Somewhere or other, but I don’t know where, there lived a king who
owned two remarkably fine fields of rape, but every night two of the
rape heaps were burnt down in one of the fields. The king was extremely
angry at this, and sent out soldiers to catch whoever had set fire to
the ricks; but it was all of no use—not a soul could they see. Then he
offered nine hundred crowns to anyone who caught the evil-doer, and at
the same time ordered that whoever did not keep proper watch over the
fields should be killed; but though there were a great many people,
none seemed able to protect the fields.
The king had already put ninety-nine people to death, when a little
swineherd came to him who had two dogs; one was called “Psst,” and the
other “Hush”; and the boy told the king that he would watch over the
ricks.
When it grew dark he climbed up on the top of the fourth rick, from
where he could see the whole field. About eleven o’clock he thought he
saw someone going to a rick and putting a light to it. “Just you wait,”
thought he, and called out to his dogs: “Hi! Psst, Hush, catch him!”
But Psst and Hush had not waited for orders, and in five minutes the
man was caught.
Next morning he was brought bound before the king, who was so pleased
with the boy that he gave him a thousand crowns at once. The prisoner
was all covered with hair, almost like an animal; and altogether he was
so curious to look at that the king locked him up in a strong room and
sent out letters of invitation to all the other kings and princes
asking them to come and see this wonder.
That was all very well; but the king had a little boy of ten years old
who went to look at the hairy man also, and the man begged so hard to
be set free that the boy took pity on him. He stole the key of the
strong room from his mother and opened the door. Then he took the key
back, but the hairy man escaped and went off into the world.
Then the kings and princes began to arrive one after another, and all
were most anxious to see the hairy man; but he was gone! The king
nearly burst with rage and with the shame he felt. He questioned his
wife sharply, and told her that if she could not find and bring back
the hairy man he would put her in a hut made of rushes and burn her
there. The queen declared she had had nothing to do with the matter; if
her son had happened to take the key it had not been with her
knowledge.
So they fetched the little prince and asked him all sorts of questions,
and at last he owned that he had let the hairy man out. The king
ordered his servants to take the boy into the forest and to kill him
there, and to bring back part of his liver and lungs.
There was grief all over the palace when the king’s command was known,
for he was a great favourite. But there was no help for it, and they
took the boy out into the forest. But the man was sorry for him, and
shot a dog and carried pieces of his lungs and liver to the king, who
was satisfied, and did not trouble himself any more.
The prince wandered about in the forest and lived as best he could for
five years. One day he came upon a poor little cottage in which was an
old man. They began to talk, and the prince told his story and sad
fate. Then they recognised each other, for the old fellow was no other
than the hairy man whom the prince had set free, and who had lived ever
since in the forest.
The prince stayed here for two years; then he wished to go further. The
old man begged him hard to stay, but he would not, so his hairy friend
gave him a golden apple out of which came a horse with a golden mane,
and a golden staff with which to guide the horse. The old man also gave
him a silver apple out of which came the most beautiful hussars and a
silver staff; and a copper apple from which he could draw as many foot
soldiers as ever he wished, and a copper staff. He made the prince
swear solemnly to take the greatest care of these presents, and then he
let him go.
The boy wandered on and on till he came to a large town. Here he took
service in the king’s palace, and as no one troubled themselves about
him he lived quietly on.
One day news was brought to the king that he must go out to war. He was
horribly frightened for he had a very small army, but he had to go all
the same.
When they had all left, the prince said to the housekeeper:
“Give me leave to go to the next village—I owe a small bill there, and
I want to go and pay it”; and as there was nothing to be done in the
palace the housekeeper gave him leave.
When he got beyond the town he took out his golden apple, and when the
horse sprang out he swung himself into the saddle. Then he took the
silver and the copper apples, and with all these fine soldiers he
joined the king’s army.
The king saw them approach with fear in his heart, for he did not know
if it might not be an enemy; but the prince rode up, and bowed low
before him. “I bring your Majesty reinforcements,” said he.
The king was delighted, and all dread of his enemy at once disappeared.
The princesses were there too, and they were very friendly with the
prince and begged him to get into their carriage so as to talk to them.
But he declined, and remained on horseback, as he did not know at what
moment the battle might begin; and whilst they were all talking
together the youngest princess, who was also the loveliest, took off
her ring, and her sister tore her handkerchief in two pieces, and they
gave these gifts to the prince.
Suddenly the enemy came in sight. The king asked whether his army or
the prince’s should lead the way; but the prince set off first and with
his hussars he fought so bravely that only two of the enemy were left
alive, and these two were only spared to act as messengers.
The king was overjoyed and so were his daughters at this brilliant
victory. As they drove home they begged the prince to join them, but he
would not come, and galloped off with his hussars.
When he got near the town he packed his soldiers and his fine horse all
carefully into the apple again, and then strolled into the town. On his
return to the palace he was well scolded by the housekeeper for staying
away so long.
Well, the whole matter might have ended there; but it so happened that
the younger princess had fallen in love with the prince, as he had with
her. And as he had no jewels with him, he gave her the copper apple and
staff.
One day, as the princesses were talking with their father, the younger
one asked him whether it might not have been their servant who had
helped him so much. The king was quite angry at the idea; but, to
satisfy her, he ordered the servant’s room to be searched. And there,
to everyone’s surprise, they found the golden ring and the half of the
handkerchief. When these were brought to the king he sent for the
prince at once and asked if it had been he who had come to their
rescue.
“Yes, your Majesty, it was I,” answered the prince.
“But where did you get your army?”
“If you wish to see it, I can show it you outside the city walls.”
And so he did; but first he asked for the copper apple from the younger
princess, and when all the soldiers were drawn up there were such
numbers that there was barely room for them.
The king gave him his daughter and kingdom as a reward for his aid, and
when he heard that the prince was himself a king’s son his joy knew no
bounds. The prince packed all his soldiers carefully up once more, and
they went back into the town.
Not long after there was a grand wedding; perhaps they may all be alive
still, but I don’t know.
To Your Good Health!
Long, long ago there lived a king who was such a mighty monarch that
whenever he sneezed every one in the whole country had to say “To your
good health!” Every one said it except the shepherd with the staring
eyes, and he would not say it.
The king heard of this and was very angry, and sent for the shepherd to
appear before him.
The shepherd came and stood before the throne, where the king sat
looking very grand and powerful. But however grand or powerful he might
be the shepherd did not feel a bit afraid of him.
“Say at once, ‘To my good health!’” cried the king.
“To my good health!” replied the shepherd.
“To mine—to mine, you rascal, you vagabond!” stormed the king.
“To mine, to mine, your Majesty,” was the answer.
“But to mine—to my own,” roared the king, and beat on his breast in a
rage.
“Well, yes; to mine, of course, to my own,” cried the shepherd, and
gently tapped his breast.
The king was beside himself with fury and did not know what to do, when
the Lord Chamberlain interfered:
“Say at once—say this very moment: ‘To your health, your Majesty’; for
if you don’t say it you’ll lose your life, whispered he.
“No, I won’t say it till I get the princess for my wife,” was the
shepherd’s answer. Now the princess was sitting on a little throne
beside the king, her father, and she looked as sweet and lovely as a
little golden dove. When she heard what the shepherd said she could not
help laughing, for there is no denying the fact that this young
shepherd with the staring eyes pleased her very much; indeed he pleased
her better than any king’s son she had yet seen.
But the king was not as pleasant as his daughter, and he gave orders to
throw the shepherd into the white bear’s pit.
The guards led him away and thrust him into the pit with the white
bear, who had had nothing to eat for two days and was very hungry. The
door of the pit was hardly closed when the bear rushed at the shepherd;
but when it saw his eyes it was so frightened that it was ready to eat
itself. It shrank away into a corner and gazed at him from there, and,
in spite of being so famished, did not dare to touch him, but sucked
its own paws from sheer hunger. The shepherd felt that if he once
removed his eyes off the beast he was a dead man, and in order to keep
himself awake he made songs and sang them, and so the night went by.
Next morning the Lord Chamberlain came to see the shepherd’s bones, and
was amazed to find him alive and well. He led him to the king, who fell
into a furious passion, and said: “Well, you have learned what it is to
be very near death, and now will you say ‘To my good health’?”
But the shepherd answered: “I am not afraid of ten deaths! I will only
say it if I may have the princess for my wife.”
“Then go to your death,” cried the king; and ordered him to be thrown
into the den with the wild boars. The wild boars had not been fed for a
week, and when the shepherd was thrust into their don they rushed at
him to tear him to pieces. But the shepherd took a little flute out of
the sleeve of his jacket and began to play a merry tune, on which the
wild boars first of all shrank shyly away, and then got up on their
hind legs and danced gaily. The shepherd would have given anything to
be able to laugh, they looked so funny; but he dared not stop playing,
for he knew well enough that the moment he stopped they would fall upon
him and tear him to pieces. His eyes were of no use to him here, for he
could not have stared ten wild boars in the face at once; so he kept on
playing, and the wild boars danced very slowly, as if in a minuet, then
by degrees he played faster and faster till they could hardly twist and
turn quickly enough, and ended by all falling over each other in a
heap, quite exhausted and out of breath.
Then the shepherd ventured to laugh at last; and he laughed so long and
so loud that when the Lord Chamberlain came early in the morning,
expecting to find only his bones, the tears were still running down his
cheeks from laughter.
As soon as the king was dressed the shepherd was again brought before
him; but he was more angry than ever to think the wild boars had not
torn the man to bits, and he said: “Well, you have learned what it
feels to be near ten deaths, now say ‘To my good health!’”
But the shepherd broke in with, “I do not fear a hundred deaths, and I
will only say it if I may have the princess for my wife.”
“Then go to a hundred deaths!” roared the king, and ordered the
shepherd to be thrown down the deep vault of scythes.
The guards dragged him away to a dark dungeon, in the middle of which
was a deep well with sharp scythes all round it. At the bottom of the
well was a little light by which one could see if anyone was thrown in
whether he had fallen to the bottom.
When the shepherd was dragged to the dungeons he begged the guards to
leave him alone a little while that he might look down into the pit of
scythes; perhaps he might after all make up his mind to say “To your
good health” to the king. So the guards left him alone and he stuck up
his long stick near the well, hung his cloak round the stick and put
his hat on the top. He also hung his knapsack up inside the cloak so
that it might seem to have some body within it. When this was done he
called out to the guards and said that he had considered the matter but
after all he could not make up his mind to say what the king wished.
The guards came in, threw the hat and cloak, knapsack and stick all
down the well together, watched to see how they put out the light at
the bottom and came away, thinking that now there really was an end of
the shepherd. But he had hidden in a dark corner and was laughing to
himself all the time.
Quite early next morning came the Lord Chamberlain, carrying a lamp and
he nearly fell backwards with surprise when he saw the shepherd alive
and well. He brought him to the king, whose fury was greater than ever,
but who cried:
“Well, now you have been near a hundred deaths; will you say: ‘To your
good health’?”
But the shepherd only gave the same answer:
“I won’t say it till the princess is my wife.”
“Perhaps after all you may do it for less,” said the king, who saw that
there was no chance of making away with the shepherd; and he ordered
the state coach to be got ready, then he made the shepherd get in with
him and sit beside him, and ordered the coachman to drive to the silver
wood. When they reached it he said: “Do you see this silver wood? Well,
if you will say, ‘To your good health,’ I will give it to you.”
The shepherd turned hot and cold by turns, but he still persisted:
“I will not say it till the princess is my wife.”
The king was much vexed; he drove further on till they came to a
splendid castle, all of gold, and then he said:
“Do you see this golden castle? Well, I will give you that too, the
silver wood and the golden castle, if only you will say that one thing
to me: ‘To your good health.’”
The shepherd gaped and wondered and was quite dazzled, but he still
said:
“No; I will not say it till I have the princess for my wife.”
This time the king was overwhelmed with grief, and gave orders to drive
on to the diamond pond, and there he tried once more.
“Do you see this diamond pond? I will give you that too, the silver
wood and the golden castle and the diamond pond. You shall have them
all—all—if you will but say: ‘To your good health!’”
The shepherd had to shut his staring eyes tight not to be dazzled with
the brilliant pond, but still he said:
“No, no; I will not say it till I have the princess for my wife.”
Then the king saw that all his efforts were useless, and that he might
as well give in, so he said:
“Well, well, it’s all the same to me—I will give you my daughter to
wife; but, then, you really and truly must say to me: ‘To your good
health.’”
“Of course I’ll say it; why should I not say it? It stands to reason
that I shall say it then.”
At this the king was more delighted than anyone could have believed. He
made it known all through the country that there were to be great
rejoicings, as the princess was going to be married. And everyone
rejoiced to think that the princess, who had refused so many royal
suitors, should have ended by falling in love with the staring-eyed
shepherd.
There was such a wedding as had never been seen. Everyone ate and drank
and danced. Even the sick were feasted, and quite tiny new-born
children had presents given them.
But the greatest merry-making was in the king’s palace; there the best
bands played and the best food was cooked; a crowd of people sat down
to table, and all was fun and merry-making.
And when the groomsman, according to custom, brought in the great
boar’s head on a big dish and placed it before the king so that he
might carve it and give everyone a share, the savoury smell was so
strong that the king began to sneeze with all his might.
“To your very good health,” cried the shepherd before anyone else, and
the king was so delighted that he did not regret having given him his
daughter.
In time, when the old king died, the shepherd succeeded him. He made a
very good king and never expected his people to wish him well against
their wills; but, all the same, everyone did wish him well, for they
all loved him.
[From Russische Mährchen.]