BUKOWINA-GYPSY STORIES
NO. 17.—IT ALL COMES TO LIGHT
There was a man with as many children as ants in an anthill. And three
of the girls went to reap corn, and the emperor’s son came by. And the
eldest girl said, ‘If the emperor’s son will marry me, I will clothe
his whole army with one spindleful of thread.’ And the middle girl
said, ‘I will feed his army with a single loaf.’ And the youngest girl
said, ‘If he will marry me, I will bear him twins clever and good, with
hair of gold and teeth like pearls.’
His servant heard them. ‘Emperor, the eldest girl said, if you will
marry her, she will clothe your army with one spindleful of thread; the
middle girl said, if you will marry her, she will feed your army with a
single loaf; the youngest girl said, if you will marry her, she will
bear you twins clever and good, with golden hair.’
‘Turn back,’ he cried, ‘take the youngest girl, put her in the
carriage.’
He brought her home; he lived with her half a year; and they summoned
him to the army to fight. He remained a year at the war. His empress
brought forth two sons. The servant took them, and flung them into the
pigstye; and she put two whelps by the mother.
At evening the pigs came home, and the eldest sow cried, ‘Hah! here are
our master’s sons; quick, give them the teat to suck, and keep them
warm.’
The pigs went forth to the field. The servant came, saw that the boys
are well, not dead; she flung them into the stable. At evening the
horses came home, and the eldest mare cried, ‘Hah! here are our
master’s sons; quick, give them the teat to suck.’
In the morning the horses went forth to the field. The servant took
them, and buried them in the dunghill. And two golden fir-trees grew.
The emperor came from the war. The servant went to meet him. ‘Emperor,
the empress has borne you a couple of whelps.’
The emperor buried the empress behind the door up to the waist, and set
the two whelps to suck her. He married the servant. This servant said
to the emperor, ‘Fell these fir-trees, and make me a bed.’
‘Fell them I will not; they are of exquisite beauty.’
‘If you don’t, I shall die.’
The emperor set men to work, and felled the firs, and gathered all the
chips, and burned them with fire. He made a bed of the two planks, and
slept with his new empress in the bed.
And the elder boy said, ‘Brother, do you feel it heavy, brother?’
‘No, I don’t feel it heavy, for my father is sleeping on me; but you,
do you feel it heavy, brother?’
‘I do, for my stepmother is sleeping on me.’
She heard, she arose in the morning. ‘Emperor, chop up this bed, and
put it in the fire, that it be burnt.’
‘Burn it I will not.’
‘But you must put it in the fire, else I shall die.’
The emperor bade them put it in the fire. She bade them block up the
chimney, that not a spark should escape. But two sparks escaped, and
fell on a couple of lambs: the lambs became golden. She saw, and
commanded the servants to kill the lambs. She gave the servants the
chitterlings to wash them, and gave the chitterlings numbered. They
were washing them in the stream; two of the chitterlings fell into the
water. They cut two chitterlings in half, and added them to the number,
and came home. From those two chitterlings which fell into the water
came two doves; and they turned a somersault, [65] and became boys. And
they went to a certain lady. This lady was a widow, and she took the
boys in, and brought them up seven years, and clothed them.
And the emperor made proclamation in the land that they should gather
to him to a ball. All Bukowina assembled. They ate and drank. The
emperor said, ‘Guess what I have suffered.’ Nobody guessed. These two
boys also went, and sat at the gate. The emperor saw them. ‘Call also
these two boys.’
They called them to the emperor. ‘What are you come for, boys?’
‘We came, emperor, to guess.’
‘Well, guess away.’
‘There was a man with children as many as ants in an anthill. And three
of the girls went to reap corn, and the emperor’s son came by. And the
eldest girl said, “If this lad will marry me, I will clothe his army
with one spindleful of thread.” The middle girl said, “If he will marry
me, I will feed his army with a single loaf.” The youngest girl said,
“If this emperor’s son will marry me, I will bear him twins clever and
good, with hair of gold and teeth like pearls.” His servant said to the
emperor, “Emperor, the eldest girl said that, if you will marry her,
she will clothe your army with one spindleful of thread; and the middle
girl said, if you will marry her, she will feed your army with a single
loaf; and the youngest girl said, if you will marry her, she will bear
you twins clever and good, with hair of gold and teeth like pearls.”
Come forth, pearl. [66] The emperor lived with her half a year, and
departed to war, and remained a year. The empress brought forth two
sons. The servant took them, flung them into the pigstye, and put two
whelps by her. At evening the pigs came home, and the eldest sow cried,
“Hah! here are our master’s sons; you must give them the teat.” In the
morning the pigs went forth to the field. The servant came, saw that
they are well, flung them into the stable. At evening the horses came;
the eldest horse cried, “Hah! here are our master’s sons; you must give
them the teat.” In the morning the horses went forth to the field. She
came and saw that they are well. She buried them in the horses’
dunghill, and two golden fir-trees grew. The emperor came from the
army. The servant went to meet him. “Emperor, the empress has borne a
couple of whelps.” The emperor buried her behind the door, and set the
two whelps to suck. The emperor married the servant. The new empress
said, “Fell the fir-trees, and make a bed.” “Fell them I will not, for
they are beautiful.” “If you don’t fell them, I shall die.” The emperor
commanded, and they felled them, and he gathered all the chips and
flung them in the fire, and he made a bed. And the emperor was sleeping
in the bed with the servant. And the elder brother said, “Do you feel
it heavy, brother?” “No, I don’t feel it heavy, for my true father is
sleeping on me; but do you feel it heavy, brother?” “I do, for my
stepmother is sleeping on me.” She heard, she arose in the morning.
“Emperor, chop up this bed, and put it in the fire.” “Chop it up I will
not, for it is fair.” “If you don’t, I shall die.” The emperor
commanded, and chopped up the bed, and they put it in the fire; and she
told them to block up the chimney. But two sparks jumped out on two
lambs, and the lambs became golden. She saw, and commanded the servants
to kill them, and gave the chitterlings to two girls to wash. And two
chitterlings escaped, and they cut two chitterlings, and made up the
proper number. From those chitterlings came two doves; and they turned
a somersault, and became two boys. And they went to a certain widow
lady, and she took them in, and brought them up seven years. The
emperor gathered Bukowina to a ball, and they ate and drank. The
emperor told them to guess what he had suffered. Nobody guessed, but I
have. And if you believe not, we are your sons, and our mother is
buried behind the door.’
Then came his mother into the hall. ‘Good-day to you, my sons.’
‘Thank you, mother.’
And they took that servant, and bound her to a wild horse, and gave him
his head, and he smashed her to pieces.
Dr. Barbu Constantinescu furnishes this Roumanian-Gypsy variant:—
NO. 18.—THE GOLDEN CHILDREN
There were three princesses, and they vaunted themselves before the
three princes. One vaunted that she will make him a golden boy and
girl. And one vaunted that she will feed his army with one crust of
bread. And one vaunted that she will clothe the whole army with a
single spindleful of thread. The time came that the princes took the
three maidens. So she who had vaunted that she will bear the golden boy
and girl, the time came that she grew big with child, and she fell on
the hearth in the birth-pangs. The midwife came and his mother, and she
brought forth a golden boy and girl. And her man was not there. And the
midwife and his mother took a dog and a bitch, and put them beneath
her. And they took the boy and the girl, and the midwife threw them
into the river. And they went floating on the river, and a monk found
them.
So their father went a-hunting, and their father found the lad. ‘Let me
kiss you.’ For, he thought, My wife said she would bear a golden lad
and girl like this. And he came home and fell sick; and the midwife
noticed it and his mother.
The midwife asked him, ‘What ails you?’
He said, ‘I am sick, because I have seen a lad like my wife said she
would bear me.’
Then she sent for the children, did his mother; and the monk brought
them; and she asked him, ‘Where did you get those children?’
He said, ‘I found them both floating on the river.’
And the king saw it must be his children; his heart yearned towards
them. So the king called the monk, and asked him, ‘Where did you get
those children?’
He said, ‘I found them floating on the river.’
He brought the monk to his mother and the midwife, and said, ‘Behold,
mother, my children.’
She repented and said, ‘So it is.’ She said, ‘Yes, darling, the midwife
put them in a box, and threw them into the water.’
Then he kindled the furnace, and cast both his mother and also the
midwife into the furnace. And he burnt them; and so they made
atonement. He gathered all the kings together, for joy that he had
found his children. Away I came, the tale have told.
And a very poor tale it is, most clearly defective; we never, for
instance, hear what becomes of the mother. Non-Gypsy versions of
this story are very numerous and very widely spread, almost as
widely spread as the Gypsies. We have them from Iceland, Brittany,
Brazil, Catalonia, Sicily, Italy, Lorraine, Germany, Tyrol,
Transylvania, Hungary, Servia, Roumania, Albania, Syria, White
Russia, the Caucasus, Egypt, Arabia, Mesopotamia, and Bengal, as
well as in Dolopathos (c. 1180) and Straparola. Special studies of
this story have been made by Cosquin (vol. i. p. lxiii. and p.
190), and W. A. Clouston in his Variants and Analogues of the Tales
in vol. iii. of Sir R. F. Burton’s Supplemental Arabian Nights
(1887), pp. 617–648. Reference may also be made to Grimm, No. 96,
‘The Three Little Birds’; Wratislaw’s, No. 23, ‘The Wonderful
Lads’; Grenville-Murray’s Doine; or, Songs and Legends of Roumania
(1854), pp. 106–110; Denton’s Serbian Folklore, p. 238; Hahn, i.
272; ii. 40, 287, 293; ‘The Boy with the Moon on his Forehead,’ in
the Rev. Lal Behari Day’s Folk-tales of Bengal (No. 19, p. 236);
and ‘The Boy who had a Moon on his Forehead and a Star on his
Chin,’ in Maive Stokes’s Indian Fairy Tales (No. 20, p. 119; cf.
also, No. 2, pp. 7 and 245). ‘Chandra’s Vengeance’ in Mary Frere’s
Old Deccan Days (No. 22, p. 225), offers some curious analogies.
There the heroine is born with two golden anklets on her ankles,
‘dazzling to look at like the sun.’ She is put in a golden box,
floated down the river, saved by a fisherman, etc. Cosquin acutely
remarks that in the original story the king, of course, marries the
three sisters, and the two elder, jealous, are the prime workers of
the mischief.
Yet a third Gypsy version, a Slovak one, is furnished by Dr. von
Sowa. It is plainly corrupt and imperfect:—
NO. 19.—THE TWO CHILDREN
Somewhere there was a hunter’s son, a soldier; and there was also a
shoemaker’s daughter. She had a dream that if he took her to wife, and
if she fell pregnant by him, she would bring forth twins—the boy with a
golden star upon his breast, and the girl with a golden star upon the
brow. And he presently took her to wife. And she was poor, that
shoemaker’s daughter; and he was rich. So his parents did not like her
for a daughter-in-law. She became with child to him; and he went off to
serve as a soldier. Within a year she brought forth. When that befell,
she had twins exactly as she had said. She bore a boy and a girl; the
boy had a golden star upon his breast, and the girl had a golden star
upon her brow. But his parents threw the twins into diamond chests,
wrote a label for each of them, and put it in the chest. Then they let
them swim away down the Vah river. [67]
Then my God so ordered it, that there were two fishers, catching fish.
They saw those chests come swimming down the river; they laid hold of
both of them. When they had done so, they opened the chests, and there
were the children alive, and on each was the label with writing. The
fishers took them up, and went straight to the church to baptize them.
So those children lived to their eighth year, and went already to
school. And the fishers had also children of their own, and used to
beat them, those foundlings. He, the boy, was called Jankos; and she,
Marishka.
And Marishka said to Jankos, ‘Let us go, Jankos mine, somewhere into
the world.’
Then they went into a forest, there spent the night. There they made a
fire, and Marishka fell into a slumber, whilst he, Jankos, kept up the
fire. There came a very old stranger to him, and he says to him, says
that stranger, ‘Come with me, Jankos, I will give you plenty of money.’
He brought him into a vault; there a stone door opened before him; the
vault was full, brim full of money. Jankos took two armfuls of money.
It was my God who was there with him, and showed him the money. He took
as much as he could carry, then returned to Marishka. Marishka was up
already and awake; she was weeping—‘Where, then, is Jankos?’
Jankos calls to her, ‘Fear not, I am here; I am bringing you plenty of
money.’
My God had told him to take as much money as he wants; the door will
always be open to him. Then they, Jankos and Marishka, went to a city;
he bought clothes for himself and for her, and bought himself a fine
house. Then he bought also horses and a small carriage. Then he went to
the vault for that money, and helped himself again. With the shovel he
flung it on the carriage; then he returned home with so much money that
he didn’t know what to do with it.
Then he ordered a band to play music, and arranged for a ball. Then he
invited all the gentry in that country, invited all of them; and his
parents too came. This he did that he might find out who were his
parents. Right enough they came; and he, Jankos, at once knew his
mother—my God had ordained it, that he at once should know her. Then he
asks his mother, [68] does Jankos, what a man deserved who ruins two
souls, and is himself alive.
And she says, the old lady, ‘Such a one deserves nothing better than to
have light set to the fagot-pile, and himself pitched into the fire.’
That was just what they did to them, pitched them into the fire; and he
remained there with Marishka. And the gentleman cried then, ‘Hurrah!
bravo! that’s capital.’
NO. 20.—MARE’S SON
A priest went riding on his mare to town. And ... he led her into the
forest, and left her there. The mare brought forth a son. And God came
and baptized him, and gave him the name ‘Mare’s Son.’ He sucked one
year, and went to a tree, and tries to pluck it up, and could not.
‘Ah! mother, I’ll suck one year more.’
He sucked one year more; he went to the tree; he plucked it up.
‘Now, mother, I shall go away from you.’
And he went into the forests, and found a man. ‘Good day to you.’
‘Thanks.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Tree-splitter.’
‘Hah! let’s become brothers. Come with me.’
They went further; they found another man. ‘Good day.’
‘Thanks.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Rock-splitter.’
‘Hah! let’s become brothers.’
They became brothers.
‘Come with me.’
They went further; they found yet another man. ‘Good day to you.’
‘Thanks.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Tree-bender.’
‘Come with me.’
The four went further, and they found a robbers’ den. The robbers had
killed a heifer. When the robbers saw them, they fled. They went away,
and left the meat untouched. They cooked the meat and ate. They passed
the night. In the morning Mare’s Son said, ‘Let three of us go to hunt,
and one stay at home to cook.’ They left Tree-splitter at home to cook,
and he cooked the food nicely. And there came an old man to him, a
hand’s-breadth tall, with a beard a cubit in length.
‘Give me to eat.’
‘Not I. For they’ll come from hunting, and there’ll be nothing to give
them.’
The old man went into the wood, and cut four wedges, and threw him,
Tree-splitter, on the ground, and fastened him to the earth by the
hands and feet, and ate up all the food. Then he let him go, and
departed. He put more meat in the pot to cook. They came from hunting
and asked, ‘Have you cooked the food?’
‘Ever since you’ve been away I’ve had the meat at the fire, but it
isn’t cooked properly.’
‘Dish it up as it is, for we’re hungry.’
He dished it up as it was, and they ate it. They passed the night. The
next day they left another cook, and the three of them went off to
hunt. The old man came again.
‘Give me something to eat.’
‘Not I, for they’ll come from hunting, and there’ll be nothing to give
them to eat.’
He went into the wood, and cut four wedges, and fastened him to the
earth by the hands and feet, and ate up all the food, and let him go,
and departed. He put more meat in the pot to cook. They came from
hunting. ‘Have you cooked the food?’
‘Ever since you’ve been away I’ve had it at the fire, but it isn’t
cooked, for it’s old meat.’
They passed the night. The third day they left another cook. The three
of them went to hunt; and those two never told what they had undergone.
Again the old man came, demanded food.
‘Not a morsel, for they’ll come from hunting, and I should have nothing
to give them.’
He went into the wood, and cut four wedges, and fastened him to the
earth by the hands and feet, and ate up all the food, and let him go.
They came from hunting. ‘Have you cooked the food?’
‘The minute you went away I put the meat in the pot; but it isn’t
cooked, for it’s old.’
The fourth day Mare’s Son remained as cook, and he cooked the food
nicely.
The old man came. ‘Give me something to eat, for I’m hungry.’
‘Come here, and I’ll give you some.’
He called him into the house, and caught him by the beard, and led him
to a beech-tree, and drove his axe into the beech, and cleft it, and
put his beard in the cleft, and drew out the axe, and drove in wedges
by the beard, and left him there. They came from hunting; he gave them
to eat. ‘Why didn’t you cook as good food as I?’
They ate.
The old man pulled the tree out of the earth on to his shoulders, and
dragged it after him, and departed into a cave in the other world.
Said Mare’s Son to them, ‘Come with me, and you shall see what I’ve
caught.’
They went, and found only the place.
Said Mare’s Son, ‘Come with me, for I’ve got to find him.’
They went, following the track of the tree to his cave.
‘This is where he went in. Who’ll go in to fetch him out?’
They said, ‘Not we, we’re afraid. Do you go in, for it was you who
caught him.’
He said, ‘I’ll go in, and do you swear that you will act fairly by me.’
They swore that they will act fairly by him. They made a basket, and he
lowered himself into the cave, and went to the other world. There was a
palace under the earth, and he found the old man with his beard in the
tree, put him in the basket, and they drew him up. He found a big
stone, and put it in the basket. ‘If they pull up the stone, they will
pull up me.’ They pulled it up half-way, and cut the rope. He fell
a-weeping. ‘Now I am undone.’
He journeyed under the earth, and came to a house. There was an old man
and an old woman, both blind, for the fairies [69] had put out their
eyes. Mare’s Son went to them and said, ‘Good day.’
‘Thanks. And who are you?’
‘I am a man.’
‘And old or young?’
‘Young.’
‘Be a son to us.’
‘Good.’
The old man had ten sheep. ‘Here take the sheep, and graze them,
daddy’s darling. And don’t go to the right hand, else the fairies will
catch you and put out your eyes; that’s their field. But go to the left
hand, for they’ve no business there; that’s our field.’
He went three days to the left hand, until he bethought himself, and
made a flute, and went to the right hand with his sheep.
And there met him a fairy, and said to him, ‘Son of a roarer, [70] what
are you wanting here?’
He began to play on the flute. ‘Dance a bit for me.’
He began to play, and she danced. Just as she was dancing her very
best, he broke the flute with his teeth.
The fairy said, ‘What are you doing, why did you break it, when I was
dancing my very best?’
‘Come with me to that tree, that maple, that I may take out its heart
and make a flute. And I will play all day, and you shall dance. Come
with me.’
He went to the maple, and drove his axe into the maple, and cleft it.
‘Put your hand in, and take out the heart.’
She put in her hand; he drew out the axe, and left her hand in the
tree.
She cried, ‘Quick, release my hand; it will be crushed.’
And he said, ‘Where are the old man’s and the old woman’s eyes? For if
you don’t tell me, I shall cut your throat.’
‘Go to the third room. They’re in a glass. The larger are the old
man’s, the smaller the old woman’s.’
‘How shall I put them in again?’
‘There is water in a glass there, and moisten them with the water, and
put them in, and they will adhere. And smear with the water, and they
will see.’
He cut her throat, and went and got the eyes of the old man and the old
woman, and took the water, and moistened them with the water, and put
them in, and they adhered. He smeared with the water, and they saw.
The old man and the old woman said, ‘Thank you, my son. Be my son for
ever. I will give all things into your hand, and I will go to my
kinsfolk, for it is ten years since I have seen them.’
And the old man mounted a goat, and the old woman mounted a sheep; and
he said to his son, ‘Daddy’s darling, walk, eat, and drink.’ Away went
the old man and the old woman to their kinsfolk.
He too set out, and went walking in the forest. In a tree were young
eagles, and a dragon was climbing up to devour them. And Mare’s Son saw
him, and climbed up, and killed him.
And the young eagles said to him, ‘God will give you good luck for
killing him. For my mother said every year she was hatching chicks, and
this dragon was always devouring them. But where shall we hide you? for
our mother will come and devour you. But put yourself under us, and we
will cover you with our wings.’
Their mother came. ‘I smell fresh man.’
‘No, mother, you just fancy it. You fly aloft, and the reek mounts up
to you.’
‘I’m certain there’s a man here. And who killed the dragon?’
‘I don’t know, mother.’
‘Show him, that I may see him.’
‘He’s among us, mother.’
They produced him, and she saw him; and the minute she saw him, she
swallowed him. The eaglets began to weep and to lament: ‘He saved us
from death, and you have devoured him.’
‘Wait a bit; I’ll bring him up again.’
She brought him up, and asked him, ‘What do you want for saving my
young ones from death?’
‘I only want you to carry me to the other world.’
‘Had I known that, I’d have let him devour my young ones, for to carry
you up is mighty difficult. Do you know how I shall manage it? Bake
twelve ovenfuls of bread, and take twelve heifers and twelve jars of
wine.’
In three days he had them ready.
She said, ‘Put them on me; and when I turn my head to the left, throw a
heifer into my mouth and an ovenful of bread; and when I turn to the
right, pour a jar of wine into my mouth.’
She brought him out; he went to his brothers. ‘Good day to you,
brothers. You fancied I should perish. If you acted fairly by me, toss
your arrows up in the air, and they will fall before you; but if
unfairly, then they will fall on your heads.’
All four tossed up their arrows, and they stood in a row. His fell
right before him, and theirs fell on their heads, and they died.
I have excised the opening of this tale as far too Rabelaisian; in
fact, it leaves the very priest ashamed. Its hero is called ‘Mare’s
Son,’ and is suckled by a mare like Milosh Obilich in a Croatian
ballad. But the story is clearly identical with Grimm’s ‘Strong
Hans’ (No. 166, ii. 253, 454) and ‘The Elves’ (No. 91, ii. 24,
387), in one or other of which, or of their variants, almost every
detail, sometimes to the minutest, will be found. Cosquin’s ‘Jean
de l’Ours’ (No. 1, i. 1–27) should also be carefully studied, and
Hahn’s ‘Das Bärenkind’ (No. 75, ii. 72). The Gypsy version is in
one respect clearly defective: it has no heroine—a lack that might
be supplied from Miklosich’s Gypsy story of ‘The Seer’ (No. 23).
The episode of the fairies that blind occurs in ‘The Scab-pate’
(Geldart’s Folklore of Modern Greece, p. 158; cf. also Hahn, i.
222); and in Maive Stokes’s Indian Fairy Tales, p. 57, one finds a
similar restoration of their eyes to seven blinded mothers, with
salve, however, not water, for application. Cf. Krauss, i. 181, for
a flute that obliges to dance; and a blind old man riding on a
great goat comes in Denton’s Serbian Folk-lore, p. 249. The rescue
of the young eagles, and the being borne to the upper world by the
old mother-bird, are conjointly or separately very widespread. The
meat generally runs short, and the hero gives her a piece of his
own flesh (cf. p. 240). Hahn’s ‘Der Goldäpfelbaum und die
Höllenfahrt,’ from Syra (No. 70, ii. 57, 297), furnishes an
excellent example; and Cosquin (ii. 141) gives Avar, Siberian,
Kabyle, Persian, and Indian variants. The rescue of two eaglets
from a great snake occurs in ‘The Demon and the King’s Son’ (Maive
Stokes’s Indian Fairy Tales, No. 24, p. 182), and in ‘Punchkin’
(Mary Frere’s Old Deccan Days, No. 1, p. 14). The striking ordeal
at the close, recurring in ‘The Seer’ (No. 23, p. 89), is, to the
best of my knowledge, peculiar to these two Gypsy stories; the
arrows suggest a high antiquity. Von Sowa’s Slovak-Gypsy story of
‘The Three Dragons’ (No. 44) offers many analogies to ‘Mare’s Son,’
of which the Welsh-Gypsy story, ‘Twopence-halfpenny’ (No. 58, p.
243), is actually a variant. The first eight pages of ‘Prince
Lionheart and his three Friends,’ in F. A. Steel’s Wide-awake
Stories, pp. 47–54, and her ‘How Raja Rasalu’s Friends forsook
him,’ pp. 255–7; also the very curious story of ‘Gumda the Hero’
(Campbell’s Santal Folk-tales, p. 57), offer Indian versions of the
opening of ‘Mare’s Son.’
NO. 21.—THE DELUDED DRAGON
There was an old man with a multitude of children. He had an
underground cave in the forest. He said, ‘Make me a honey-cake, for I
will go and earn something.’ He went into the forest, and found a well.
By the well was a table. He laid the cake on the table. The crows came
and ate it. He slept by the well. He arose and saw the flies eating the
crumbs. He struck a blow and killed a hundred flies. He wrote that he
had killed a hundred souls with one blow. And he lay down and slept.
A dragon came with a buffalo’s skin to draw water. He saw what was
written on the table, that he had killed a hundred souls. When he saw
the old man, he feared. The old man awoke, and he too feared.
The dragon said, ‘Let’s become brothers.’
And they swore that they would be Brothers of the Cross. [71] The
dragon drew water. ‘Come with me, brother, to my palace.’
They went along a footpath, the old man first. When the dragon panted,
he drove the old man forward; when he drew in his breath, he pulled him
back. The dragon said, ‘Brother, why do you sometimes run forward and
sometimes come back?’
‘I am thinking whether to kill you.’
‘Stay, brother, I will go first and you behind; maybe you will change
your mind.’
They came to a cherry-tree. ‘Here, brother, have some cherries.’
The dragon climbed up, and the old man was eating below. The dragon
said, ‘Come up, they’re better here.’
The old man said, ‘No, they aren’t, for the birds have defiled them.’
‘Catch hold of this bough.’
The old man did so. The dragon let go of it, and jerked the old man up,
and he fell on a hare and caught it.
The dragon said, ‘What’s the matter, brother? Was the bough too strong
for you?’
‘I sprang of my own accord, and caught this hare. I hadn’t time to run
round, so up I sprang.’
The dragon came down and went home. The old man said, ‘Would you like a
present, sister-in-law?’ [seemingly offering the hare to the dragon’s
wife].
‘Thanks, brother-in-law.’
The dragon said to her aside, ‘Don’t say a word to him, else he’ll kill
us, for he has killed a hundred souls with one blow.’ He sent him to
fetch water: ‘Go for water, brother.’
He took the spade and the buffalo’s hide, dragged it after him, and
went to the well, and was digging all round the well.
The dragon went to him. ‘What are you doing, brother?’
‘I am digging the whole well to carry it home.’
‘Don’t destroy the spring; I’ll draw the water myself.’
The dragon drew the water, and took the old man by the hand, and led
him home. He sent him to the forest to fetch a tree. He stripped off
bark, and made himself a rope, and bound the trees.
The dragon came. ‘What are you doing, brother?’
‘I am going to take the whole forest and carry it home.’
‘Don’t destroy my forest, brother. I’ll carry it myself.’ The dragon
took a tree on his shoulders, and went home.
He said to his wife, ‘What shall we do, wife, for he will kill us if we
anger him?’
She said, ‘Take uncle’s big club, and hit him on the head.’
The old man heard. He slept of a night on a bench. And he took the
beetle, put it on the bench, dressed it up in his coat, and put his cap
on the top of it. And he lay down under the bench. The dragon took the
club, and felt the cap, and struck with the club. The old man arose,
removed the beetle, put it under the bench, and lay down on the bench.
He scratched his head. ‘God will punish you, brother, and your
household, for a flea has bitten me on the head.’
‘There! do you hear, wife? I hit him on the head with the club, and he
says a mere flea has bitten him. What shall we do with him, wife?’
‘Give him a sackful of money to go away.’
‘What will you take to go, brother? I’ll give you a sackful of money.’
‘Give it me.’
He gave it. ‘Take it, brother, and be gone.’
‘I brought my present myself; do you carry yours yourself.’
The dragon took it on his shoulders and carried it. They drew near to
the underground cavern. The old man said, ‘Stay here, brother, whilst I
go home and tie up the dogs, else they’ll wholly devour you.’ The old
man went home to his children, and made them wooden knives, and told
them to say when they saw the dragon, ‘Mother, father’s bringing a
dragon; we’ll eat his flesh.’
The dragon heard them, and flung down the sack, and fled. And he met a
fox.
‘Where are you flying to, dragon?’
‘The old man will kill me.’
‘Fear not; come along with me. I’ll kill him, he’s so weak.’
The children came outside and cried, ‘Mother, the fox is bringing us
the dragon skin he owes us, to cover the cave with.’
The dragon took to flight, and caught the fox, and dashed him to the
earth; and the fox died. The old man went to the town, and got a cart,
and put the money in it. Then he went to the town, and built himself
houses, and bought himself oxen and cows.
Dr. Von Sowa furnishes this Slovak-Gypsy variant:—
NO. 22.—THE GYPSY AND THE DRAGON
There were a Gypsy and a shepherd, who tended his sheep. Every night
two of the shepherd’s sheep went a-missing, or even three. The peasant
came to his gossip, the Gypsy, who asks him, ‘Hallo! gossip, what’s up
with you, that you’re so sorrowful?’
The peasant says to the Gypsy, ‘Ah! how should I not be sorrowful, when
some one—I know not who—does me grievous harm?’
‘All right. I’ll help you there, for I know fine who it is. To-night
let your wife make me two big cheeses, the size of that; and let her
bake me some nice fine dough for supper. I’ll come and sup with you
to-night. Then I’ll go and look after your sheep.’
All right! The Gypsy went and had a fine blow-out at the peasant’s.
Night came, and the Gypsy went off to the sheep. And the cheese he put
in his pocket, and in his hand he took an iron bar weighing three
hundredweight, besides which he made himself quite a light wooden rod.
And off he went to the sheepfold. There was nobody there but the
shepherd’s man.
‘Go you home, my lad,’ says the Gypsy, ‘and I’ll stop here.’
Midnight came. The Gypsy made himself a big fire, and straightway the
dragon comes to the Gypsy by the fire.
He said to him, ‘Wait a bit. I’ll give it your mother for this; [72]
what are you wanting here?’
‘Just wanting to see if you are such a strong chap, though you do eat
three sheep every night.’
He was terrified.
‘Sit down beside me by the fire, and let’s just have a little trial of
strength, to see which of us is the stronger. Do you throw this stick
so high up in the air that it never falls down again, but stays there.’
(It was the bar that weighed three hundredweight.)
The dragon throws, threw it so high, that then and there it remained
somewhere or other up in the sky. ‘Now,’ says the dragon to the Gypsy,
‘now do you throw, as I threw.’
The Gypsy threw—it was the little light wooden stick—threw it somewhere
or other behind him, so that the dragon couldn’t see where he threw it,
but he fancied he had thrown it where he had thrown his own.
‘Well, all right! Let’s sit down, and see whether you really are a
clever chap. Just take this stone and squeeze it so that the water runs
out of it, and the blood, like this.’ The Gypsy took the cheese; he
squeezed it till the water ran out of it; then he said to the dragon,
‘Do you take it now and squeeze.’
He handed him a stone, and the dragon kept squeezing and squeezing till
the blood streamed from his hand. ‘I see plainly,’ he said to the
Gypsy, ‘you’re a better man than I.’
‘Well, take me now on your back, and carry me to your blind mother.’
They came to his blind mother. Fear seized her, for where did one ever
hear the like of that—the dragon to carry the Gypsy on his back.
‘Now, you’ll give me just whatever I want.’
‘Fear not. I will give you as much money as you can carry, and as much
food as you want, both to eat and to drink; only let me live and my
mother. And I’ll never go after the sheep any more.’
‘Well and good. I could kill you this moment, and your blind mother
too. Then swear to me that you will go no more to that peasant’s to
devour his sheep.’
Straightway he swore to him, that indeed he would go no more.
‘Now you must give me money, both gold and silver, and then you must
take me on your back and carry me home.’
Well and good. He gave him the money, and took him on his back, and
carried home the Gypsy and the money. The Gypsy’s wife sees them. ‘My
God! What’s up?’ And the children—he had plenty—came running out. The
dragon was dreadfully frightened and ran off. But he flung down the
Gypsy’s money and left it there. The Gypsy was so rich there was not
his equal. He was just like a gentleman. And if he is not dead, he is
still living, with his wife and children.
There must be also a Turkish-Gypsy version, for Paspati on p. 576
gives this quotation from the story of a young man’s contest with a
dragon:—‘I am looking to see which is the highest mountain, to
seize you, and fling you thither, that not a bone of you be left
whole.’ Wlislocki furnishes a Transylvanian-Gypsy variant, ‘The
Omniscient Gypsy,’ No. 23, p. 61; and the hero is a Gypsy in
Lithuanian and Galician stories. ‘The Valiant Little Tailor’
(Grimm, No. 20, i. 85, 359), is very familiar, but is less like our
Gypsy versions than is Hahn’s No. 23, ‘Herr Lazarus und die
Draken.’ Cf. also Hahn, i. 152 and ii. 211; Cosquin, i. 95–102; and
Clouston, i. 133–154. The story is widely spread; we have
Norwegian, Sicilian, Hungarian, Albanian, Turkish, Persian,
Sanskrit, and other versions. ‘Valiant Vicky, the Brave Weaver,’ in
F. A. Steel’s Wide-awake Stories, pp. 89–97, is a very modern,
non-heroic Indian version; cf. also ‘The Close Alliance,’ pp.
132–7. ‘How the Three Clever Men outwitted the Demons’ (Mary
Frere’s Old Deccan Days, No. 23, p. 271) offers certain analogies;
so does the ‘Story of a Simpleton’ in Campbell’s Santal Folk-tales,
p. 45.
NO. 23.—THE SEER
They say that there was an emperor, and he had three sons. And he gave
a ball; all Bukowina came to it. And a mist descended, and there came a
dragon, and caught up the empress, and carried her into the forests to
a mountain, and set her down on the earth. There in the earth was a
palace. Now after the ball the men departed home.
And the youngest son was a seer; and his elder brothers said he was
mad. Said the youngest, ‘Let us go after our mother, and seek for her
in Bukowina.’ The three set out, and they came to a place where three
roads met. And the youngest said, ‘Brothers, which road will you go?’
And the eldest said, ‘I will keep straight on.’
And the middle one went to the right, and the youngest to the left. The
eldest one went into the towns, and the middle one into the villages,
and the youngest into the forests. They had gone a bit when the
youngest turned back and cried, ‘Come here. How are we to know who has
found our mother? Let us buy three trumpets, and whoever finds her must
straightway blow a blast, and we shall hear him, and return home.’
The youngest went into the forests. And he was hungry, and he found an
apple-tree with apples, and he ate an apple, and two horns grew. And he
said, ‘What God has given me I will bear.’ And he went onward, and
crossed a stream, and the flesh fell away from him. And he kept saying,
‘What God has given me I will bear. Thanks be to God.’ And he went
further, and found another apple-tree. And he said, ‘I will eat one
more apple, even though two more horns should grow.’ When he ate it the
horns dropped off. And he went further, and again found a stream. And
he said, ‘God, the flesh has fallen from me, now will my bones waste
away; but even though they do, yet will I go.’ And he crossed the
stream; his flesh grew fairer than ever. And he went up into a
mountain. There was a rock of stone in a spot bare of trees. And he
reached out his hand, and moved it aside, and saw a hole in the earth.
He put the rock back in its place, and went back and began to wind his
horn.
His brothers heard him and came. ‘Have you found my mother?’
‘I have; come with me.’
And they went to the mountain to the rock of stone.
‘Remove this rock from its place.’
‘But we cannot.’
‘Come, I will remove it.’
He put his little finger on it, and moved it aside. [73] ‘Hah!’ said
he, ‘here is our mother. Who will let himself down?’
And they said, ‘Not I.’
The youngest said, ‘Come with me into the forest, and we will strip off
bark and make a rope.’
They did so, and they made a basket.
‘I will lower myself down, and when I jerk the rope haul me up.’
So he let himself down, and came to house No. 1. There he found an
emperor’s daughter, whom the dragon had brought and kept prisoner.
And she said, ‘Why are you here? The dragon will kill you when he
comes.’
And he asked her, ‘Didn’t the dragon bring an old lady here?’
And she said, ‘I know not, but go to No. 2; there is my middle sister.’
He went to her; she too said, ‘Why are you here? The dragon will kill
you when he comes.’
And he asked, ‘Didn’t he bring an old lady?’
And she said, ‘I know not, but go to No. 3; there is my youngest
sister.’
She said, ‘Why are you here? The dragon will kill you when he comes.’
And he asked, ‘Didn’t he bring an old lady here?’
And she said, ‘He did, to No. 4.’
He went to his mother, and she said, ‘Why are you here? The dragon will
kill you when he comes.’
And he said, ‘Fear not, come with me.’ And he led her, and put her in
the basket, and said to her, ‘Tell my brothers they’ve got to pull up
three maidens.’ He jerked the rope, and they hauled their mother up. He
put the eldest girl in the basket, and they hauled her up; then the
middle one, jerked the rope, and they hauled her up. And while they are
hauling, he made the youngest swear that she will not marry ‘till I
come.’ She swore that she will not marry till he comes; he put her also
in the basket, jerked the rope, and they hauled her up.
And he found a stone, and put it in the basket, and jerked the rope.
‘If they haul up the stone, they will also haul up me.’ And they hauled
it half-way up, and the rope broke, and they left him to perish, for
they thought he was in the basket. And he began to weep. And he went
into the palace where the dragon dwelt, and pulled out a box, and found
a rusty ring. And he is cleaning it; out of it came a lord, and said,
‘What do you want, master?’
‘Carry me out into the world.’
And he took him up on his shoulders, and carried him out. And he took
two pails of water. When he washed himself with one, his face was
changed; and when with the other, it became as it was before. And he
brought him to a tailor in his father’s city.
And he washed himself with the water, and his face was changed. And he
went to that tailor; and that tailor was in his father’s employment.
And he hired himself as a prentice to the tailor for a twelvemonth,
just to watch the baby in another room. The tailor had twelve
prentices. And the tailor did not recognise him, nor his brothers.
The eldest brother proposed to the youngest sister, whom the seer had
saved from the dragon. And she said, ‘No, I have sworn not to marry
until my own one comes.’ The middle son also proposed; she said, ‘I
will not, until my own one comes.’
So the eldest son married the eldest girl; the middle son married the
middle girl; and they called the tailor to make them wedding garments,
and gave him cloth.
And the emperor’s son said, ‘Give it me to make.’
‘No, I won’t, you wouldn’t fit him properly.’
‘Give it me. I’ll pay the damage if I don’t sew it right.’
The tailor gave it him, and he rubbed the ring. Out came a little lord,
and said, ‘What do you want, master?’
‘Take this cloth, and go to my eldest brother, and take his measure, so
that it mayn’t be too wide, or too narrow, but just an exact fit. And
sew it so that the thread mayn’t show.’
And he sewed it so that one couldn’t tell where the seam came. And in
the morning he brought them to the tailor.
‘Carry them to them.’
And when they saw them, they asked the tailor, ‘Who made these clothes?
For you never made so well before.’
‘I’ve a new prentice made them.’
‘Since the youngest would not have us, we’ll give her to him, that he
may work for us.’
They went and got married. After the wedding they called the prentice,
called too the maiden, and bade her go to him.
She said, ‘I will not,’ for she did not know him.
The emperor’s eldest son caught hold of her to thrash her.
She said, ‘Go to him I will not.’
‘You’ve got to.’
‘Though you cut my throat, I won’t.’
Said the youngest son, ‘I’ll tell you what, Prince, let me go with her
into a side-room and talk with her.’
He took her aside, and washed himself with the other water, and his
face became as it was. She knew him. [74]
‘Come, now I’ll have you.’
He washed himself again with the first water, and his face was changed
once more, and he went back to the emperor.
And he asked her, ‘Will you have him?’
‘I will.’
‘The wedding is to be in twelve days.’
And they called the old tailor, and commanded him, ‘In twelve days’
time be ready for the wedding.’ And they departed home.
Six days are gone, and he takes no manner of trouble, but goes meanly
as ever. Now ten are gone, and only two remain. The tailor called the
bridegroom. ‘And what shall we do, for there’s nothing ready for the
wedding?’
‘Ah! don’t fret, and fear not: God will provide.’
Now but one day remained; and he, the bridegroom, went forth, and
rubbed the ring. And out came a little lord and asked him, ‘What do you
want, master?’
‘In a day’s time make me a three-story palace, and let it turn with the
sun on a screw, and let the roof be of glass, and let there be water
and fish there, the fish swimming and sporting in the roof, so that the
lords may look at the roof, and marvel what magnificence is this. And
let there be victuals and golden dishes and silver spoons, and one cup
being drained and one cup filled.’
That day it was ready.
‘And let me have a carriage and six horses, and a hundred soldiers for
outriders, and two hundred on either side.’
On the morrow he started for the wedding, he from one place, and she
from another; and they went to the church and were married, and came
home. His brothers came and his father, and a heap of lords. And they
drink and eat, and all kept looking at the roof.
When they had eaten and drunk, he asked the lords, ‘What they would do
to him who seeks to slay his brother?’
His brothers heard. ‘Such a one merits death.’
Then he washed himself with the other water, and his face became as it
was. Thus his brothers knew him. And he said, ‘Good day to you,
brothers. You fancied I had perished. You have pronounced your own
doom. Come out with me, and toss your swords up in the air. If you
acted fairly by me, it will fall before you, but if unfairly, it will
fall on your head.’
The three of them tossed up their swords, and that of the youngest fell
before him, but theirs both fell on their head, and they died.
‘The Seer’ belongs to the same group as Miklosich’s ‘Mare’s Son’
(No. 20), Grimm’s ‘Strong Hans,’ and Cosquin’s ‘Jean de l’Ours.’
Its first half is largely identical with that of Ralston’s ‘Koschei
the Dauntless’ (pp. 100–103), its latter half more closely with
that of Ralston’s ‘The Norka’ (pp. 75–80). There also the prince
engages himself to a tailor: but, whilst in our Gypsy version the
change in his appearance is satisfactorily accounted for, the
Russian says merely, ‘So much the worse for wear was he, so
thoroughly had he altered in appearance, that nobody would have
suspected him of being a prince.’ The striking parallel with No.
120 of the Gesta Romanorum has been noticed in the Introduction;
minor points of resemblance may be glanced at here. The mist that
descends, and the carrying off of the empress, may be matched from
Hahn, ii. 49, and Dietrich’s Russische Volksmärchen (Leip. 1831),
No. 5. For the cross-roads, compare Hahn, ii. 50, and the
Welsh-Gypsy story of ‘An Old King and his Three Sons’ (No. 55),
where likewise the younger of three sons goes to the left. Figs
causing horns to grow occur in Hahn, i. 257 (cf. also Grimm, ii.
421–422; and De Gubernatis’ Zool. Myth. i. 182). The box with the
little lord belongs to the Aladdin cycle (cf. Welsh-Gypsy story,
‘Jack and his Golden Snuffbox,’ No. 54; Grimm, ii. 258; and
Clouston, i. 314–346). For the engagement to court-tailor as
apprentice, cf. Grimm, ii. 388; for washing the face, Grimm, ii.
145; for pronouncing one’s own doom, Grimm, i. 59; and for the
concluding ordeal the close of our No. 20, p. 79. In a Lesbian
story, ‘Les trois Fils du Roi’ (Georgeakis and Pineau’s Folk-lore
de Lesbos, No. 7, p. 41), the hero also turns tailor, the youngest
maiden having given him three nuts containing three superb dresses.
NO. 24.—THE PRINCE, HIS COMRADE, AND NASTASA THE FAIR
There was an emperor with an only son; and he put him to school, to
learn to read. And he said to his father, ‘Father, find me a comrade,
for I’m tired of going to school.’ The emperor summoned his servants,
and sent them out into the world to find a boy, and gave them a
carriageful of ducats, and described what he was to be like, and how
old. So they traversed all the world, and found a boy, and gave a
carriageful of ducats for him, and brought him to the emperor. The
emperor clothed him, and put him to the school; and he was the better
scholar of the two.
There was an empress, the lovely Nastasa. [75] A virgin she, who
commanded her army. And she had a horse, which twelve men led forth
from the stable; and she had a sword, which twelve more men hung on its
peg. And princes came to seek her, and she said, ‘He who shall mount my
horse, him will I marry, and he who shall brandish my sword.’ And when
they led forth the steed, and the suitors beheld it, they feared, and
departed home.
The emperor’s son said, ‘Father, I will go to Nastasa the Fair, to woo
her’; and he said, ‘Come with me, brother.’ Their father gave them two
horses, and gave them plenty of ducats; and they set out to Nastasa the
Fair. And night came upon them, and they rested and made a fire.
And the emperor’s son said, ‘If I had Nastasa the Fair here, I would
stretch myself by her side; and if her horse were here, what a rattling
I’d give him; and if her sword were here, I would brandish it.’
And his brother said, ‘All the same, you’ve got to feed swine.’
And in the morning they journey till night, and at night they rested
again. Again he said, ‘If I had Nastasa the Fair here, I would stretch
myself by her side; and if her horse were here, I would rattle him; and
if her sword were here, I would brandish it.’
‘Brother, you’ve got to feed swine.’
He cut off his head with his sword, and went onward. And two Huculs
[76] came, and put his head on again, and sprinkled the water of life.
And he arose, and mounted his horse, and gave each of the Huculs a
handful of ducats. And he went after his brother, and caught him up on
the road. And they journeyed till night, and he said to his brother,
‘Brother, if you will hearken to me, it will go well with you.’
‘I will, brother.’ He came to Nastasa the Fair.
‘What have you come for?’
‘We have come to demand your hand.’
And she said, ‘Good, but will you mount my steed?’
‘I will.’
She cried to her servants, ‘Bring forth the steed.’
Twelve men brought him forth; the comrade mounted him. The horse flew
up aloft with him, to cast him down. And he took his club, and kept
knocking him over the head.
The horse said, ‘Don’t kill me.’
‘Let yourself gently down with me, and fall beneath me, and I will take
you by the tail and drag you along the ground, that she may see how I
treat you.’
He cried aloud, ‘What a poor, wretched horse you have given me. [77]
Bring the sword, that I brandish it.’
Twelve men brought the sword; he brandished it, and flung it to the
Ninth Region. There was Paul the Wild; he was nailed to the roof by the
palms of his hands. And thither he flung the sword; it cut off his
hands, and he fled away.
They summoned the prince to table to eat, and set him at table, and
twelve servants ate with him. They kept squeezing him, and he said,
‘I’ll step outside into the fresh air.’ He went out, and said to his
brother, ‘Come, do you sit here, for I’m off.’
So he sat there in their midst, and they kept squeezing him. And he
took his club, and began to lay about with it. And he said, ‘This is
your way of showing one honour.’ They fled and departed.
At nightfall now it grew dark, and Nastasa the Fair called the prince
to her. He went to her. She set her foot on him, and picked him up, and
he was like to die.
And he said, ‘Let me go into the fresh air.’
She said, ‘Go.’
He went out, and said to his brother, ‘Stay you here, for I’m off.’
And he went and lay down beside her. She set her foot on him. He took
his club and thrashed her with it, so that he left in her only the
strength of a mere woman.
He went out, went to his brother. ‘Well, brother, now you can go, and
don’t be frightened; but, when you come to her, give her a slap.’
He went to her, gave her a slap, and slept beside her. In the morning
they went out for a walk, and she said to him, ‘My lord, what a
thrashing you gave me! yet when you came back you kissed me.’ [78]
And he said to her, ‘I didn’t kiss you, I gave you a slap.’
‘Who then was it thrashed me?’
‘My brother.’
She said not a word.
The brother slept by himself in another room. And she took the sword
and cut off his feet. He made himself a winged cart; it ran a mile when
he gave it a shove. And he found Paul the Wild, and said, ‘Where are
you going to, brother?’
‘I am going into the world to get my living, for I have no hands.’
‘Ha! let’s become Brothers of the Cross, [79] and do you yoke yourself
to the cart, and draw it gently, for you have feet.’
They went a-begging, and went into the woods and found a house, and
took up their abode in it. And they went into a city and begged. A girl
came to give him an alms; and he caught her, and threw her into the
cart, and fled with her into the forest, there where their house was.
And they swore they would not commit sin with her. The devil came, and
lay with her. And they heard, and arose in the morning.
And Dorohýj Kúpec [80] asked, ‘You swore. Why then did you go in to her
and commit sin?’
‘It wasn’t me, brother, for I too heard, and I thought it was you.’
‘He’ll come this night, and do you take me in the stumps of your hands,
and fling me on to them; I’ll seize him, whoever he is.’
At night he came to her, and lay with her. They heard, and Paul took
him and flung him on to them. He seized the devil, and they lit the
candle, and began to beat him. And he prayed them not to, ‘for I will
restore you your feet, and likewise him his hands.’ In the morning they
bound him by the neck, and led him to a spring.
‘Put your feet in the spring.’
He put his feet in the spring, and his feet became as they were before.
And Paul put his hands in, and his hands were likewise restored. And
Dorohýj Kúpec put some of the water of life in one pail, and some of
the water of death in another. And he came back to their house; and
they made a fire, put a fagot of wood on the fire, and burnt the devil,
and flung his ashes to the wind. And Dorohýj Kúpec said, ‘Now, brother,
do you take that girl to yourself, and live with her, for I will go to
my brother.’
He set out, and went to his brother, and found his brother by the
roadside feeding swine.
‘Well, do you mind my telling you, brother, you’d come to feed swine?
Do you put on my clothes, and give me yours, for I’ll turn swineherd,
and do you stay behind.’
He took and drove the swine home, and she cried, ‘Why have you driven
the swine home so soon?’
The swine went into the sty, and one wouldn’t go; and he took a cudgel
and beat it so that it died. And when Nastasa the Fair saw that, she
fled into the palace, ‘for this is Dorohýj Kúpec.’
He followed her into the palace, and said to her, ‘Good day to you,
sister-in-law.’
‘Thanks,’ said she.
He caught her by the hand and dragged her out, and cut her all in
pieces, and made three heaps of them; and two heaps he gave to the
dogs, and they devoured them. And the rest of her he gathered into a
single heap, and made a woman, and sprinkled her with the water of
death, and she joined together; and sprinkled her with the water of
life, and she arose.
‘Take her, brother; now you may live with her, for now she has no great
strength. I will go home,’ said Dorohýj Kúpec.
And home he went.
This Gypsy story is absolutely identical with the widespread
Russian one of ‘The Blind Man and the Cripple’ (Ralston, pp.
240–256). The Russian version as a whole is fuller and more
perfect; yet neither from it, nor, seemingly, from any of its
variants, can the Gypsy tale be derived. The opening of the latter
comes much closer to that of Hahn’s story from Syra (ii. 267), a
variant of the Turkish-Gypsy story of ‘The Dead Man’s Gratitude’
(No. 1), and surely itself of Gypsy origin. Here a king has an only
son, and puts him to school; and the vizier, sent in quest of
another lad, buys a beautiful Gypsy boy with a voice like a
nightingale’s. He, too, is put to school, and proves the better
scholar of the two.
In Ralston, as in Hahn, ii. 268, the prince falls in love through a
portrait (cf. supra, p. 4). In Ralston Princess Anna the Fair
propounds a riddle, as in the Turkish-Gypsy story of ‘The Riddle’
(No. 3), where, too, she consults her book (cf. Ralston, p. 242).
In Ralston there is no quarrel, and no cutting off of head; nothing
also of the heroic sword. The squeezing by the servants is wanting
in the Russian tale, but the sleeping with the bride occurs in a
variant, and Ralston cites a striking parallel from the
Nibelungenlied. The comrade in Ralston, after his feet are cut off,
falls in with a blind hero; the devil—a late survival of the
mediæval incubus—is represented by a Baba Yaga; and the prince is
made a cowherd (but a swineherd in two of the variants). The finale
in Ralston is extremely poor—best in the Ryazan variant, where the
comrade beats the enchantress-queen with red-hot bars until he has
driven out of her all her magic strength, ‘leaving her only one
woman’s strength, and that a very poor one.’ In the winged cart we
seem to get a forecast of the tricycle.
NO. 25.—THE HEN THAT LAID DIAMONDS
There was a poor man, and he had three sons. And the youngest found six
kreutzers, and said, ‘Take, father, these six kreutzers, and go into
the town and buy something.’ And the old man went into the town and
bought a hen, and brought it home; and the hen laid a diamond egg. And
he put it in the window, and it shone like a candle. And in the morning
the old man arose and said, ‘Wife, I will go into the town with this
egg.’ And he went into the town, and went to a merchant. ‘Buy this
egg.’
‘What do you want for it?’
‘Give me a hundred florins.’
He gave him a hundred florins. The old man went home and bought himself
food, and put the boys to school. And the hen laid another egg, and he
brought it again to that merchant, and he gave him a hundred more
florins. He went home. Again the hen laid an egg; he brought it again
to that merchant. And on the egg there was written: ‘Whoso eats the
hen’s head shall be emperor; and whoso eats the heart, every night he
shall find a thousand gold pieces under his head; and whoso eats the
claws shall become a seer.’
The merchant came to that village and hired the old man: ‘What shall I
give you to convey my merchandise?’
‘Give me a hundred florins.’
And he hired the man with the hen for half a year. The merchant came to
the man’s wife and said, ‘Your man is dead, and my money is gone with
him, but I’m willing to wed you: I’m rich.’
‘Wedded let us be.’
‘Good, we will, and kill me the hen for the wedding-feast. We shall do
without fiddlers.’ [81]
And they hired a cook. ‘Have the hen ready against our return from
church.’
The boys came home from school. ‘Give us something to eat.’
‘I’ve nothing to give you, for he told me not to give any of the hen.’
And the boys begged her, ‘Do let us have a bit too, for it was we
looked after the hen; do let us have a bit too, if it’s ever so
little.’
She gave the eldest the head, and the middle one the heart, and to the
youngest she gave the claws. And they went off to school.
And they came from the wedding, and sat down to table; and he said to
the cook, ‘Give us to eat.’
And she served up the hen to them. And he asked for the head and the
heart, and he asked for the claws. There were none!
And he asked the cook, ‘Where is the head?’
She said, ‘The boys ate it.’
And he, that merchant, said, ‘I don’t want any of this hen. Give me the
head and the heart and the claws; I will eat only them.’
The cook said, ‘The boys ate them.’
And he said, ‘Wife, make them bitter coffee to make them vomit.’
And they came home from school, and the youngest boy said, ‘Don’t drink
this coffee, it will kill you.’ [82]
They went home, and their mother gave them the coffee; and they poured
it on the ground and went back to school.
The merchant came and asked, ‘Were they sick?’
She answered, ‘No.’
‘I will go to the town and buy apples; and do you entice them into the
cellar, and I will cut their throats, and take out head, heart, and
claws, and eat them.’
The youngest brother said, ‘Let us go out into the world.’
‘Go! what for?’
‘Our father is meaning to kill us.’
They departed, and went into another kingdom. The emperor there was
dead; and they took his crown and put it in the church; whosever head
the crown falls on he shall be emperor. And men of all ranks came into
the church; and the three boys came. And the eldest went before, and
slipped into the church; and the crown floated on to his head.
‘We have a new emperor.’
They raised him shoulder-high, [83] and clad him in royal robes. A
mandate is issued: There is a new emperor. The army came and bowed
before the new emperor.
And the middle brother said, ‘I’m off. I shan’t stay here. I want to be
emperor too.’
And the youngest said, ‘I shall stay.’
So the middle one departed, and went to another emperor; that emperor
had a daughter. And thus said the emperor, ‘Whoever surpasses her in
money, he shall marry her.’
He went to her. ‘Come, let us play for money.’
They started playing; he beat her. One day they played, and two not.
And he surpassed her in money, and wedded her. And the emperor joined
them in marriage, and made him king.
And she had a lover. And that lover sent her a letter: ‘Ask him where
he gets all his money from.’
And she asked him: ‘My lord, where do you get all your money from, that
you managed to beat me?’
‘Every night I find a thousand gold pieces under my head.’
‘How so?’
‘I ate a hen’s heart.’
She wrote a letter and sent it to her lover: ‘He ate a hen’s heart, and
every night he finds a thousand gold pieces under his head.’
And he sent her another letter: ‘Make him coffee, that he vomit—vomit
that heart up. And do you take it and eat it; then I’ll marry you.’
She made him coffee, and he drank it, and vomited up the heart; and she
took it and ate it. And she went to her father. ‘Come, father, see how
he vomits. He’s not the man for me.’
The emperor saw how he vomited. ‘Here, off you go. I don’t want your
sort.’ And he took all his clothes off him, and gave him common
clothes. And he departed.
He went into the forest, and he hungered, and he came to an apple-tree.
He took an apple and ate it, and became an ass. He goes weeping, goes
onward, and found a crab-apple, and ate one of its apples, and became a
man again. He turned back and took two apples, and took two also of the
crab-apples, and went to the city where his wife was. And he stood by
the roadside, and his wife went out to walk.
‘Are your apples for sale, my man?’
‘They are.’
He sold her an apple. She took a bite of it, and became a she-ass. He
took her by the mane, and put a bridle on her head, and got on her, and
galloped with her into the town, and went with her to an inn, and
ordered bitter coffee, and poured it into her mouth; and she vomited,
and vomited, and vomited up the heart. And he took it and ate it, and
said, ‘Now, I’m master.’ And he went to his father-in-law: ‘I demand
justice; this is your daughter.’
The emperor summoned his ministers, but he said, ‘I don’t want you to
pass judgment; come with me to the new emperor.’
So they went to the new emperor. And the emperor drives in his
carriage, and he goes riding on his wife.
And the youngest brother said, ‘My brother will appeal to you for
judgment; deliver a good one.’
The emperors met, and bowed themselves; and the father-in-law said,
‘Deliver judgment for this man.’
‘I will. You have made her a she-ass; make her a woman again.’
‘But she’ll have to behave herself in the future.’
‘She shall,’ said her father, ‘only do restore her.’
He gave her a crab-apple, and she ate it, and became a woman again. The
emperor took off his crown and set it on his head. ‘Do you take my
crown, do you be emperor.’
‘Das goldene Hahn,’ a Greek story from Ziza (Hahn, No. 36, i. 227),
presents a very close parallel:—The Jew knows that whoever eats the
head will be king, whoever eats the heart will be able to read
men’s hearts, and whoever eats the liver will every morning find a
thousand piastres under his pillow.... The three boys, coming from
school, eat them.... Their mother tries to poison them.... By
advice of the middle boy they do not eat.... Finally they go out
into the world.
The episode of the crown, suggestive of the Arthurian legend, is
wanting in Hahn. The notion of a contest in money occurs, to the
best of my knowledge, in no other folk-tale; but we meet with it in
the second fytt of the English ballad of ‘The Blind Beggar of
Bethnal Green.’ And at Peterborough Fair, in September 1872, a
Gypsy told me, as a matter of history, of a similar contest between
two Gypsies: each had to show a guinea for the other’s.
Grimm’s ‘Two Brothers’ (No. 60, i. 244, 418), with its variants,
should be carefully compared, also his ‘Donkey Cabbages’ (No. 122,
ii. 139, 419), which is a recast of the latter portion of our
Bukowina-Gypsy story, for we get bird’s heart ... gold pieces under
pillow ... emetic ... donkey cabbage ... recovery through different
kind of cabbage ... punishment ... restoration ... emetic proposed.
It is noteworthy also that the conclusion of Grimm’s ‘Two Brothers’
can be matched by the conclusion of a Hungarian-Gypsy story
(Friedrich Müller’s No. 5), whose first half I have summarised on
p. 34. Its hero next comes to a city deprived of its water by
twelve dragons, who are also going to eat the king’s daughter. He
undertakes to rescue her, but falls asleep with his head on her
knee. The twelve white dragons roar under the earth, and then
emerge one by one from out of the fountain, to be torn in pieces by
the hero’s twelve wild animals. The water becomes plentiful, and
the hero marries the princess. But a former lover of hers poisons
him. The twelve animals find his grave, and dig him up. They go in
quest of the healing herb; and the hare, ‘whose eyes are always
open, sees a snake with it in his mouth, robs the snake of it, and
runs off, but at the snake’s request restores a portion.’ They then
resuscitate their master. (Cf. Grimm’s ‘The Two Snake-leaves,’ No.
16, i. 70; Hahn, ii. 204, 260, 274; and our Bukowina-Gypsy story,
‘Pretty-face,’ No. 29, p. 111). The hero sends a challenge by the
lion to the former lover, who is just about to wed the princess.
She reads, weeps, and breaks off the match. In comes the hero, and
they are married again. ‘If they are not dead, they are still
alive.’