There was a man who had a wife but no sons, a female hound but no
puppies, and a mare but no foal. 'What in the world shall I do?'
said he to himself. 'Come, let me go away from home to seek my
fortune in the world, as I haven't any at home.' As he thought, so
he did, and went out by himself into the white world as a bee from
flower to flower. One day, when it was about dinner-time, he came to
a spring, took down his knapsack, took out his provisions for the
journey, and began to eat his dinner. Just then a traveller appeared
in front of him, and sat down beside the spring to rest; he invited
him to sit down by him that they might eat together. When they had
inquired after each other's health and shaken hands, then the second
comer asked the first on what business he was travelling about the
world. He said to him: 'I have no luck at home, therefore I am going
from home; my wife has no children, my hound has no puppies, and my
mare has never had a foal; I am going about the white world as a bee
from flower to flower.' When they had had a good dinner, and got up
to travel further, then the one who had arrived last thanked the
first for his dinner, and offered him an apple, saying: 'Here is
this apple for you'--if I am not mistaken it was a Frederic
pippin--'and return home at once; peel the apple and give the peel
to your hound and mare; cut the apple in two, give half to your wife
to eat, and eat the other half yourself. What has hitherto been
unproductive will henceforth be productive. And as for the two pips
which you will find in the apple, plant them on the top of your
house.' The man thanked him for the apple; they rose up and parted,
the one going onwards and the other back to his house. He peeled the
apple and did everything as the other had instructed him. As time
went on his wife became the mother of two sons, his hound of two
puppies, and his mare of two foals, and, moreover, out of the house
grew two apple-trees. While the two brothers were growing up, the
young horses grew up, and the hounds became fit for hunting. After a
short time the father and mother died, and the two sons, being now
left alone like a tree cut down on a hill, agreed to go out into the
world to seek their fortune. Even so they did: each brother took a
horse and a hound, they cut down the two apple-trees, and made
themselves a spear apiece, and went out into the wide world. I can't
tell you for certain how many days they travelled together; this I
do know, that at the first parting of the road they separated. Here
they saw it written up: 'If you go by the upper road you will not
see the world for five years; if you go by the lower road, you will
not see the world for three years.' Here they parted, one going by
the upper and the other by the lower road. The one that went by the
lower road, after three years of travelling through another world,
came to a lake, beside which there was written on a post: 'If you go
in, you will repent it; if you don't go in, you will repent it.' 'If
it is so,' thought he to himself, 'let me take whatever God gives,'
and swam across the lake. And lo! a wonder! he, his horse, and his
hound were all gilded with gold. After this he speedily arrived at a
very large and spacious city. He went up to the emperor's palace and
inquired for an inn where he might pass the night. They told him, up
there, yon large tower, that was an inn. In front of this tower he
dismounted; servants came out and welcomed him, and conducted him
into the presence of their master in the courtyard. But it was not
an innkeeper, but the king of the province himself. The king
welcomed and entertained him handsomely. The next day he began to
prepare to set forth on his journey. The evening before, the king's
only daughter, when she saw him go in front of her apartments, had
observed him well, and fixed her eyes upon him. This she did because
such a golden traveller had never before arrived, and consequently
she was unable to close her eyes the whole night. Her heart thumped,
as it were; and it was fortunate that the summer night was brief,
for if it had been a winter one, she could hardly have waited for
the dawn. It all seemed to her and whirled in her brain as if the
king was calling her to receive a ring and an apple; the poor thing
would fly to the door, but it was shut and there was nobody at hand.
Although the night was a short one, it seemed to her that three had
passed one after another. When she observed in the morning that the
traveller was getting ready to go, she flew to her father, implored
him not to let that traveller quit his court, but to detain him and
to give her to him in marriage. The king was good-natured, and could
easily be won over by entreaties; what his daughter begged for, she
also obtained. The traveller was detained and offered marriage with
the king's daughter. The traveller did not hesitate long, kissed the
king's hand, presented a ring to the maiden, and she a handkerchief
to him, and thus they were betrothed. Methinks they did not wait for
publication of banns. Erelong they were wedded; the wedding feast
and festival were very prolonged, but came to an end in due course.
One morning after all this the bridegroom was looking in somewhat
melancholy fashion down on the country through a window in the
tower. His young wife asked him what ailed him? He told her that he
was longing for a hunt, and she told him to take three servants and
go while the dew was still on the grass. Her husband would not take
a single servant, but mounting his gilded horse and calling his
gilded hound, went down into the country to hunt. The hound soon
found scent, and put up a stag with gilded horns. The stag began to
run straight for a tower, the hound after him, and the hunter after
the hound, and he overtook the stag in the gate of the courtyard,
and was going to cut off its head. He had drawn his sword, when a
damsel cried through the window: 'Don't kill my stag, but come
upstairs: let us play at draughts for a wager. If you win, take the
stag; if I win, you shall give me the hound.' He was as ready for
this as an old woman for a scolding match, went up into the tower,
and on to the balcony, staked the hound against the stag, and they
began to play. The hunter was on the point of beating her, when some
damsels began to sing: 'A king, a king, I've gained a king!' He
looked round, she altered the position of the draughtsmen, beat him
and took the hound. Again they began to play a second time, she
staking the hound and he his horse. She cheated him the second time
also. The third time they began to play, she wagered the horse, and
he himself. When the game was nearly over, and he was already on the
point of beating her, the damsels began to sing this time too, just
as they had done the first and second times. He looked round, she
cheated and beat him, took a cord, bound him, and put him in a
dungeon.
The brother, who went by the upper road, came to the lake, forded
it, and came out all golden--himself, his horse, and his hound. He
went for a night's lodging to the king's tower; the servants came
out and welcomed him. His father-in-law asked him whether he was
tired, and whether he had had any success in hunting; but the king's
daughter paid special attention to him, frequently kissing and
embracing him. He couldn't wonder enough how it was that everybody
recognised him; finally, he felt satisfied that it was his brother,
who was very like him, that had been there and got married. The
king's daughter could not wonder enough, and it was very distressing
to her, that her newly-married husband was so soon tired of her, for
the more affectionate she was to him, the more did he repulse her.
When the morrow came, he got ready to go out to look for his
brother. The king, his daughter, and all the courtiers, begged him
to take a rest. 'Why,' said they to him, 'you only returned
yesterday from hunting, and do you want to go again so soon?' All
was in vain; he refused to take the thirty servants whom they
offered him, but went down into the country by himself. When he was
in the midst of the country, his hound put up a stag, and he after
them on his horse, and drove it up to a tower; he raised his sword
to kill the stag, but a damsel cried through a window: 'Don't meddle
with my stag, but come upstairs that we may have a game at draughts,
then let the one that wins take off the stakes, either you my hound,
or I yours.' When he went into the basement, in it was a hound and a
horse--the hounds and horses recognised each other--and he felt sure
that his brother had fallen into prison there. They began the game
at draughts, and when the damsel saw that he was going to beat her,
some damsels began to sing behind them: 'A king! a king! I've gained
a king!' He took no notice, but kept his eye on the draughtsmen;
then the damsel, like a she-devil, began to make eyes and wink at
the young man. He gave her a flip with his coat behind the ears:
'Play now!' and thus beat her. The second game they both staked a
horse. She couldn't cheat him; he took both the hound and the horse
from her. The third and last time they played, he staking himself
and she herself; and after giving her a slap in her face for her
winking and making of eyes, he won the third game. He took
possession of her, brought his brother out of the dungeon, and they
went to the town.
Now the brother, who had been in prison, began to think within
himself: 'He was yesterday with my wife, and who knows whether she
does not prefer him to me?' He drew his sword to kill him, but the
draught-player defended him. He darted before his brother into the
courtyard, and as he stepped on to the passage from the tower, his
wife threw her arms round his neck and began to scold him
affectionately for having driven her from him overnight, and
conversed so coldly with her. Then he repented of having so
foolishly suspected his brother, who had, moreover, released him
from prison, and of having wanted to kill him; but his brother was a
considerate person and forgave him. They kissed each other and were
reconciled. He retained his wife and her kingdom with her, and his
brother took the draught-player and her kingdom with her. And thus
they attained to greater fortune than they could ever have even
hoped for.
_SERBIAN STORIES FROM CARNIOLA._
In these we come to a very singular mythological being, _Kurent_,
who has not, as yet, found a place in the writings of Slavonic
mythologists. With respect to Kurent, Professor Krek writes as
follows: 'The question as to the nature of the Slovinish Kurent is
very difficult, especially as the tradition about him is, in my
judgment, very corrupt. So far as I know, no one has hitherto
discussed it scientifically, and what I am now writing to you is my
own subjective opinion, rapidly formed. The name itself does not
appear to be indigenous, but I think it is of Romance, perhaps of
mediæval Latin origin, though I am not yet able to say what its
signification is. In a mythological point of view, there is to be
observed in the stories about Kurent a certain mixture of
heathen-Slavonic and Christian elements; but I think the basis is
entirely indigenous. If I mistake not, Kurent is essentially of
Dionysiac signification, which is indicated by the fact that the
Slovinish stories connect him closely with the vine-stock, and with
wine in general, just as is the case with the Greek Dionysos. It is
noteworthy that the Little Russians have the word "Kurent" in the
sense of a merry wedding tune (Zhelechovskij, i. 391), and that the
Slovinish tradition frequently puts Kurent in the place of "Pust,"
so that both represent the same mythological idea. With regard to
"Pust," there is no doubt that, with his orgiastic system, he is
just like the Greek Dionysos, although his name is recent, and rests
upon alien conceptions; indeed, here the fact is of more decisive
import than the name. The name is not connected with the old
Slavonic "pust," _desertus_, but with "pust" in the old Slavonic
"mesopust," in Bohemian "masopust," which are identical with the
Greek ἀπόκρεωϛ, in Latin "carnisprivium." Of what original names
"Kurent" and "Pust" have occupied the place, it will now never
be possible to determine. It is just in mythological matters, that
all manner of old traditions are unsatisfactory, as everybody knows
who has busied himself at all closely with this subject. Much that
is Christian has similarly become mingled with the original pagan
conceptions in the case of Kurent also, and it is not easy to
separate them from later accretions. I think that the Slovintzes
honoured Kurent with a special solemnity or festival at the same
time that the other Slavonians celebrated the regeneration of
winter, nature, and the birth of the solar deity. This mythological
phenomenon has its analogy in the myths of other Ario-European
nations, a matter so generally known that there is no need of
dilating upon it now. What I wish to draw attention to is this: that
the Slovinish "Kurent," as also his representative "Pust" is of
Dionysiac signification, and I don't know to what to compare him
more properly than to the Greek Dionysos. Circumspection is
especially necessary in mythological matters, but I venture to
affirm that my opinion will hold its ground before severe criticism.
I purpose treating at greater length of this matter at a later time,
but I do not think I shall find it necessary to retract any portion
of my opinion.'
Mr. Morfill informs me, moreover, that _Kurenta grati_ is given by
Zhelikovskij in the sense 'to play the Kurent,' _i.e._, the air so
called.