A cobbler was busying himself on Saturday with mending old shoes,
that he might be able to go to church on Sunday. He worked till late
in the evening, and, having finished his work, early in the morning
dressed himself, and took his book to service. In church he heard
this doctrine, that if any one dedicates his property to the church,
God will recompense him a hundredfold in another form. And as he was
poor, he therefore determined to sell his cottage and goods and take
the whole price to the priest at the church. He went home and told
his wife of his intentions; and in a few days the money was in the
hands of the parson.[6] But day passed after day, and nothing was to
be seen of a recompense. At last, when hunger sorely tried the
cobbler, he dressed himself like an old beggar and went to seek for
the Lord God. After wandering a couple of days he met with an old
shepherd, who was pasturing a large flock of lambs. And as he was
very hungry, he made up his mind to go up to the old shepherd, and
ask him to give him a little to eat out of his dinner-basket.[7]
During the meal he related all that he had done, and how it was then
going with him. The old shepherd compassionated the poor cobbler,
and gave him a lamb, which scattered ducats at every call: 'Lamb,
shake yourself!' but gave it him under the condition, that in one
village, through which he was obliged to pass, he was not to enter
the house of his old gossip. He laid the lamb on his shoulder with
great joy, thanked the old man for it, and started with speed on his
way home to rejoice his wife and children. When he got behind the
hill, he began to distrust the words of the old shepherd, for he
could not get it into his head that an ordinary lamb would scatter
ducats. Wishing, therefore, to assure himself of their truth, he
placed the lamb on the ground and uttered the old man's words:
'Lamb, shake yourself!' and when at the self-same moment he espied
ducats round the lamb's feet, he considered himself the most
fortunate man in the whole world. Without delay he put the lamb on
his back, and went on towards home. But when he went past his
gossip's tavern, she besought him to pay her a visit, for they had
not seen each other for a very long time. The cobbler at first
hesitated a little, but wishing to show that he had ducats in his
pocket, and that he had met with such good fortune, he went into the
tavern; and, after first giving into her charge his present from the
old man, with these words, 'But don't say to him, "Lamb, shake
yourself!"' went to the table and drank off a noggin of brandy. But
his gossip, a knavish old woman, bethought herself at once that
there must be some secret lying in these words. She, therefore, took
the lamb into another room, and when she was there by herself, said
to the lamb: 'Lamb, shake yourself!' when she saw that he scattered
ducats she began to consider how to cheat her gossip. After a short
time she determined to make the cobbler drunk, to detain him all
night at her house, and next day, early, to give him instead of his
lamb another like it out of her own flock; which was effected
according to her intention. Well, early in the morning the cobbler
took the lamb on his shoulder and now hastened straight to his wife
and children, and tossed them, as they wept, a couple of ducats,
that his wife might get a good meal ready. His wife could not wonder
enough whence her little husband had got so much money, but she did
not venture to question him. After the meal the cobbler put the lamb
on the table, called his children, that they might enjoy with him
the rolling ducats, and shouted: 'Lamb, shake yourself!' But the
lamb stood as if he were made of wood, and never even moved his
head. The children, who had eaten their fill, began to laugh, and
the wife thought that her husband was not quite right in his head.
The cobbler, angry that his wish had not come to pass, repeated
once more the old man's words, but this time, too, without effect,
therefore he pushed the lamb off the table. So long as the ducats
held out, there was content in the home; but as soon as they began
to run short in the cottage, his wife began to reproach her husband
for doing no work, and not troubling himself about a livelihood. So
nothing again remained for the cobbler but, stick in hand, to go to
look for the old man. He knew very well what a bad welcome he would
receive from him, but what was to be done? However, the old man had
compassion on the poor family, and this time gave him a tablecloth,
which at every summons: 'Tablecloth, spread yourself!' spread itself
of its own accord, and on it stood most excellent food and drink;
but under the condition that he didn't go into his gossip's house.
The cobbler, well content with the present, thanked the old man and
moved towards home. In a short time he was behind the hill, sat down
upon the ground, and, not from curiosity but from hunger, gave the
word of command to the tablecloth to spread itself, for his inside
was croaking. When, after eating his fill, he went past the tavern,
his old gossip was waiting for him in front of the door; she begged
him in the kindest terms not to pass her tavern, adding the proverb:
'Whoever passes a tavern sprains his foot.' The cobbler wavered
long, but at last went in and entrusted her with the tablecloth with
these words: 'Dear gossip, don't say, "Tablecloth, spread
yourself!"' The crafty woman gave him brandy in welcome, not for
money; therefore, her gossip tossed off noggin after noggin, till
there came a dizziness in his head. Then his gossip did the same
with the tablecloth as with the lamb. The cobbler came to his wife
and children, placed the tablecloth on the table and cried:
'Tablecloth, spread yourself!' But the tablecloth didn't stir, and
the cobbler began to despair and to revile the old woman, his
gossip. He returned again to the old man, begged pardon of him on
his knees for not fulfilling the condition that time also, and
prayed him, nevertheless, to have compassion on him and to be his
preserver once more. The old man for a long time refused, but at
last gave him a cudgel with a silver mounting set with precious
stones, and ordered him this time to visit his gossip, and take note
of these words: 'Cudgel, bestir yourself!' The cobbler, seized with
new joy, thanked the old man a hundred times, and made the more
haste towards his wife and children. Still, when behind the hill, he
was curious to know what the cudgel meant, and wishing to satisfy
himself, said: 'Cudgel, bestir yourself!' In a moment there stood
before him a couple of stout fellows, who began to thrash him
mercilessly. The cobbler, seized by cruel terror, did not know how
to order them to cease beating him; at last, when already well
beaten, he cried out: 'Cudgel, leave off!' Instantly the fellows
disappeared and the cudgel stood before him. 'You're good, you're
good!' said the cobbler, getting up from the ground, 'you'll help me
to those former gifts.' When he arrived at the village, where his
gossip lived, he stepped into her house and made himself at home as
with an old acquaintance. She was very glad to see him, for she
thought she would again make a good profit, entertained him well,
and afterwards began to inquire whether he hadn't something for her
to take charge of. Then the cobbler gave up to her his cudgel with
the request not to say: 'Cudgel, bestir yourself!' The old woman
laughed in her sleeve at the simpleton, thinking to herself, 'He
wouldn't tell me without cause what I'm not to say!' She went at
once with the cudgel into the other room, and scarcely had she
crossed the threshold, when she cried out impatiently: 'Cudgel,
bestir yourself!' Immediately the two fellows with cudgels began to
beat her, and she lost all self-possession. At her piercing shrieks
the host darted up to help her, when, hey ho! he got it too. The
cobbler all the time kept calling out: 'Go it, cudgel! go it! till
they give me back my lamb and my tablecloth!' Then nothing remained
to his gossip but to give up his property to him. She ordered the
lamb and tablecloth to be brought. As soon as the cobbler had
satisfied himself that this was really done, he shouted 'Cudgel,
leave off!' and went with the three gifts as quick as he could to
his wife and children. Then there was great joy, for they had money
and victuals in abundance; and did not withal forget God and other
people, but assisted every poor person.
[6] _Plebanus_, the priest of a church in which baptisms are
celebrated.
[7] Or dinner-pot: two earthenware pots united together, used by
shepherds and others to carry their dinners in.
_POLISH STORIES._
The Polish language is one of great beauty and flexibility, but it
is disfigured by an orthography which causes English readers to
imagine that it is very difficult to pronounce, which is by no means
the case. The letter _z_ in Polish performs the office frequently
assigned to _h_ in English, viz., that of softening the preceding
consonant without possessing any further power of its own. Thus _cz_
is the exact equivalent in Polish of our _ch_, and _sz_ exactly
represents our _sh_. The other grand peculiarities of the Polish
language are the sibillated _r_, written _rz_, the retention of the
nasal sounds of long _a_ (as _on_) and long _e_ (as _en_ in French),
and the dull _l_, represented by a curved stroke through the letter
_l_, which has the sound of our final _ll_ in 'bull,' but is
somewhat difficult to pronounce at the beginning or in the middle of
a word.
Poland, or rather Lithuania, the aristocracy of which is Polish, has
produced a really great poet, Mickiewicz, whose poems are so
beautiful, that it would be worth while for a literary person of
leisure to study the language for the mere purpose of reading them.
See Morfill's 'Russia' (Sampson Low, 1880), pp. 207-212. One of the
most celebrated of Mickiewicz's poems, 'Pan Taddeus,' has lately
been translated by Miss M. A. Biggs (Trübner and Co.).
In the Polish story, No. 17, we make acquaintance with 'Kostchey
the Deathless,' who plays a great part in Russian stories, but is
entirely unknown by name among the southern and most of the western
Slavonians. His place is with them taken by dragons and evil shapes
of various kinds. His name is probably derived from _kost_, a
'bone,' and I have ventured to Anglicize it accordingly. He is
generally supposed to symbolize winter, and certainly deciduous
trees and bushes then exhibit a very skeleton-like appearance. In a
story from the government of Perm, given by Mr. Ralston, the secret
of his immortality is discovered, and he is put to death
accordingly. But I cannot help inferring that his death is of annual
occurrence, and that he resumes his reign annually at the proper
season, to be again put to death towards spring. With No. 18 several
Russian tales given by Mr. Ralston (pp. 185-193) may be compared.
No. 19 is a singular story of a more Oriental than European cast,
and No. 20 reads as much like a dream dreamed after the consumption
of a considerable quantity of _vodka_, as a genuine Folklore story.
Such is also the case with several of Crofton Croker's Legends of
the south of Ireland.
Tale No. 17 has already appeared in the 'Folklore Journal' for
January, 1884. For mere beauty of construction and narration I doubt
whether its equal can be found in any language.