
haven't. They wouldn't let me pick any more than two. They shouted to me
not to pick any more."
"I wish the lightning had struck you dead!" Holena sneered. "I've a good
mind to beat you!"
After a time the greedy Holena left off her scolding to eat one of the
apples. It had so delicious a flavor that she declared she had never in
all her life tasted anything so good. Her mother said the same. When
they had finished both apples they began to wish for more.
"Mother," Holena said, "go get me my fur cloak. I'm going up the
mountain myself. No use sending that lazy little slattern again, for she
would only eat up all the apples on the way home. I'll find that tree
and when I pick the apples I'd like to see anybody stop me!"
The mother begged Holena not to go out in such weather, but Holena was
headstrong and would go. She threw her fur cloak over her shoulders and
put a shawl on her head and off she went up the mountain side.
All around the snow lay deep with no track of man or beast in any
direction. Holena wandered on and on determined to find those wonderful
apples. At last she saw a light in the distance and when she reached it
she found it was the great fire about which the Twelve Months were
seated.
At first she was frightened but, soon growing bold, she elbowed her way
through the circle of men and without so much as saying: "By your
leave," she put out her hands to the fire. She hadn't even the courtesy
to say: "Good-day."
Great January frowned.
"Who are you?" he asked in a deep voice. "And what do you want?"
Holena looked at him rudely.
"You old fool, what business is it of yours who I am or what I want!"
She tossed her head airily and walked off into the forest.
The frown deepened on Great January's brow. Slowly he stood up and
waved the staff over his head. The fire died down. Then the sky grew
dark; an icy wind blew over the mountain; and the snow began to fall
so thickly that it looked as if some one in the sky were emptying a
huge feather-bed.
Holena could not see a step before her. She struggled on and on. Now
she ran into a tree, now she fell into a snowdrift. In spite of her warm
cloak her limbs began to weaken and grow numb. The snow kept on
falling, the icy wind kept on blowing.
Did Holena at last begin to feel sorry that she had been so wicked and
cruel to Marushka? No, she did not. Instead, the colder she grew, the
more bitterly she reviled Marushka in her heart, the more bitterly she
reviled even the good God Himself.
Meanwhile at home her mother waited for her and waited. She stood at the
window as long as she could, then she opened the door and tried to peer
through the storm. She waited and waited, but no Holena came.
"Oh dear, oh dear, what can be keeping her?" she thought to herself.
"Does she like those apples so much that she can't leave them, or what
is it? I think I'll have to go out myself and find her."
So the stepmother put her fur cloak about her shoulders, threw a shawl
over her head, and started out.
She called: "Holena! Holena!" but no one answered.
She struggled on and on up the mountain side. All around the snow lay
deep with no track of man or beast in any direction.
"Holena! Holena!"
Still no answer.
The snow fell fast. The icy wind moaned on.
At home Marushka prepared the dinner and looked after the cow. Still
neither Holena nor the stepmother returned.
"What can they be doing all this time?" Marushka thought.
She ate her dinner alone and then sat down to work at the distaff.
The spindle filled and daylight faded and still no sign of Holena and
her mother.
"Dear God in heaven, what can be keeping them!" Marushka cried
anxiously. She peered out the window to see if they were coming.
The storm had spent itself. The wind had died down. The fields gleamed
white in the snow and up in the sky the frosty stars were twinkling
brightly. But not a living creature was in sight. Marushka knelt down
and prayed for her sister and mother.
The next morning she prepared breakfast for them.
"They'll be very cold and hungry," she said to herself.
She waited for them but they didn't come. She cooked dinner for them but
still they didn't come. In fact they never came, for they both froze to
death on the mountain.
So our good little Marushka inherited the cottage and the garden and the
cow. After a time she married a farmer. He made her a good husband and
they lived together very happily.
ZLATOVLASKA THE GOLDEN-HAIRED
THE STORY OF YIRIK AND THE SNAKE
[Illustration]
ZLATOVLASKA THE GOLDEN-HAIRED
There was once an old king who was so wise that he was able to
understand the speech of all the animals in the world. This is how it
happened. An old woman came to him one day bringing him a snake in a
basket.
"If you have this snake cooked," she told him, "and eat it as you would
a fish, then you will be able to understand the birds of the air, the
beasts of the earth, and the fishes of the sea."
The king was delighted. He made the old wise woman a handsome present
and at once ordered his cook, a youth named Yirik, to prepare the "fish"
for dinner.
"But understand, Yirik," he said severely, "you're to cook this 'fish,'
not eat it! You're not to taste one morsel of it! If you do, you forfeit
your head!"
Yirik thought this a strange order.
"What kind of a cook am I," he said to himself, "that I'm not to sample
my own cooking?"
When he opened the basket and saw the "fish," he was further mystified.
"Um," he murmured, "it looks like a snake to me."
He put it on the fire and, when it was broiled to a turn, he ate a
morsel. It had a fine flavor. He was about to take a second bite when
suddenly he heard a little voice that buzzed in his ear these words:
"Give us some, too! Give us some, too!"
He looked around to see who was speaking but there was no one in the
kitchen. Only some flies were buzzing about.
Just then outside a hissing voice called out:
"Where shall we go? Where shall we go?"
A higher voice answered:
"To the miller's barley field! To the miller's barley field!"
Yirik looked out the window and saw a gander with a flock of geese.
"Oho!" he said to himself, shaking his head. "Now I understand! Now I
know what kind of 'fish' this is! Now I know why the poor cook was not
to take a bite!"
He slipped another morsel into his mouth, garnished the "fish" carefully
on a platter, and carried it to the king.
[Illustration: _Yirik's horse began to prance and neigh_]
After dinner the king ordered his horse and told
Yirik to come with him for a ride. The king rode on ahead
and Yirik followed.
As they cantered across a green meadow, Yirik's horse began to prance
and neigh.
"Ho! Ho!" he said. "I feel so light that I could jump over a mountain!"
"So could I," the king's horse said, "but I have to remember the old bag
of bones that is perched on my back. If I were to jump he'd tumble off
and break his neck."
"And a good thing, too!" said Yirik's horse. "Why not? Then instead of
such an old bag of bones you'd get a young man to ride you like Yirik."
Yirik almost burst out laughing as he listened to the horses' talk, but
he suppressed his merriment lest the king should know that he had eaten
some of the magic snake.
Now of course the king, too, understood what the horses were saying. He
glanced apprehensively at Yirik and it seemed to him that Yirik was
grinning.
"What are you laughing at, Yirik?"
"Me?" Yirik said. "I'm not laughing. I was just thinking of something
funny."
"Um," said the king.
His suspicions against Yirik were aroused. Moreover he was afraid to
trust himself to his horse any longer. So he turned back to the palace
at once.
There he ordered Yirik to pour him out a goblet of wine.
"And I warn you," he said, "that you forfeit your head if you pour a
drop too much or too little."
Yirik carefully tilted a great tankard and began filling a goblet. As he
poured a bird suddenly flew into the window pursued by another bird. The
first bird had in its beak three golden hairs.
"Give them to me! Give them to me! They're mine!" screamed the second
bird.
"I won't! I won't! They're mine!" the first bird answered. "I picked
them up!"
"Yes, but I saw them first!" the other cried. "I saw them fall as the
maiden sat and combed her golden tresses. Give me two of them and I'll
let you keep the third."
"No! No! No! I won't let you have one of them!"
The second bird darted angrily at the first and after a struggle
succeeded in capturing one of the golden hairs. One hair dropped to the
marble floor, making as it struck a musical tinkle, and the first bird
escaped still holding in its bill a single hair.
In his excitement over the struggle, Yirik overflowed the goblet.
"Ha! Ha!" said the king. "See what you've done! You forfeit your head!
However, I'll suspend sentence on condition that you find this
golden-haired maiden and bring her to me for a wife."
Poor Yirik didn't know who the maiden was nor where she lived. But what
could he say? If he wanted to keep his head, he must undertake the
quest. So he saddled his horse and started off at random.
His road led him through a forest. Here he came upon a bush under which
some shepherds had kindled a fire. Sparks were falling on an anthill
nearby and the ants in great excitement were running hither and thither
with their eggs.
"Yirik!" they cried. "Help! Help, or we shall all be burned to death, we
and our young ones in the eggs!"
Yirik instantly dismounted, cut down the burning bush, and put out the
fire.
"Thank you, Yirik, thank you!" the ants said. "Your kindness to us this
day will not go unrewarded. If ever you are in trouble, think of us and
we will help you."
As Yirik rode on through the forest, he came upon two fledgling ravens
lying by the path.
"Help us, Yirik, help us!" they cawed. "Our father and mother have
thrown us out of the nest in yonder tall fir tree to fend for ourselves.
We are young and helpless and not yet able to fly. Give us some meat to
eat or we shall perish with hunger."
The sight of the helpless fledglings touched Yirik to pity. He
dismounted instantly, drew his sword, and killed his horse. Then he fed
the starving birds the meat they needed.
"Thank you, Yirik, thank you!" the little ravens croaked. "You have
saved our lives this day. Your kindness will not go unrewarded. If ever
you are in trouble, think of us and we will help you."
Yirik left the young ravens and pushed on afoot. The path through the
forest was long and wearisome. It led out finally on the seashore.
On the beach two fishermen were quarreling over a big fish with golden
scales that lay gasping on the sand.
"It's mine, I tell you!" one of the men was shouting. "It was caught in
my net, so of course it's mine!"
To this the other one shouted back:
"But your net would never have caught a fish if you hadn't been out in
my boat and if I hadn't helped you!"
"Give me this one," the first man said, "and I'll let you have the next
one."
"No! You take the next one!" the other said. "This one's mine!"
So they kept on arguing to no purpose until Yirik went up to them and
said:
"Let me decide this for you. Suppose you sell me the fish and then
divide the money."
He offered them all the money the king had given him for his journey.
The fishermen, delighted at the offer, at once agreed. Yirik handed them
over the money and then, taking the gasping fish in his hand, he threw
it back into the sea.
When the fish had caught its breath, it rose on a wave and called out to
Yirik:
"Thank you, Yirik, thank you. You have saved my life this day. Your
kindness will not go unrewarded. If ever you are in trouble, think of me
and I will help you."
With that the golden fish flicked its tail and disappeared in the water.
"Where are you going, Yirik?" the fishermen asked.
"I'm going in quest of a golden-haired maiden whom my master, the king,
wished to make his wife."
"He must mean the Princess Zlatovlaska," the fishermen said to each
other.
"The Princess Zlatovlaska?" Yirik repeated. "Who is she?"
"She's the golden-haired daughter of the King of the Crystal Palace. Do
you see the faint outlines of an island over yonder? That's where she
lives. The king has twelve daughters but Zlatovlaska alone has golden
hair. Each morning at dawn a wonderful glow spreads over land and sea.
That's Zlatovlaska combing her golden hair."
The fishermen conferred apart for a moment and then said:
"Yirik, you settled our dispute for us and now in return we'll row you
over to the island."
So they rowed Yirik over to the Island of the Crystal Palace and left
him there with the warning that the king would probably try to palm off
on him one of the dark-haired princesses.
Yirik at once presented himself at the palace, got an audience with the
king, and declared his mission.
"H'm," the king said. "So your master desires the hand of my daughter,
the Princess Zlatovlaska, eh? H'm, h'm. Well, I see no objection to your
master as a son-in-law, but of course before I entrust the princess into
your hands you must prove yourself worthy. I tell you what I'll do: I'll
give you three tasks to perform. Be ready for the first one tomorrow."
Early the next day the king said to Yirik:
"My daughter, Zlatovlaska, had a precious necklace of pearls. She was
walking in the meadow over yonder when the string broke and the pearls
rolled away in the tall grasses. Now your first task is to gather up
every last one of those pearls and hand them to me before sundown."
Yirik went to the meadow and when he saw how broad it was and how
thickly covered with tall grasses his heart sank for he realized that he
could never search over the whole of it in one day. However, he got down
on his hands and knees and began to hunt.
Midday came and he had not yet found a single pearl.
"Oh dear," he thought to himself in despair, "if only my ants were here,
they could help me!"
He had no sooner spoken than a million little voices answered:
"We are here and we're here to help you!"
And sure enough there they were, the very ants that he supposed were far
away!
"What do you want us to do?" they asked.
"Find me all the pearls that are scattered in this meadow. I can't find
one of them."
Instantly the ants scurried hither and thither and soon they began
bringing him the pearls one by one. Yirik strung them together until the
necklace seemed complete.
"Are there any more?" he asked.
He was about to tie the string together when a lame ant, whose foot had
been burned in the fire, hobbled up, crying:
"Wait, Yirik, don't tie the string yet! Here's the last pearl!"
Yirik thanked the ants for their help and at sundown carried the
string of pearls to the king. The king counted the pearls and, to his
surprise, found that not one was missing.
"You've done this well," he said. "Tomorrow I'll give you your second
task."
The next day when Yirik presented himself, the king said:
"While my daughter, Zlatovlaska, was bathing in the sea, a golden ring
slipped from her finger and disappeared. Your task is to find me this
ring before sundown."
Yirik went down to the seashore and as he walked along the beach his
heart grew heavy as he realized the difficulty of the task before him.
The sea was clear but so deep that he couldn't even see the bottom. How
then could he find the ring?
"Oh dear," he said aloud, "if only the golden fish were here! It could
help me."
"I am here," a voice said, "and I'm here to help you."
And there was the golden fish on the crest of a wave, gleaming like a
flash of fire!
"What do you want me to do?" it said.
"Find me a golden ring that lies somewhere on the bottom of the sea."
"Ah, a golden ring? A moment ago I met a pike," the fish said, "that had
just such a golden ring. Wait for me here and I'll go find the pike."
In a few moments the golden fish returned with the pike and sure enough
it was Zlatovlaska's ring that the pike was carrying.
That evening at sundown the king acknowledged that Yirik had
accomplished his second task.
The next day the king said:
"I could never allow my daughter, Zlatovlaska, the Golden-Haired, to go
to the kingdom of your master unless she carried with her two flasks,
one filled with the Water of Life, the other with the Water of Death. So
today for a third task I set you this: to bring the princess a flask of
the Water of Life and a flask of the Water of Death."
Yirik had no idea which way to turn. He had heard of the Waters of Life
and Death, but all he knew about them was that their springs were far
away beyond the Red Sea. He left the Crystal Palace and walked off
aimlessly until his feet had carried him of themselves into a dark
forest.
"If only those young ravens were here," he said aloud, "they could help
me!"
Instantly he heard a loud, "Caw! Caw!" and two ravens flew down to him,
saying:
"We are here! We are here to help you! What do you want us to do?"
"I have to bring the king a flask of the Water of Life and a flask of
the Water of Death and I don't know where the springs are. Do you know?"
"Yes, we know," the ravens said. "Wait here and we'll soon fetch you
water from both springs."
They flew off and in a short time returned, each bearing a gourd of the
precious water.
Yirik thanked the ravens and carefully filled his two flasks.
As he was leaving the forest, he came upon a great spider web. An ugly
spider sat in the middle of it sucking a fly. Yirik took a drop of the
Water of Death and flicked it on the spider. The spider doubled up dead
and fell to the ground like a ripe cherry.
Then Yirik sprinkled a drop of Living Water on the fly. The fly
instantly revived, pulled itself out of the web, and flew about happy
and free once again.
"Thank you, Yirik," it buzzed, "thank you for bringing me back to life.
You won't be sorry. Just wait and you'll soon see that I'll reward you!"
When Yirik returned to the palace and presented the two flasks, the king
said:
"But one thing yet remains. You may take Zlatovlaska, the Golden-Haired,
but you must yourself pick her out from among the twelve sisters."
The king led Yirik into a great hall. The twelve princesses were seated
about a table, beautiful maidens all and each looking much like the
others. Yirik could not tell which was Zlatovlaska, the Golden-Haired,
for each princess wore a long heavy white veil so draped over her head
and shoulders that it completely covered her hair.
"Here are my twelve daughters," the king said. "One of them is
Zlatovlaska, the Golden-Haired. Pick her out and you may lead her at
once to your master. If you fail to pick her out, then you must depart
without her."
In dismay Yirik looked from sister to sister. There was nothing to show
him which was Zlatovlaska, the Golden-Haired. How was he to find out?
Suddenly he heard a buzzing in his ear and a little voice whispered:
"Courage, Yirik, courage! I'll help you!"
He turned his head quickly and there was the fly he had rescued from the
spider.
"Walk slowly by each princess," the fly said, "and I'll tell you when
you come to Zlatovlaska, the Golden-Haired."
Yirik did as the fly ordered. He stopped a moment before the first
princess until the fly buzzed:
"Not that one! Not that one!"
He went on to the next princess and again the fly buzzed:
"Not that one! Not that one!"
So he went on from princess to princess until at last the fly buzzed
out:
"Yes, that one! That one!"
So Yirik remained standing where he was and said to the king:
"This, I think, is Zlatovlaska, the Golden-Haired."
"You have guessed right," the king said.
At that Zlatovlaska removed the white veil from her head and her lovely
hair tumbled down to her feet like a golden cascade. It shimmered and
glowed like the sun in the early morning when he peeps over the mountain
top. Yirik stared until the brightness dimmed his sight.
The king immediately prepared Zlatovlaska, the Golden-Haired, for her
journey. He gave her the two precious flasks of water; he arranged a
fitting escort; and then with his blessing he sent her forth under
Yirik's care.
Yirik conducted her safely to his master.
When the old king saw the lovely princess that Yirik had found for him,
his eyes blinked with satisfaction, he capered about like a spring
lamb, and he ordered that immediate preparations be made for the
wedding. He was most grateful to Yirik and thanked him again and again.
"My dear boy," he said, "I had expected to have you hanged for your
disobedience and let the ravens pick your bones. But now, to show you
how grateful I am for the beautiful bride you have found me, I'm not
going to have you hanged at all. Instead, I shall have you beheaded and
then given a decent burial."
The execution took place at once in order to be out of the way before
the wedding.
"It's a great pity he had to die," the king said as the executioner cut
off Yirik's head. "He has certainly been a faithful servant."
Zlatovlaska, the Golden-Haired, asked if she might have his severed head
and body. The king who was too madly in love to refuse her anything
said: "Yes."
So Zlatovlaska took the body and the head and put them together. Then
she sprinkled them with the Water of Death. Instantly the wound closed
and soon it healed so completely that there wasn't even a scar left.
Yirik lay there lifeless but looking merely as if he were asleep.
Zlatovlaska sprinkled him with the Water of Life and immediately his
dead limbs stirred. Then he opened his eyes and sat up. Life poured
through his veins and he sprang to his feet younger, fresher, handsomer
than before.
The old king was filled with envy.
"I, too," he cried, "wish to be made young and handsome!"
He commanded the executioner to cut off his head and he told Zlatovlaska
to sprinkle him afterwards with the Water of Life.
The executioner did as he was told. Then Zlatovlaska sprinkled the old
king's head and body with the Water of Life. Nothing happened.
Zlatovlaska kept on sprinkling the Water of Life until there was no more
left.
"Do you know," the princess said to Yirik, "I believe I should have used
the Water of Death first."
So now she sprinkled the body and head with the Water of Death and, sure
enough, they grew together at once. But of course there was no life in
them. And of course there was no possible way of putting life into them
because the Water of Life was all gone. So the old king remained dead.
"This will never do," the people said. "We must have a king. And with
the wedding feast and everything prepared we simply must have a wedding,
too. If Zlatovlaska, the Golden-Haired, cannot marry the old king,
she'll have to marry some one else. Now who shall it be?"
Some one suggested Yirik because he was young and handsome and because,
like the old king, he could understand the birds and the beasts.
"Yirik!" the people cried. "Let Yirik be our king!"
And Zlatovlaska, the Golden-Haired, who had long since fallen in love
with handsome Yirik, consented to have the wedding at once in order that
the feast already prepared might not be wasted.
So Yirik and Zlatovlaska, the Golden-Haired, were married and they ruled
so well and they lived so happily that to this day when people say of
some one: "He's as happy as a king," they are thinking of King Yirik,
and when they say of some one: "She's as beautiful as a queen," they are
thinking of Zlatovlaska, the Golden-Haired.
THE SHEPHERD'S NOSEGAY
THE STORY OF A PRINCESS WHO LEARNED TO SAY "PLEASE"
[Illustration]
THE SHEPHERD'S NOSEGAY
There was once a king who had a beautiful daughter. When it was time for
her to get a husband, the king set a day and invited all the neighboring
princes to come and see her.
One of these princes decided that he would like to have a look at the
princess before the others. So he dressed himself in a shepherd's
costume: a broad-brimmed hat, a blue smock, a green vest, tight breeches
to the knees, thick woolen stockings, and sandals. Thus disguised he set
out for the kingdom where the princess lived. All he took with him were
four loaves of bread to eat on the way.
He hadn't gone far before he met a beggar who begged him, in God's
name, for a piece of bread. The prince at once gave him one of the
four loaves. A little farther on a second beggar held out his hand
and begged for a piece of bread. To him the prince gave the second
loaf. To a third beggar he gave the third loaf, and to a fourth
beggar the last loaf.
The fourth beggar said to him:
"Prince in shepherd's guise, your charity will not go unrewarded. Here
are four gifts for you, one for each of the loaves of bread that you
have given away this day. Take this whip which has the power of killing
any one it strikes however gentle the blow. Take this beggar's wallet.
It has in it some bread and cheese, but not common bread and cheese for,
no matter how much of it you eat, there will always be some left. Take
this shepherd's ax. If ever you have to leave your sheep alone, plant it
in the earth and the sheep, instead of straying, will graze around it.
Last, here is a shepherd's pipe. When you blow upon it your sheep will
dance and play. Farewell and good luck go with you."
The prince thanked the beggar for his gifts and then trudged on to the
kingdom where the beautiful princess lived. He presented himself at the
palace as a shepherd in quest of work and he told them his name was Yan.
The king liked his appearance and so the next day he was put in charge
of a flock of sheep which he drove up the mountain side to pasture.
He planted his shepherd's ax in the midst of a meadow and, leaving his
sheep to graze about it, he went off into the forest hunting adventures.
There he came upon a castle where a giant was busy cooking his dinner in
a big saucepan.
"Good-day to you," Yan said politely.
The giant, who was a rude, unmannerly fellow, bellowed out:
"It won't take me long to finish you, you young whippersnapper!"
He raised a great iron club to strike Yan but Yan, quick as thought,
flicked the giant with his whip and the huge fellow toppled over dead.
The next day he returned to the castle and found another giant in
possession.
"Ho, ho!" he roared on sight of Yan. "What, you young whippersnapper,
back again! You killed my brother yesterday and now I'll kill you!"
He raised his great iron club to strike Yan, but Yan skipped nimbly
aside. Then he flicked the giant with his whip and the huge fellow
toppled over dead.
When Yan returned to the castle the third day there were no more giants
about. So he wandered from room to room to see what treasures were
there.
In one room he found a big chest. He struck it smartly and immediately
two burly men jumped out and, bowing low before him, said:
"What does the master of the castle desire?"
"Show me everything there is to be seen," Yan ordered.
So the two servants of the chest showed him everything--jewels and
treasures and gold. Then they led him out into the gardens where the
most wonderful flowers in the world were blooming. Yan plucked some
of these and made them into a nosegay.
That afternoon, as he drove home his sheep, he played on his magic pipe
and the sheep, pairing off two by two, began to dance and frisk about
him. All the people in the village ran out to see the strange sight and
laughed and clapped their hands for joy.
The princess ran to the palace window and when she saw the sheep
dancing two by two she, too, laughed and clapped her hands. Then the
wind whiffed her a smell of the wonderful nosegay that Yan was
carrying and she said to her serving maid:
"Run down to the shepherd and tell him the princess desires his
nosegay."
The serving maid delivered the message to Yan, but he shook his head and
said:
"Tell your mistress that whoever wants this nosegay must come herself
and say: 'Yanitchko, give me that nosegay.'"
When the princess heard this, she laughed and said:
"What an odd shepherd! I see I must go myself."
So the princess herself came out to Yan and said:
"Yanitchko, give me that nosegay."
But Yan smiled and shook his head.
"Whoever wants this nosegay must say: 'Yanitchko, please give me that
nosegay.'"
The Princess was a merry girl, so she laughed and said:
"Yanitchko, please give me that nosegay."
Yan gave it to her at once and she thanked him sweetly.
The next day Yan went again to the castle garden and plucked another
nosegay. Then in the afternoon he drove his sheep through the village as
before, playing his pipe. The princess was standing at the palace window
waiting to see him. When the wind brought her a whiff of the fresh
nosegay that was even more fragrant than the first one, she ran out to
Yan and said:
"Yanitchko, please give me that nosegay."
But Yan smiled and shook his head.
"Whoever wants this nosegay must say: 'My dear Yanitchko, I beg you most
politely please to give me that nosegay.'"
"My dear Yanitchko," the princess repeated demurely, "I beg you most
politely please to give me that nosegay."
So Yan gave her the second nosegay. The princess put it in her window
and the fragrance filled the village until people from far and near came
to see it.
After that every day Yan gathered a nosegay for the princess and every
day the princess stood at the palace window waiting to see the handsome
shepherd. And always when she asked for the nosegay, she said: "Please."
In this way a month went by and the day arrived when the neighboring
princes were to come to meet the princess. They were to come in fine
array, the people said, and the princess had ready a kerchief and a ring
for the one who would please her most.
Yan planted the ax in the meadow and, leaving the sheep to graze about
it, went to the castle where he ordered the servants of the chest to
dress him as befitted his rank. They put a white suit upon him and gave
him a white horse with trappings of silver.
So he rode to the palace and took his place with the other princes but
behind them so that the princess had to crane her neck to see him.
One by one the various princes rode by the princess but to none of them
did the princess give her kerchief and ring. Yan was the last to salute
her, and instantly she handed him her favors.
Then before the king or the other suitors could speak to him, Yan put
spurs to his horse and rode off.
That evening as usual when he was driving home his sheep, the princess
ran out to him and said:
"Yan, it was you!"
But Yan laughed and put her off.
"How can a poor shepherd be a prince?" he asked.
The princess was not convinced and she said in another month, when the
princes were to come again, she would find out.