egg to the goldsmith to sell it. The goldsmith examined it and said:
"I don't believe I have money enough to buy this egg."
"Just give me some bread," the boy said. "That will be enough."
The goldsmith gave him two loaves of bread, one under each arm, and
filled his pockets with golden ducats. So for once the whole family
had all it could eat and still there was money left over.
Two days later the bird laid another golden egg which the boy carried
to the goldsmith and sold for the same price.
Now the goldsmith had a son who said he would like to see this
wonderful bird. So he went home with the boy. He looked the bird over
very carefully and under its wings he discovered an inscription that
no one else had seen. The inscription read:
_Whoever eats my heart will become king._
_Whoever eats my gizzard will find under his head each
morning a heap of golden ducats._
The youth went home and told his father about the strange inscription.
They talked the matter over and at last decided that it would be well
for the young man to marry the poor man's oldest daughter provided he
could get the golden bird as dowry.
The goldsmith went to see the girl's father and after some discussion
the marriage was arranged.
The wedding day arrived. The bridegroom ordered the bird to be
roasted and ready to be put on the table when the bridal party came
home from church. It was his intention to eat the heart himself and
have his bride eat the gizzard.
The children of the family cried bitterly at the thought of losing
their pretty bird, but the bridegroom, of course, had his way.
Now two of the boys stayed home from the wedding and they decided that
they would like very much to taste the roast bird if only they could
find a piece that nobody would miss. They did not dare take a leg or a
wing, but they thought it would be safe to pick out a morsel from the
inside. So one boy ate the heart, the other the gizzard. Then they
were so frightened at what they had done that they ran away and never
came back.
When the bride and groom returned from church, the bird was carried to
the table. The groom looked at once for the heart and the gizzard and
was greatly shocked at their disappearance.
The two boys who had gone out into the world found work with a
merchant. They slept together and every morning the merchant's wife
found a heap of golden ducats under the feather bed. She didn't know
to which boy they belonged. She took them and saved them for a whole
year until they filled a hogshead.
At the end of a year the boys decided to go out again into the world.
The merchant showed them all the ducats his wife had found in their
bed and he said to them:
"Take with you as many as you want now and when you come back you may
have the rest."
The brothers parted company and each set out alone, the one to the
left, the other to the right.
The younger brother came to a tavern. The landlady had two daughters
who were so sharp at cards that they very soon won all the money he
had. When he was picked clean he asked them to stop playing until the
next morning when he would again have plenty of money.
Sure enough in the morning when he got up he had all the money he
wanted. The girls asked him where it came from and he told them.
When they heard about the gizzard he had swallowed, they put something
in his wine that made him sick at his stomach and he threw up the
gizzard. The younger girl instantly snatched it, washed it, and
swallowed it herself. Then as he had no more money they drove the poor
boy away.
As he wandered in the fields he grew very hungry. He came to a meadow
where he found a kind of sorrel that he ate. As soon as he ate it he
turned into a goat and went jumping about the bushes nibbling at the
leaves. He chanced to eat a kind of leaf that changed him back into
himself.
"Ah," he thought, "now I know what to do!"
He picked some of the sorrel and some of the other leaves and went
straight back to the tavern. He told them there that he was bringing
them a present of a new kind of spinach that tasted very good. They
asked him would he cook it for them.
The cook tasted it and at once she turned into a goat. The serving
maid came into the kitchen and when she saw a goat there she drove it
out. The youth asked the maid would she like to taste the new spinach.
She tasted it and immediately she turned into a goat. Then when the
landlady and her two daughters tasted it they, too, turned into goats.
He fed the cook and the serving maid some of the other leaves and they
turned back into themselves. But the other three he left as goats.
He made halters for them and then he hitched them up and drove off.
He drove on and on until he came to a town where the king was
building himself a castle. Now this king was his brother who had eaten
the magic bird's heart. The king's workmen were hauling stone for the
new castle, so he decided to put his goats to work hauling stone. He
loaded his cart heavier than all the other carts.
The king noticed him and recognized him and asked him where he got
those goats. So he told the king the whole story. The king thought the
goats had been punished long enough and begged his brother to have
pity on them and restore them. He took the king's advice and did so.
When they were once more human beings, he married the girl who had
swallowed the gizzard. They soon became very rich, for every morning
there was a heap of golden ducats under her head.
THE WOOD MAIDEN
THE STORY OF BETUSHKA AND THE GOLDEN BIRCH LEAVES
[Illustration: {Two birds}]
THE WOOD MAIDEN
Betushka was a little girl. Her mother was a poor widow with nothing
but a tumble-down cottage and two little nanny-goats. But poor as they
were Betushka was always cheerful. From spring till autumn she
pastured the goats in the birch wood. Every morning when she left home
her mother gave her a little basket with a slice of bread and a
spindle.
"See that you bring home a full spindle," her mother always said.
Betushka had no distaff, so she wound the flax around her head. Then
she took the little basket and went romping and singing behind the
goats to the birch wood. When they got there she sat down under a tree
and pulled the fibers of the flax from her head with her left hand,
and with her right hand let down the spindle so that it went humming
along the ground. All the while she sang until the woods echoed and
the little goats nibbled away at the leaves and grass.
When the sun showed midday, she put the spindle aside, called the
goats and gave them a mouthful of bread so that they wouldn't stray,
and ran off into the woods to hunt berries or any other wild fruit
that was in season. Then when she had finished her bread and fruit,
she jumped up, folded her arms, and danced and sang.
The sun smiled at her through the green of the trees and the little
goats, resting on the grass, thought: "What a merry little shepherdess
we have!"
After her dance she went back to her spinning and worked
industriously. In the evening when she got home her mother never had
to scold her because the spindle was empty.
One day at noon just after she had eaten and, as usual, was going to
dance, there suddenly stood before her a most beautiful maiden. She
was dressed in white gauze that was fine as a spider's web. Long
golden hair fell down to her waist and on her head she wore a wreath
of woodland flowers.
Betushka was speechless with surprise and alarm.
The maiden smiled at her and said in a sweet voice:
"Betushka, do you like to dance?"
Her manner was so gracious that Betushka no longer felt afraid, and
answered:
"Oh, I could dance all day long!"
"Come, then, let us dance together," said the maiden. "I'll teach
you."
With that she tucked up her skirt, put her arm about Betushka's waist,
and they began to dance. At once such enchanting music sounded over
their heads that Betushka's heart went one-two with the dancing. The
musicians sat on the branches of the birch trees. They were clad in
little frock coats, black and gray and many-colored. It was a
carefully chosen orchestra that had gathered at the bidding of the
beautiful maiden: larks, nightingales, finches, linnets, thrushes,
blackbirds, and showy mocking-birds.
Betushka's cheeks burned, her eyes shone. She forgot her spinning, she
forgot her goats. All she could do was gaze at her partner who was
moving with such grace and lightness that the grass didn't seem to
bend under her slender feet.
They danced from noon till sundown and yet Betushka wasn't the least
bit tired. Then they stopped dancing, the music ceased, and the maiden
disappeared as suddenly as she had come.
Betushka looked around. The sun was sinking behind the wood. She put
her hands to the unspun flax on her head and remembered the spindle
that was lying unfilled on the grass. She took down the flax and laid
it with the spindle in the little basket. Then she called the goats
and started home.
She reproached herself bitterly that she had allowed the beautiful
maiden to beguile her and she told herself that another time she would
not listen to her. She was so quiet that the little goats, missing her
merry song, looked around to see whether it was really their own
little shepherdess who was following them. Her mother, too, wondered
why she didn't sing and questioned her.
"Are you sick, Betushka?"
"No, dear mother, I'm not sick, but I've been singing too much and my
throat is dry."
She knew that her mother did not reel the yarn at once, so she hid the
spindle and the unspun flax, hoping to make up tomorrow what she had
not done today. She did not tell her mother one word about the
beautiful maiden.
The next day she felt cheerful again and as she drove the goats to
pasture she sang merrily. At the birch wood she sat down to her
spinning, singing all the while, for with a song on the lips work
falls from the hands more easily.
Noonday came. Betushka gave a bit of bread to each of the goats and
ran off to the woods for her berries. Then she ate her luncheon.
"Ah, my little goats," she sighed, as she brushed up the crumbs for
the birds, "I mustn't dance today."
"Why mustn't you dance today?" a sweet voice asked, and there stood
the beautiful maiden as though she had fallen from the clouds.
Betushka was worse frightened than before and she closed her eyes
tight. When the maiden repeated her question, Betushka answered
timidly:
"Forgive me, beautiful lady, for not dancing with you. If I dance with
you I cannot spin my stint and then my mother will scold me. Today
before the sun sets I must make up for what I lost yesterday."
"Come, child, and dance," the maiden said. "Before the sun sets we'll
find some way of getting that spinning done!"
She tucked up her skirt, put her arm about Betushka, the musicians in
the treetops struck up, and off they whirled. The maiden danced more
beautifully than ever. Betushka couldn't take her eyes from her. She
forgot her goats, she forgot her spinning. All she wanted to do was to
dance on forever.
At sundown the maiden paused and the music stopped. Then Betushka,
clasping her hands to her head, where the unspun flax was twined,
burst into tears. The beautiful maiden took the flax from her head,
wound it round the stem of a slender birch, grasped the spindle, and
began to spin. The spindle hummed along the ground and filled in no
time. Before the sun sank behind the woods all the flax was spun, even
that which was left over from the day before. The maiden handed
Betushka the full spindle and said:
"Remember my words:
"_Reel and grumble not!
Reel and grumble not!_"
When she said this, she vanished as if the earth had swallowed her.
Betushka was very happy now and she thought to herself on her way
home: "Since she is so good and kind, I'll dance with her again if she
asks me. Oh, how I hope she does!"
She sang her merry little song as usual and the goats trotted
cheerfully along.
She found her mother vexed with her, for she had wanted to reel
yesterday's yarn and had discovered that the spindle was not full.
"What were you doing yesterday," she scolded, "that you didn't spin
your stint?"
Betushka hung her head. "Forgive me, mother. I danced too long." Then
she showed her mother today's spindle and said: "See, today I more
than made up for yesterday."
Her mother said no more but went to milk the goats and Betushka put
away the spindle. She wanted to tell her mother her adventure, but she
thought to herself: "No, I'll wait. If the beautiful lady comes again,
I'll ask her who she is and then I'll tell mother." So she said
nothing.
On the third morning she drove the goats as usual to the birch wood.
The goats went to pasture and Betushka, sitting down under a tree,
began to spin and sing. When the sun pointed to noon, she laid her
spindle on the grass, gave the goats a mouthful of bread, gathered
some strawberries, ate her luncheon, and then, giving the crumbs to
the birds, she said cheerily:
"Today, my little goats, I will dance for you!"
She jumped up, folded her arms, and was about to see whether she could
move as gracefully as the beautiful maiden, when the maiden herself
stood before her.
"Let us dance together," she said. She smiled at Betushka, put her
arm about her, and as the music above their heads began to play, they
whirled round and round with flying feet. Again Betushka forgot the
spindle and the goats. Again she saw nothing but the beautiful maiden
whose body was lithe as a willow shoot. Again she heard nothing but
the enchanting music to which her feet danced of themselves.
They danced from noon till sundown. Then the maiden paused and the
music ceased. Betushka looked around. The sun was already set behind
the woods. She clasped her hands to her head and looking down at the
unfilled spindle she burst into tears.
"Oh, what will my mother say?" she cried.
"Give me your little basket," the maiden said, "and I will put
something in it that will more than make up for today's stint."
Betushka handed her the basket and the maiden took it and vanished. In
a moment she was back. She returned the basket and said:
"_Look not inside until you're home!
Look not inside until you're home!_"
As she said these words she was gone as if a wind had blown her away.
Betushka wanted awfully to peep inside but she was afraid to. The
basket was so light that she wondered whether there was anything at
all in it. Was the lovely lady only fooling her? Halfway home she
peeped in to see.
Imagine her feelings when she found the basket was full of birch
leaves! Then indeed did Betushka burst into tears and reproach herself
for being so simple. In her vexation she threw out a handful of leaves
and was going to empty the basket when she thought to herself:
"No, I'll keep what's left as litter for the goats."
She was almost afraid to go home. She was so quiet that again the
little goats wondered what ailed their shepherdess.
Her mother was waiting for her in great excitement.
"For heaven's sake, Betushka, what kind of a spool did you bring home
yesterday?"
"Why?" Betushka faltered.
"When you went away this morning I started to reel that yarn. I reeled
and reeled and the spool remained full. One skein, two skeins, three
skeins, and still the spool was full. 'What evil spirit has spun
that?' I cried out impatiently, and instantly the yarn disappeared
from the spindle as if blown away. Tell me, what does it mean?"
So Betushka confessed and told her mother all she knew about the
beautiful maiden.
"Oh," cried her mother in amazement, "that was a wood maiden! At noon
and midnight the wood maidens dance. It is well you are not a little
boy or she might have danced you to death! But they are often kind to
little girls and sometimes make them rich presents. Why didn't you
tell me? If I hadn't grumbled, I could have had yarn enough to fill
the house!"
Betushka thought of the little basket and wondered if there might be
something under the leaves. She took out the spindle and unspun flax
and looked in once more.
"Mother!" she cried. "Come here and see!"
Her mother looked and clapped her hands. The birch leaves were all
turned to gold!
Betushka reproached herself bitterly: "She told me not to look inside
until I got home, but I didn't obey."
"It's lucky you didn't empty the whole basket," her mother said.
The next morning she herself went to look for the handful of leaves
that Betushka had thrown away. She found them still lying in the road
but they were only birch leaves.
But the riches which Betushka brought home were enough. Her mother
bought a farm with fields and cattle. Betushka had pretty clothes and
no longer had to pasture goats.
But no matter what she did, no matter how cheerful and happy she was,
still nothing ever again gave her quite so much pleasure as the dance
with the wood maiden. She often went to the birch wood in the hope of
seeing the maiden again. But she never did.
THE GOLDEN SPINNING WHEEL
THE STORY OF KING DOBROMIL AND THE GOOD DOBRUNKA
[Illustration: {A spinning wheel}]
THE GOLDEN SPINNING WHEEL
There was once a poor woman who had twin daughters. The girls were
exactly alike in face and feature but utterly different in
disposition. Dobrunka was kind, industrious, obedient, and everything
a good girl ought to be. Zloboha, her sister, was spiteful,
disobedient, lazy, and proud. In fact, she had just about as many
faults as a person could have. Yet strange to say the mother loved
Zloboha much better and made everything easy for her.
[Illustration: _Alike in Feature but Utterly Different in
Disposition_]
They lived in a cottage a few miles from town. The cottage stood by
itself in a little clearing in the woods. Hardly any one ever passed
it except occasionally some man who had lost his way in the woods.
The mother put her favorite, Zloboha, out to service so that she might
learn city ways, but she kept Dobrunka at home to do the housework and
take care of the garden. Dobrunka always began the day by feeding the
goats, then she prepared the breakfast, swept the kitchen, and when
everything else was done she sat down at her spinning wheel and spun.
She seldom benefited from the yarn she spun so carefully, for her
mother always sold it in town and spent the money on clothes for
Zloboha. Yet Dobrunka loved her mother although she never had a kind
word or a kind look from her the whole day long. She always obeyed her
mother instantly and without a frown and no one ever heard her
complain about all the work she had to do.
One day when her mother was going to town Dobrunka went part of the
way with her, carrying her yarn wrapped up in a kerchief.
"Now see that you're not lazy while I'm away," her mother said,
crossly.
"You know, mother, you never have to nag at me. Today when I finish
the housework, I'll spin so industriously that you'll be more than
satisfied when you get home."
She handed her yarn to her mother and went back to the cottage. Then
when she had put the kitchen in order, she sat down to her wheel and
began to spin. Dobrunka had a pretty voice, as pretty as any of the
song-birds in the forest, and always when she was alone she sang. So
today as she sat spinning she sang all the songs she knew, one after
the other.
Suddenly she heard outside the trample of a horse. "Some one is
coming," she thought to herself, "someone who has lost his way in the
woods. I'll go see."
She got up from her wheel and peeped out through the small window. A
young man was just dismounting from a spirited horse.
"Oh," thought Dobrunka to herself, "what a handsome young lord he is!
How well his leather coat fits him! How well his cap with its white
feather looks on his black hair! Ah, he is tying his horse and is
coming in. I must slip back to my spinning."
The next moment the young man opened the door and stepped into the
kitchen. All this happened a long time ago, you see, when there were
no locks or bars on the doors, and there didn't have to be because
nothing was ever stolen.
"Good day to you, my girl," the young man said to Dobrunka.
"Good day, sir," Dobrunka answered. "What is it, sir, you want?"
"Will you please get me a little water. I'm very thirsty."
"Certainly," Dobrunka said. "Won't you sit down while I'm getting it?"
She ran off, got the pitcher, rinsed it out, and drew some fresh water
from the well.
"I wish I could give you something better, sir."
"Nothing could taste better than this," he said, handing her back the
empty pitcher. "See, I have taken it all."
Dobrunka put the pitcher away and the young man, while her back was
turned, slipped a leather bag, full of money, into the bed.
"I thank you for the drink," he said, as he rose to go. "I'll come
again tomorrow if you'll let me."
"Come if you want to," Dobrunka said, modestly.
He took her hand, held it a moment, then leaped upon his horse and
galloped off.
Dobrunka sat down again to her wheel and tried to work, but her mind
wandered. The image of the young man kept rising before her eyes and I
have to confess that, for an expert spinner, she broke her thread
pretty often.
Her mother came home in the evening full of praises of Zloboha, who,
she said, was growing prettier day by day. Everybody in town admired
her and she was fast learning city ways and city manners. It was
Zloboha this and Zloboha that for hours.
Finally the old woman remarked: "They say there was a great hunting
party out today. Did you hear anything of it?"
"Oh, yes," Dobrunka said. "I forgot to tell you that a young huntsman
stopped here to ask for a drink. He was handsomely dressed in leather.
You know once when I was in town with you we saw a whole company of
men in leather coats with white feathers in their caps. No doubt this
young man belonged to the hunting party. When he had his drink, he
jumped on his horse and rode off."
Dobrunka forgot to mention that he had taken her hand in parting and
promised to come back next day.
When Dobrunka was preparing the bed for the night, the bag of money
fell out. In great surprise she picked it up and handed it to her
mother.
The old woman looked at her sharply.
"Dobrunka, who gave you all this money?"
"Nobody gave it to me, mother. Perhaps the huntsman slipped it into
the bed. I don't know where else it could have come from."
The old woman emptied the bag on the table. They were all gold pieces.
"Good heavens, so much!" she murmured in amazement. "He must be a very
rich young lord! Perhaps he saw how poor we were and thought to do a
kind deed. May God grant him happiness!"
She gathered the money together and hid it in the chest.
Usually when Dobrunka went to bed after her day's work she fell asleep
at once, but tonight she lay awake thinking of the handsome young
rider. When she did at last fall asleep it was to dream of him. He was
a powerful young lord, it seemed to her, in her dream. He lived in a
great palace and she, Dobrunka, was his wife. She thought that they
were giving a fine banquet to which all the nobles in the land had
been invited. She and her husband arose from the table and went
together into another room. He was about to put his arms about her and
embrace her when suddenly a black cat sprang between them and buried
its claws in Dobrunka's breast. Her heart's blood spurted out and
stained her white dress. She cried out in fright and pain and the cry
awoke her.
"What a strange dream," she thought to herself. "I wonder what it
means. It began so beautifully but the cruel cat spoiled it all. I
fear it bodes something ill."
In the morning when she got up, she was still thinking of it.
On other mornings it didn't take Dobrunka long to dress but this
morning she was very slow. She shook out her fresh skirt again and
again. She had the greatest trouble in putting on her bodice just
right. She spent much time on her hair, into which she plaited the red
ribbon that she usually kept for holidays. When at last she was
dressed and ready to go about her household duties she looked very
fresh and sweet.
As midday came, she found it hard to sit still at her wheel, but kept
jumping up on any pretext whatever to run outdoors a moment to see if
the young horseman was in sight.
At last she did see him at a distance and, oh, how she hurried back to
her stool so that he would never think that she was watching for him.
He rode into the yard, tied his horse, and came into the cottage.
"Good day, Dobrunka," he said, speaking very gently and very
respectfully.
Dobrunka's heart was beating so fast that she feared it would jump out
of her body. Her mother was in the woods gathering fagots, so she was
again alone with him. She managed to return his greeting and to ask
him to sit down. Then she went back to her spinning.