bushes. The creature ran away when it saw that the man's attention had
been attracted. Tsunu thought, "I will follow the little fox and see
where she goes." Off he started in pursuit. He soon came to a bamboo
thicket. The smooth, slender stems waved dreamily, the pale green
leaves still sparkled with the morning dew. But it was not this which
caused the woodman to stand spellbound. On a plot of mossy grass
beyond the thicket, sat two maidens of surpassing beauty. They were
partly shaded by the waving bamboos, but their faces were lit up by
the sunlight. Not a word came from their lips, yet Tsunu knew that
the voices of both must be sweet as the cooing of the wild dove. The
maidens were graceful as the slender willow, they were fair as the
blossom of the cherry-tree. Slowly they moved the chessmen which
lay before them on the grass. Tsunu hardly dared to breathe, lest he
should disturb them. The breeze caught their long hair, the sunlight
played upon it.... The sun still shone.... The chessmen were still
slowly moved to and fro.... The woodman gazed enraptured.
"But now," thought Tsunu, "I must return, and tell those at home of
the beautiful maidens." Alas, his knees were stiff and weak. "Surely
I have stood here for many hours," he said. He leaned for support upon
his axe; it crumbled into dust. Looking down he saw that a flowing
white beard hung from his chin.
For many hours the poor woodman tried in vain to reach his home.
Fatigued and wearied, he came at last to a hut. But all was changed.
Strange faces peered curiously at him. The speech of the people was
unfamiliar. "Where are my wife and my children?" he cried. But no one
knew his name.
Finally, the poor woodman came to understand that seven generations
had passed since he bade farewell to his dear ones in the early
morning. While he had gazed at the beautiful maidens, his wife, his
children, and his children's children had lived and died.
The few remaining years of Tsunu's life were spent as a pious pilgrim
to Fuji-yama, his well-loved mountain.
Since his death he has been honored as a saint who brings prosperity
to the people of his native country.
THE STAR-LOVERS
ADAPTED BY FRANK RINDER
Shokujo, daughter of the Sun, dwelt with her father on the banks of
the Silver River of Heaven, which we call the Milky Way. She was a
lovely maiden, graceful and winsome, and her eyes were tender as the
eyes of a dove. Her loving father, the Sun, was much troubled because
Shokujo did not share in the youthful pleasures of the daughters of
the air. A soft melancholy seemed to brood over her, but she never
wearied of working for the good of others, and especially did she
busy herself at her loom; indeed she came to be called the Weaving
Princess.
The Sun bethought him that if he could give his daughter in marriage,
all would be well; her dormant love would be kindled into a flame that
would illumine her whole being and drive out the pensive spirit which
oppressed her. Now there lived, hard by, a right honest herdsman,
named Kingen, who tended his cows on the borders of the Heavenly
Stream. The Sun-King proposed to bestow his daughter on Kingen,
thinking in this way to provide for her happiness and at the same time
keep her near him. Every star beamed approval, and there was joy in
the heavens.
The love that bound Shokujo and Kingen to one another was a great
love. With its awakening, Shokujo forsook her former occupations, nor
did she any longer labor industriously at the loom, but laughed, and
danced, and sang, and made merry from morn till night. The Sun-King
was sorely grieved, for he had not foreseen so great a change. Anger
was in his eyes, and he said, "Kingen is surely the cause of this,
therefore I will banish him to the other side of the River of Stars."
When Shokujo and Kingen heard that they were to be parted, and could
thenceforth, in accordance with the King's decree, meet but once a
year, and that upon the seventh night of the seventh month, their
hearts were heavy. The leave-taking between them was a sad one,
and great tears stood in Shokujo's eyes as she bade farewell to her
lover-husband. In answer to the behest of the Sun-King, myriads of
magpies flocked together, and, outspreading their wings, formed a
bridge on which Kingen crossed the River of Heaven. The moment that
his foot touched the opposite bank, the birds dispersed with noisy
chatter, leaving poor Kingen a solitary exile. He looked wistfully
towards the weeping figure of Shokujo, who stood on the threshold of
her now desolate home.
Long and weary were the succeeding days, spent as they were by Kingen
in guiding his oxen and by Shokujo in plying her shuttle. The Sun-King
was gladdened by his daughter's industry. When night fell and the
heavens were bright with countless lights, the lovers were wont,
standing on the banks of the celestial stream, to waft across it sweet
and tender messages, while each uttered a prayer for the speedy coming
of the wondrous night.
The long-hoped-for month and day drew nigh, and the hearts of the
lovers were troubled lest rain should fall; for the Silver River, full
at all times, is at that season often in flood, and the bird-bridge
might be swept away.
The day broke cloudlessly bright. It waxed and waned, and one by one
the lamps of heaven were lighted. At nightfall the magpies assembled,
and Shokujo, quivering with delight, crossed the slender bridge and
fell into the arms of her lover. Their transport of joy was as the joy
of the parched flower, when the raindrop falls upon it; but the moment
of parting soon came, and Shokujo sorrowfully retraced her steps.
Year follows year, and the lovers still meet in that far-off land on
the seventh night of the seventh month, save when rain has swelled
the Silver River and rendered the crossing impossible. The hope of a
permanent reunion still fills the hearts of the Star-Lovers, and is to
them as a sweet fragrance and a beautiful vision.
MYTHS OF THE SLAVS
THE TWO BROTHERS
ADAPTED BY ALEXANDER CHODSKO
Once upon a time there were two brothers whose father had left them
but a small fortune. The eldest grew very rich, but at the same time
cruel and wicked, whereas there was nowhere a more honest or kinder
man than the younger. But he remained poor, and had many children, so
that at times they could scarcely get bread to eat. At last, one day
there was not even this in the house, so he went to his rich brother
and asked him for a loaf of bread. Waste of time! His rich brother
only called him beggar and vagabond, and slammed the door in his face.
The poor fellow, after this brutal reception, did not know which way
to turn. Hungry, scantily clad, shivering with cold, his legs could
scarcely carry him along. He had not the heart to go home, with
nothing for the children, so he went towards the mountain forest. But
all he found there were some wild pears that had fallen to the ground.
He had to content himself with eating these, though they set his teeth
on edge. But what was he to do to warm himself, for the east wind with
its chill blast pierced him through and through. "Where shall I go?"
he said; "what will become of us in the cottage? There is neither food
nor fire, and my brother has driven me from his door." It was just
then he remembered having heard that the top of the mountain in front
of him was made of crystal, and had a fire forever burning upon it. "I
will try and find it," he said, "and then I may be able to warm myself
a little." So he went on climbing higher and higher till he reached
the top, when he was startled to see twelve strange beings sitting
round a huge fire. He stopped for a moment, but then said to himself,
"What have I to lose? Why should I fear? God is with me. Courage!"
So he advanced towards the fire, and bowing respectfully, said: "Good
people, take pity on my distress. I am very poor, no one cares for me,
I have not even a fire in my cottage; will you let me warm myself at
yours?" They all looked kindly at him, and one of them said: "My son,
come sit down with us and warm yourself."
So he sat down, and felt warm directly he was near them. But he dared
not speak while they were silent. What astonished him most was that
they changed seats one after another, and in such a way that each one
passed round the fire and came back to his own place. When he drew
near the fire an old man with long white beard and bald head arose
from the flames and spoke to him thus:
"Man, waste not thy life here; return to thy cottage, work, and live
honestly. Take as many embers as thou wilt, we have more than we
need."
And having said this he disappeared. Then the twelve filled a large
sack with embers, and, putting it on the poor man's shoulders, advised
him to hasten home.
Humbly thanking them, he set off. As he went he wondered why the
embers did not feel hot, and why they should weigh no more than a sack
of paper. He was thankful that he should be able to have a fire, but
imagine his astonishment when on arriving home he found the sack to
contain as many gold pieces as there had been embers; he almost went
out of his mind with joy at the possession of so much money. With all
his heart he thanked those who had been so ready to help him in his
need.
He was now rich, and rejoiced to be able to provide for his family.
Being curious to find out how many gold pieces there were, and not
knowing how to count, he sent his wife to his rich brother for the
loan of a quart measure.
This time the brother was in a better temper, so he lent what was
asked of him, but said mockingly, "What can such beggars as you have
to measure?"
The wife replied, "Our neighbor owes us some wheat; we want to be sure
he returns us the right quantity."
The rich brother was puzzled, and suspecting something he, unknown
to his sister-in-law, put some grease inside the measure. The trick
succeeded, for on getting it back he found a piece of gold sticking
to it. Filled with astonishment, he could only suppose his brother had
joined a band of robbers: so he hurried to his brother's cottage, and
threatened to bring him before the justice of the peace if he did
not confess where the gold came from. The poor man was troubled, and,
dreading to offend his brother, told the story of his journey to the
Crystal Mountain.
Now the elder brother had plenty of money for himself, yet he was
envious of the brother's good fortune, and became greatly displeased
when he found that his brother won every one's esteem by the good use
he made of his wealth. At last, he too determined to visit the Crystal
Mountain.
"I may meet with as good luck as my brother," said he to himself.
Upon reaching the Crystal Mountain he found the twelve seated round
the fire as before, and thus addressed them:
"I beg of you, good people, to let me warm myself, for it is bitterly
cold, and I am poor and homeless."
But one of them replied: "My son, the hour of thy birth was favorable;
thou art rich, but a miser; thou art wicked, for thou hast dared to
lie to us. Well dost thou deserve thy punishment."
Amazed and terrified he stood silent, not daring to speak. Meanwhile
the twelve changed places one after another, each at last returning
to his own seat. Then from the midst of the flames arose the
white-bearded old man and spoke thus sternly to the rich man:
"Woe unto the willful! Thy brother is virtuous, therefore have I
blessed him. As for thee, thou are wicked, and so shalt not escape our
vengeance."
At these words the twelve arose. The first seized the unfortunate man,
struck him, and passed him on to the second; the second also struck
him and passed him on to the third; and so did they all in their turn,
until he was given up to the old man, who disappeared with him into
the fire.
Days, weeks, months went by, but the rich man never returned, and none
knew what had become of him. I think, between you and me, the younger
brother had his suspicions but he very wisely kept them to himself.
THE TWELVE MONTHS
ADAPTED BY ALEXANDER CHODSKO
There was once a widow who had two daughters, Helen, her own child by
her dead husband, and Marouckla, his daughter by his first wife. She
loved Helen, but hated the poor orphan, because she was far prettier
than her own daughter. Marouckla did not think about her good looks,
and could not understand why her stepmother should be angry at the
sight of her. The hardest work fell to her share; she cleaned out the
rooms, cooked, washed, sewed, spun, wove, brought in the hay, milked
the cow, and all this without any help. Helen, meanwhile, did nothing
but dress herself in her best clothes and go to one amusement after
another. But Marouckla never complained; she bore the scoldings and
bad temper of mother and sister with a smile on her lips, and the
patience of a lamb. But this angelic behavior did not soften them.
They became even more tyrannical and grumpy, for Marouckla grew daily
more beautiful while Helen's ugliness increased. So the stepmother
determined to get rid of Marouckla, for she knew that while she
remained her own daughter would have no suitors. Hunger, every kind
of privation, abuse, every means was used to make the girl's life
miserable. The most wicked of men could not have been more mercilessly
cruel than these two vixens. But in spite of it all Marouckla grew
ever sweeter and more charming.
One day in the middle of winter Helen wanted some wood-violets.
"Listen," cried she to Marouckla; "you must go up the mountain and
find me some violets, I want some to put in my gown; they must be
fresh and sweet-scented--do you hear?"
"But, my dear sister, who ever heard of violets blooming in the snow?"
said the poor orphan.
"You wretched creature! Do you dare to disobey me?" said Helen. "Not
another word; off with you. If you do not bring me some violets from
the mountain forest, I will kill you."
The stepmother also added her threats to those of Helen, and with
vigorous blows they pushed Marouckla outside and shut the door upon
her. The weeping girl made her way to the mountain. The snow lay deep,
and there was no trace of any human being. Long she wandered hither
and thither, and lost herself in the wood. She was hungry, and
shivered with cold, and prayed to die. Suddenly she saw a light in
the distance, and climbed towards it, till she reached the top of
the mountain. Upon the highest peak burnt a large fire, surrounded by
twelve blocks of stone, on which sat twelve strange beings. Of these
the first three had white hair, three were not quite so old, three
were young and handsome, and the rest still younger.
There they all sat silently looking at the fire. They were the twelve
months of the year. The great Setchène (January) was placed higher
than the others; his hair and mustache were white as snow, and in his
hand he held a wand. At first Marouckla was afraid, but after a while
her courage returned and drawing near she said:
"Men of God, may I warm myself at your fire? I am chilled by the
winter cold."
The great Setchène raised his head and answered:
"What brings thee here, my daughter? What dost thou seek?"
"I am looking for violets," replied the maiden.
"This is not the season for violets; dost thou not see the snow
everywhere?" said Setchène.
"I know well, but my sister Helen and my stepmother have ordered me to
bring them violets from your mountain: if I return without them they
will kill me. I pray you, good shepherds, tell me where they may be
found?"
Here the great Setchène arose and went over to the youngest of the
months, and placing his wand in his hand, said:
"Brother Brezène (March), do thou take the highest place."
Brezène obeyed, at the same time waving his wand over the fire.
Immediately the flames rose towards the sky, the snow began to melt
and the tress and shrubs to bud; the grass became green, and from
between its blades peeped the pale primrose. It was Spring, and the
meadows were blue with violets.
"Gather them quickly, Marouckla," said Brezène.
Joyfully she hastened to pick the flowers, and having soon a large
bunch she thanked them and ran home. Helen and the stepmother were
amazed at the sight of the flowers, the scent of which filled the
house.
"Where did you find them?" asked Helen.
"Under the trees on the mountain slope," said Marouckla.
Helen kept the flowers for herself and her mother; she did not even
thank her stepsister for the trouble she had taken. The next day she
desired Marouckla to fetch her strawberries.
"Run," said she, "and fetch me strawberries from the mountain: they
must be very sweet and ripe."
"But who ever heard of strawberries ripening in the snow?" exclaimed
Marouckla.
"Hold your tongue, worm; don't answer me; if I don't have my
strawberries I will kill you."
Then the stepmother pushed her into the yard and bolted the door. The
unhappy girl made her way towards the mountain and to the large fire
round which sat the twelve months. The great Setchène occupied the
highest place.
"Men of God, may I warm myself at your fire? The winter cold chills
me," said she, drawing near.
The great Setchène raised his head and asked:
"Why comest thou here? What dost thou seek?"
"I am looking for strawberries," said she.
"We are in the midst of winter," replied Setchène; strawberries do not
grow in the snow."
"I know," said the girl sadly, "but my sister and stepmother have
ordered me to bring them strawberries; if I do not they will kill me.
Pray, good shepherds, tell me where to find them."
The great Setchène arose, crossed over to the month opposite him, and
putting the wand into his hand, said:
"Brother Tchervène (June), do thou take the highest place."
Tchervène obeyed, and as he waved his wand over the fire the flames
leapt towards the sky. Instantly the snow melted, the earth was
covered with verdure, trees were clothed with leaves, birds began
to sing, and various flowers blossomed in the forest. It was summer.
Under the bushes masses of star-shaped flowers changed into ripening
strawberries. Before Marouckla had time to cross herself they covered
the glade, making it look like a sea of blood.
"Gather them quickly, Marouckla," said Tchervène.
Joyfully she thanked the months, and having filled her apron
ran happily home. Helen and her mother wondered at seeing the
strawberries, which filled the house with their delicious fragrance.
"Wherever did you find them?" asked Helen crossly.
"Right up among the mountains; those from under the beech trees are
not bad."
Helen gave a few to her mother and ate the rest herself; not one did
she offer to her stepsister. Being tired of strawberries, on the third
day she took a fancy for some fresh red apples.
"Run, Marouckla," said she, "and fetch me fresh red apples from the
mountain."
"Apples in winter, sister? why, the trees have neither leaves nor
fruit."
"Idle creature, go this minute," said Helen; "unless you bring back
apples we will kill you."
As before, the stepmother seized her roughly and turned her out of
the house. The poor girl went weeping up the mountain, across the deep
snow upon which lay no human footprint, and on towards the fire round
which were the twelve months. Motionless sat they, and on the highest
stone was the great Setchène.
"Men of God, may I warm myself at your fire? The winter cold chills
me," said she, drawing near.
The great Setchène raised his head.
"Why com'st thou here? What dost thou seek?" asked he.
"I am come to look for red apples," replied Marouckla.
"But this is winter, and not the season for red apples," observed the
great Setchène.
"I know," answered the girl, "but my sister and stepmother, sent me to
fetch red apples from the mountain; if I return without them they will
kill me."
Thereupon the great Setchène arose and went over to one of the elderly
months, to whom he handed the wand, saying:
"Brother Zarè (September), do thou take the highest place."
Zarè moved to the highest stone and waved his wand over the fire.
There was a flare of red flames, the snow disappeared, but the fading
leaves which trembled on the trees were sent by a cold northeast
wind in yellow masses to the glade. Only a few flowers of autumn were
visible, such as the fleabane and red gillyflower, autumn colchicums
in the ravine, and under the beeches bracken and tufts of northern
heather. At first Marouckla looked in vain for red apples. Then she
espied a tree which grew at a great height, and from the branches
of this hung the bright red fruit. Zarè ordered her to gather some
quickly. The girl was delighted and shook the tree. First one apple
fell, then another.
"That is enough," said Zarè, "hurry home."
Thanking the months, she returned joyfully. Helen marveled and the
stepmother wondered at seeing the fruit.
"Where did you gather them?" asked the stepsister.
"There are more on the mountain top," answered Marouckla.
"Then why did you not bring more?" said Helen angrily; "you must have
eaten them on your way back, you wicked girl."
"No, dear sister, I have not even tasted them," said Marouckla. "I
shook the tree twice; one apple fell each time. I was not allowed to
shake it again, but was told to return home."
"May God smite you with his thunderbolt," said Helen, striking her.
Marouckla prayed to die rather than suffer such ill-treatment. Weeping
bitterly, she took refuge in the kitchen. Helen and her mother found
the apples more delicious than any they had ever tasted, and when they
had eaten both longed for more.
"Listen, mother," said Helen. "Give me my cloak; I will fetch some
more apples myself, or else that good-for-nothing wretch will eat them
all on the way. I shall be able to find the mountain and the tree. The
shepherds may cry 'Stop,' but I shall not leave go till I have shaken
down all the apples."
In spite of her mother's advice she put on her cloak, covered her head
with a warm hood, and took the road to the mountain. The mother stood
and watched her till she was lost in the distance.
Snow covered everything, not a human footprint was to be seen on its
surface. Helen lost herself and wandered hither and thither. After
a while she saw a light above her, and following in its direction
reached the mountain top. There was the flaming fire, the twelve
blocks of stone, and the twelve months. At first she was frightened
and hesitated; then she came nearer and warmed her hands. She did not
ask permission, nor did she speak one polite word.
"What has brought thee here? What dost thou seek?" said the great
Setchène severely.
"I am not obliged to tell you, old graybeard; what business is it of
yours?" she replied disdainfully, turning her back on the fire and
going towards the forest.
The great Setchène frowned, and waved his wand over his head.
Instantly the sky became covered with clouds, the fire went down, snow
fell in large flakes, an icy wind howled round the mountain. Amid the
fury of the storm Helen added curses against her stepsister. The cloak
failed to warm her benumbed limbs. The mother kept on waiting for her;
she looked from the window, she watched from the doorstep, but her
daughter came not. The hours passed slowly, but Helen did not return.
"Can it be that the apples have charmed her from her home?" thought
the mother. Then she clad herself in hood and shawl and went in search
of her daughter. Snow fell in huge masses; it covered all things, it
lay untouched by human footsteps. For long she wandered hither and
thither; the icy northeast wind whistled in the mountain, but no voice
answered her cries.
Day after day Marouckla worked and prayed, and waited; but neither
stepmother nor sister returned, they had been frozen to death on the
mountain. The inheritance of a small house, a field, and a cow fell to
Marouckla. In course of time an honest farmer came to share them with
her, and their lives were happy and peaceful.
THE SUN; OR, THE THREE GOLDEN HAIRS OF THE OLD MAN VSÉVÈDE
ADAPTED BY ALEXANDER CHODSKO
Can this be a true story? It is said that once there was a King who
was exceedingly fond of hunting the wild beasts in his forests. One
day he followed a stag so far and so long that he lost his way. Alone
and overtaken by night, he was glad to find himself near a small
thatched cottage in which lived a charcoal-burner.
"Will you kindly show me the way to the highroad? You shall be
handsomely rewarded."
"I would willingly," said the charcoal-burner, "But God is going to
send my wife a little child, and I cannot leave her alone. Will you
pass the night under our roof? There is a truss of sweet hay in the
loft where you may rest, and to-morrow morning I will be your guide."