BULGARIAN STORIES.

THE Bulgarians do not derive their name from a Slavonic origin, but from a small and warlike nation of horsemen, which in A.D. 679 crossed the Danube under a chief named Isperich, conquered the disunited Slavonic tribes that had settled in Moesia, and consolidated them into a powerful realm. The conquerors melted into the conquered, and lost their language, but gave their name to the state and country. The Slavonic language of the people does not appear to have been affected by that of their Ugrian conquerors, but rather by the old Thracian language, which, conjointly with Latin, has produced the present Roumanian. The peculiarities of the present Bulgarian language are: (1) the loss of case-inflexions in nouns and adjectives, while the verbal system is most complete and complex; (2) the expression of the genitive and dative cases by prefixing the preposition na; (3) the post-positive article, which is also borrowed from the old Thracian language, which was akin to the Illyrian now spoken by the present Albanians and Epirots; (4) the loss of the infinitive mood, which is replaced by da with the finite verb. Baron Wenceslas Wratislaw, in describing his journey through Bulgaria in 1591, says of the people: ‘They use a Slavonic language, so that we Bohemians can converse with them.’ The Bulgarian tales themselves are curious, and some of them very beautiful, as are also the songs, to which considerable space is devoted by Mr. Morfill in his ‘Slavonic Literature’ (pp. 125-144). There are old traditions as to the world and its inhabitants, apparently of heathen origin (No. 35); a singular fusion of the history of Abraham and Isaac with some other, probably heathen, tradition (No. 36); a version of ‘Cinderella’ (No. 37), which, involving as it does the transmigration of souls, clearly exhibits an Indian origin; a beautiful story (No. 38), the latter part of which is a variant of the latter part of the Russian tale of ‘Marya Morevna’ (Ralston, p. 85), and No. 39, in the latter part of which many people will recognise a variant of an old acquaintance.

In the beginning, when man began to plough, when he had cut a furrow from one end to the other, he lifted his plough on to his shoulder, and when he had carried it back to the same end that he had begun from, he began again to plough thence. The Lord, in the form of an old man, passed by and said to him, ‘Not thus, my son, but when you make a furrow, turn your plough round at the same place to which you have cut the furrow, and plough back to the end from which you began.’ And thus the ploughman learnt to plough aright, as people plough at this day.

Thence the Lord went away in the form of an old man, and saw a woman who was weaving at a loom, and putting the thread, three threads at a time, into her mouth; she bit the thread off at one end, and began again at the same side. The Lord said to her, ‘Not thus, daughter; but put the thread hither and thither with two hands without biting the thread off.’ And she learnt to weave as people weave at this day. The next day the Lord again passed alongside of the ploughman in a different guise, and asked him: ‘Who taught you, my son, to plough thus?’ He replied to him: ‘The Lord God, in the form of an old man.’ The Lord blessed him, and said: ‘A day to plough and a year to eat!’ Afterwards he passed by the woman and asked her: ‘Who taught you, daughter, to weave thus?’ She replied: ‘Myself, my very own self, quickly, quite quickly.’ Then the Lord said to her: ‘A year to weave, that you may carry it under the arm!’

They say, moreover, that at that time men had command not only over all animals, but also over inanimate things; but later, they say, it was altered when men became wicked. For instance, when a man had cut logs of wood and piled them in a heap, he struck them with a stick, and they went of themselves whither they were required to go. But a certain woman having cut logs and struck them to make them go, they started; but she, being tired of walking beside them on foot, seated herself at top, and the logs resisted. She struck them on one side, she struck them on the other, but they didn’t move any whither. Then she unfastened her girdle, and put them on her back. On the way God showed himself to her, and said to her: ‘Since you are wicked, instead of your riding on them, let them ride on you.’

When the Lord walked about the earth and blessed it, he went first to a herdsman. He was lying on his back under a tree, a pear-tree; his pitcher, in which he fetched water for himself, stood by empty. The Lord, in the form of an old man, asked him: ‘My son, is there any water in the pitcher?’ He said to him: ‘No.’ The Lord said to him: ‘Go, my son, to fetch me a little water, that the old man may drink.’ The herdsman made a sign to him with his foot: ‘There is where the spring is; if you’re thirsty, go, drink.’ The Lord then gave the word that all the herd should run off as if assailed by the gadfly; then, when they began all to run in one direction, the herdsman took his hat in his hand and started off, and as he ran after them thought: ‘How I have sinned against God!’

Then the Lord went to a shepherd. The shepherd also had a pitcher. The Lord asked him: ‘My son, have you any water?’ He replied to him: ‘There is water, old man, but I cannot go to fetch it myself, or the sheep will disperse.’ Then said the Lord: ‘Go, my son; I will watch them.’ When the shepherd went off for the water, the Lord took the shepherd’s staff, and when he had stuck it into the ground, placed the shepherd’s cloak upon it, and blessed the sheep. They became quiet and tranquil in the shade. During the shepherd’s absence up came a wolf to obtain the appointed tribute which he received every day from the shepherd. The Lord gave him a lamb of little value. The wolf, discontented, did not choose to take it, but darted forward and seized another, which he liked. Then the Lord took the shepherd’s trumpet, and struck him on the loins—on the spine. From this it has remained a property of the wolf that his loins are just as weak as his neck is strong. But he carried off the lamb which he had seized. The Lord took two little stones, threw them after the wolf and blessed them; they became two dogs, ran after the wolf, and took away the lamb which the wolf had seized. The shepherd came up bringing the Lord cold water, and saw the sheep quiet, for they were standing in the shade and the two dogs were frolicking round them. The shepherd then asked the old man: ‘Well, old man, now when the sheep are standing quiet, and are like blocks of wood, how shall I drive them to pasture?’ The Lord said to him: ‘My son, take a copper trumpet, and blow it to them; they will start off in the direction from which the wind blows gently.’ From that time forth down to the present day people drive their sheep to pasture blowing trumpets.

Once upon a time, when the Lord had formed the world, he wished to see how his people lived; he came down from heaven first of all on the Balkan Mountains, took the form of a man with a long white beard and white clothes; took a staff in his hand, and went about the world in the Bulgarian land; he travelled much, a whole day long, over desolate mountains. In the evening he came to a village to pass the night. He went into the first house at the end of the village and sat down on the threshold, said nothing, but meditated by himself. The mistress was in her house doing some work, and did not see him. But now her husband came from the field, from his plough, espied the old man, was delighted, and said to him: ‘Old man, you are very tired; you are a weary traveller. Come into the house; rest yourself, if it is but a poor one. I will entertain you with all that the Lord has given me—only say the word.’ The old man regarded him with cheerful eyes, went into the house and sat down. The man and his wife quickly rose up and prepared a hospitable meal according to what they possessed, and as nicely and as handsomely as they could, and placed it on the table. The couple ate of their homely meal, but the old man would not; he only smelt the homely banquet, said nothing, but watched how the two persons enjoyed themselves, and rejoiced. They urged him, they begged him. ‘Old man, why don’t you eat? You will remain hungry. Take, and taste, and try what you please. What we have is all here before you.’ The old man only said this: ‘Eat you—eat; I am thinking of something.’ When they had eaten their fill, they rose. The mistress went out to feed the child because it was crying. Then said the old man to her husband: ‘Do you know what, master, if you wish to entertain me? I cannot eat everything, but I wish for baked human flesh. Kill your little son, wash him nicely, and place him whole on the frying-pan in the oven; only look out that your wife does not see you, for she will weep.’ He replied: ‘Is this all that you want, old man? Why did you not tell me long before, that you might not have sat a hungry guest in the house? Did I not tell you that all was yours that the Lord had given me? Indeed, I love you exceedingly, old man; my heart tells me that you are good and worthy, and now you shall see; only have a little patience, till I get ready that which you desire.’ The man went out of doors, and his wife had begun to do some work, and had left her child to play by itself in the moonlight till it fell asleep, without knowing what was about to take place. Her husband stole the child, killed it with all haste, put it entire in the frying-pan, and shut it up in the oven, that its mother might not see it till it was cooked; he then went to the old man, sat down by him and conversed cheerfully with him. They had not talked long, when the old man became silent, sniffed with his nose, and said to the servant lad: ‘Go, look at the baked meat; it smells nicely; perhaps it is cooked.’

The lad rose, went out, opened the oven to look at and take out the baked meat. But what did he see? He was amazed and frightened at the wonder; all the oven and all the house was glittering with the brightness of the child. The frying-pan and the child had become gold, and shone like the sun. The child was sitting in the frying-pan like a big boy—handsome, cheerful, bright, and well. On his head was a crown of pearls and precious stones; on the girdle at his waist was a sword. In his right hand he held a book of blessing; in his left hand he had a wheatsheaf full of ears; and all this was shining more than fire, because it had all become gold. He returned to tell the old man what a wonder had taken place, and to ask what was to be done; but the old man was no longer there; he had gone out in front of the house, and said to them: ‘Fare ye well, and live as ye have done till now, honourably and contentedly. Your good hearts will have good from field and cattle, and blessing and peace upon your children and children’s children from the Lord. He will receive you and entertain you in his heavenly house.’ He then went away alone under cover of the night, no one knows whither.

Once upon a time, a number of girls were assembled spinning round a deep rift or chasm in the ground. As they spun they chattered together and told stories to each other. Up came a white-bearded old man, who said to them: ‘Girls! as you spin and chatter, be circumspect round this rift; or, if any of you drops her spindle into it, her mother will be turned into a cow.’ Thus saying he departed. The girls were astonished at his words, and crowded round the rift to look into it. Unfortunately, one of them, the most beautiful of all, dropped her spindle into it. Towards evening, when she went home, she espied a cow—her mother—in front of the gate, and drove her out with the other cattle to pasture. After some time the father of the girl married a widow, who brought a daughter with her into the house. The second wife had a spite at the man’s first daughter, especially because she was more beautiful and more industrious than her own, and she allowed her neither to wash herself, nor to comb her hair, nor to change her clothes. One day she sent her out with the cattle, gave her a bag full of tow, and told her: ‘If you don’t spin this tow into yarn to-day, or if you don’t wind it into a ball, you had better not come home at eventide—I shall kill you.’ It was sad for the poor girl, as she went after the cattle, endeavouring as well as she could to keep them together. In the afternoon, when the cattle lay down to chew the cud, she began to look at the bag to see how to perform her task upon it; but when she saw that she could not make out what to do with it, she began to cry. When the cow which was her mother saw her crying, she asked her why she was crying. She told her how it was, and what it was. Then said the cow to her: ‘Don’t be afraid; I will help you. I will take all the tow into my mouth, and will chew it, and yarn will come up into my ear. You must take it and reel it into a ball, and you will finish it in good time.’ As she said, so it was. She began to chew the tow, piece after piece; yarn came up into her ear, and the girl wound and reeled it, and finished the task. In the evening she departed and went to her stepmother, who was amazed at seeing so much work completed. The next time she gave her as much tow again. The girl spun till noon, and then in the afternoon, when the cattle lay down to chew the cud, the cow came up to her and began to chew the tow; yarn came up into her ear, and the girl wound and reeled it, and finished in good time. In the evening she went home and delivered to her stepmother all the tow spun and wound. She was astonished at seeing so much work completed. The third time she gave her still more tow, and sent her own daughter to see who helped her. The daughter went and concealed herself apart, and saw how it was and what it was, that the girl completed so much work in the day; she saw how the cow took the tow into her mouth, how yarn came up into her ear, and how the girl wound and reeled it. She went home to tell her mother. When she heard this from her daughter, she urged her husband to kill the cow. He endeavoured in every way to persuade her not to kill the cow, but could not over-persuade her. At last, when he saw that there was no escape, he promised to kill it on a certain day. When the girl heard that they were going to kill the cow she began to cry, and told the cow secretly that they were going to kill her. She said to the girl: ‘Be quiet—don’t cry! If they kill me, you must not eat any of my flesh, but must collect the bones and bury them behind the cottage. Then if need come to you, you must go to the grave, and help will come to you thence.’ On hearing this she went away.

One day they killed the cow and boiled her flesh, brought it into the parlour, and began to eat. The girl alone did not eat of it, according to the instructions she had received; but collected the bones, and then, without anybody seeing her, took them and buried them behind the cottage, where the cow (her mother) had ordered her so to do. The girl was named Mary; but at length, when they had put all the work in the cottage upon her—that is to say, to sweep, to fetch water, to cook, to wash up the plates—she had become dirty and begrimed with ashes and cinders from excessive work at the fireplace; and therefore her stepmother nicknamed her Cinderella (Pepelezka), and this remained her name afterwards.

One Sunday her stepmother got ready to go to church with her daughter, but, before starting, took a wooden dish of millet, scattered it on the ground in the cottage, and said to Cinderella: ‘Here you, Cinderella! if you don’t pick up this millet, and if you don’t get dinner ready by the time that I return from church, don’t come before my eyes, or I shall put you to death.’ Then they went away. Poor Cinderella, when she looked at all the millet, cried out weeping and wailing: ‘I will cook, I will sweep, I will attend to everything, but what poor girl can pick up all this millet?’ When she had wept and spoken, immediately there came into her mind what the cow had told her, to go to the grave, and there help would be given her in trouble. Cinderella went off to the grave. When there, what did she see? On the grave stood an open box, filled with all manner of rich clothes, and on the lid were two pigeons, white as snow. They said to her: ‘Mary! take the clothes out, put them on, and go to church, and we will pick up the millet and get the dinner ready.’ She put out her hands and took the upper ones, which were of pure silk and satin, put them on, and went to church. In the church people great and small marvelled at her beauty and her dress, especially because no one recognised her or knew who or what she was. Most of all did the emperor’s son marvel at her, and never took his eyes off her. When service was ended, she stole away and ran quickly home, undressed immediately, and put the clothes in the box, and the box immediately vanished from sight. She went to the fireplace, and what did she see there? The millet picked up, dinner ready—in one word, everything attended to! Soon afterwards, lo! her stepmother came with her daughter from church, saw everything in proper order, and was astounded.

Next Sunday, when she was about to go to church, taking a larger dish of millet and scattering it on the ground, she threatened Cinderella that she would kill her if she didn’t pick it up and get dinner ready. The stepmother went off with her daughter to church, and Cinderella betook herself to the grave of the cow. On the grave she found the two pigeons and the box with the dresses in it open. They told her to dress herself and go to church, and they would pick up the millet and get dinner ready. Taking a dress of pure silver, she dressed herself and went off to church. Now everybody, small and great, marvelled at her more than before, and the emperor’s son did not take his eyes off her for a moment. Service ended, she stole off amidst the multitude and got away home. There she undressed, and put the clothes in the box, and the box disappeared from sight. Soon afterwards, lo! her stepmother came and looked about; the millet was picked up, dinner was ready, and Cinderella was at the fireplace. She was astonished at seeing so much work completed.

The third time her stepmother got ready to go to church, and before she started, taking a dish of millet thrice as large, and scattering it on the ground, she said to Cinderella: ‘Cinderella, if you don’t pick up all this millet before we return from church, and if you don’t get dinner ready, go and hide yourself; don’t come before my eyes—I shall kill you.’ Then she went off to church. After this Cinderella went to the grave of the cow, and found there the box open and the two pigeons upon it. They told her to dress herself and go to church; they would pick up the millet and get the dinner ready. Taking a dress of pure gold, she dressed herself and went to church. There, when the people saw her, they marvelled, but no one knew who or what she was. The emperor’s son never took his eyes off her, and planned, when service was over, to follow her closely, to see whither she betook herself. Service ended, she stole off amidst the crowd, hastening to get away before her stepmother; but as she was pushing through the crowd, she lost one of her shoes, and the emperor’s son took it up. She escaped from among them with one shoe, undressed very quickly, put the clothes in the box, and the box vanished. She went home and looked in the cottage; the millet was picked up, dinner was ready, and everything attended to. She sat down at the fireplace, and, lo! her stepmother came and looked about the cottage; everything was in order, the millet picked up, dinner ready; she had nothing to find fault with her or scold her about. The emperor’s son left the people, disguised himself, took the shoe, and went from cottage to cottage to try it on, to find out whose it was; and wherever he went he made inquiries, and tried it on the foot of every girl, but it did not fit one. For some it was too large, and for others too small; for some too narrow, for others too broad. At last he came to Cinderella’s cottage. As soon as her stepmother saw him, she concealed Cinderella under a trough. He asked whether there was any girl in the house. She replied that there was, and brought her daughter to him. He tried the shoe on her, but it wouldn’t even allow her toes to go in. He then asked whether there wasn’t another girl there, and she told him that there wasn’t. The cock had flown on to the trough, and when she told the emperor’s son that there was no other girl there, he crowed: ‘Cock-a-doodle-doo! pretty girl under trough!’ The stepmother shrieked out: ‘Shoo! eagles have brought you!’[13] But the emperor’s son, on hearing the cock say this, went up and took the trough off; and there was, indeed, the girl that he had seen in the church with those beautiful dresses, only on one foot she had no shoe. He tried the shoe on her; it went on, and was exactly the same as that on the other foot. Then the emperor’s son took her by the hand, conducted her to his court, married her, and punished her stepmother for her evil heart.

There was once upon a time an emperor who had three sons, and in his yard a golden apple-tree, which flowered and ripened every night; but somebody robbed it, and the emperor was utterly unable to discover who the robber was. Once he was conversing with his sons, and said to them: ‘I do not know whither goes the fruit from our apple-tree.’ Then the eldest son answered him: ‘I will go to-night to see who takes it.’ When it became dark, the eldest son did as he had said: went out, and lay down under it. Well, when the apples began to ripen in the course of the night, slumber overtook him, and he fell asleep; and when he awoke at dawn he looked—but where were the apples? Taken away! When he saw this, he went and related all to his father just as it really happened. The second son said to his father: ‘I will go to-night to watch, that I may see who takes it.’ But he, too, watched it even as the first one. About the time when the apples began to ripen, he fell asleep. When he woke up in the morning, where were the apples? Taken away! Now came the turn of the third and youngest brother. He went out at eventide under the apple-tree, placed a sofa there, lay down, and went to sleep. About midnight, when the apples began to ripen, he woke up and looked at the apple-tree. It had just begun to ripen, and illuminated all the yard from the brightness of its fruit. Just then up flew nine peahens, eight of which settled upon the apple-tree, and the ninth on the ground beside his sofa, and, as soon as she had alighted, became a damsel, who shone with beauty like a bright sun. They conversed together while the other eight were rifling the tree, and when dawn came, she thanked him for the apples, and he begged her to leave just one behind her. She gave him two—one for himself, and one to take to his father—transformed herself into a peahen, and flew away, followed by the other eight. In the morning the prince rose up, and took one apple to his father, who did not know what to do for joy, and commended him without ceasing. The next evening the youngest prince went out again to watch the apple-tree, and as soon as he had gone out, lay down as before, and watched it that night also. In the morning he again brought his father an apple. This went on for a few days, when his brothers began to envy him, because they could not watch it, whereas he watched it successfully. They could not make out how to discover the manner in which he watched the apple-tree. So they sought out an old witch, who promised them to find out how their young brother watched the apple-tree. At the approach of evening, when the youngest prince was about to go out to watch the apple-tree, the accursed witch stole out and went off before him, lay down under his sofa, and there concealed herself. The prince came, lay down without knowing that the old woman was under his sofa, and went to sleep as previously. About midnight, when the prince had just woke up, the nine peahens arrived; eight of them settled on the tree, and the other on the ground beside his sofa, transformed herself into a damsel, and they began to converse together. While these were talking to each other, the accursed old witch softly raised herself up, and cut off a piece of the damsel’s long hair. As soon as she felt this, the damsel sprang on one side, transformed herself into a peahen, and flew away, with the other eight behind her. The prince, on seeing this, sprang off his sofa, and shouted: ‘What is this?’ He erelong espied the old woman under the sofa, seized and hauled her from under it, and, when morning came, ordered her to be fastened to the tails of two horses and torn asunder. The peahens came no more to the apple-tree, and the prince was much grieved on this account, and wept and mourned day after day. At last he determined to go to seek them all over the world, and went and told his father what his intention was, and his father endeavoured to comfort him, and said: ‘Stay, my son! I will find you another damsel in my empire, such an one as you wish for.’ But in vain; he would not follow his father’s advice, and made preparations to go; took with him one of his servants, and went into the world to find the peahen. When he had travelled a long time, he came to a lake, in the midst of which was a rich palace, and in the palace an aged empress, who had one daughter. The prince, on coming to the old empress, asked her to tell him about the nine peahens, if she knew about them; and the old woman replied that she did, and that the nine peahens came daily to bathe in the lake. On telling him this, she began to try to over-persuade him with these words: ‘Never mind those nine peahens, my son. I have a handsome damsel, and abundance of wealth—it will all remain yours.’ But as soon as the prince heard where the peahens were, he would not listen to her talk, but in the morning ordered his servant to get the horses ready to go to the lake. Before they started for the lake, the old woman called his servant, bribed him, and gave him a little whistle, saying to him: ‘When the time approaches for the peahens to come to the lake, do you secretly look out, and blow the whistle behind your master’s neck; he will immediately fall asleep, and will not see them.’ The accursed servant hearkened to her, took the whistle, and did as the old woman told him. When they arrived at the shore of the lake, he calculated the time when the peahens would arrive, blew the whistle behind his master’s neck, and he immediately fell as sound asleep as if he were dead. Scarcely had he fallen asleep, when the peahens arrived; eight of them settled on the lake, and the ninth perched upon his horse, and began to try to awaken him: ‘Arise, my birdie! arise, my lamb! arise, my dove!’ But he heard nothing, but slept on as if dead. When the peahens had finished bathing, they all flew away, and he awoke, and asked his servant: ‘What is it? Did they come?’ The servant replied: ‘They did come,’ and told him how eight of them settled on the lake, and the ninth on his horse, and that she tried to wake him. When the unhappy prince heard this from his servant, he was ready to kill himself from pain and anger. The next morning they visited the shore of the lake again, but his accursed servant calculated the time to blow the whistle behind his neck, and he immediately fell asleep as if he were dead. Scarcely had he fallen asleep, when the nine peahens arrived; eight settled on the lake, and the ninth on his horse, and began to try to awake him: ‘Arise, my birdie! arise, my lamb! arise, my dove!’ But he slept on as if he were dead, hearing nothing. When the peahen failed to wake him, and they were about to fly away again, the one which had been trying to wake him turned and said to his servant: ‘When your master wakes, tell him that to-morrow it will once more be possible for him to see us, but after that, never more.’ On saying this she took flight, and the others from the lake after her. Scarcely had they flown away, when the prince awoke, and asked his servant: ‘Did they come?’ He told him: ‘They did come, and eight of them settled on the lake, and the ninth on your horse, and tried to wake you, but you slept soundly. As she departed, she told me to tell you that you will see her here once again to-morrow, and never more.’ When the prince heard this, he was ready to kill himself in his unhappiness, and did not know what to do for sorrow. On the third day he got ready to go to the lake, mounted his horse, went to the shore, and, in order not to fall asleep, kept his horse continually in motion. But his wicked servant, as he followed him, calculated the time, and blew the whistle behind his neck, and he immediately leant forward on his horse and fell asleep. As soon as he fell asleep, the nine peahens flew up; eight settled on the lake, and the ninth on his horse, and endeavoured to wake him: ‘Arise, my birdie! arise, my lamb! arise, my dove!’ But he slept as if he were dead, and heard nothing. Then, when they were about to fly away again, the one which had perched on his horse turned round, and said to his servant: ‘When your master wakes up, tell him to roll the under peg on the upper, and then he will find me.’[14] Then she flew off, and those from the lake after her. When they had flown away, he awoke again, and asked his servant: ‘Did they come?’ He replied: ‘They did; and the one that had perched on your horse told me to tell you to roll the upper peg on the under one, and then you would find her.’ When the prince heard this, he drew his sword, and cut off his servant’s head. When he had done this, he started to travel on alone. When he had travelled a long time, he came at dusk to the cottage of a hermit, and lodged there for the night. In the evening the prince asked the hermit: ‘Grandfather, have you heard of nine golden peahens?’ The hermit answered: ‘Yes, my son; you are fortunate in having come to me to ask about them. They are not far hence; it is not more than half a day’s journey to them from here.’ In the morning, when the prince departed to seek them, the hermit came out to accompany him, and said to him: ‘Go to the right, and you will find a large gate. When you enter that gate, turn to the right, and then you will go right into their town, and in that town is their palace.’ He went on his way according to the hermit’s words, and went on till he came to that gate; then turned to the right, and descried the town upon a hill. When he saw the town he was much rejoiced. When he entered the town he inquired where the palace of the nine peahens was. It was pointed out to him. At the gate a watchman stopped him, and inquired whence and who he was. The prince told him all, whence he was and who he was. After this the watchman went off to announce him to the empress. When she heard it, she ran breathless, and stood in the form of a damsel before him, took him by the hand, and led him upstairs. Then the two rejoiced together, and in a day or two were wedded.

When a few days had elapsed after their marriage, the empress departed to go on a journey, and the prince remained alone. When she was about to start, she took out and gave him the keys of twelve cellars, and said to him: ‘Open all the cellars, but do not have any nonsense with the twelfth.’ She went away. When the prince remained alone in the palace, he bethought himself: ‘What does this mean, that I am to open all the cellars, but not to open the twelfth? Glory to the Lord God! what can there be in it?’ He then began to open them one after the other. He came to the twelfth, and at first would not open it; but as he had no occupation, he began to brood and to say to himself: ‘How can it be in this cellar that she told me not to open it?’ At last he opened it too, and found standing in the midst of it a cask bound with iron hoops, and a voice out of it was heard, saying: ‘I pray you, brother—I am athirst for water—give me a cup of water.’ On hearing this voice, the prince took a cup of water, and sprinkled it on the bung; and as soon as he had sprinkled it, one of the hoops of the cask burst. The voice then cried: ‘Give me one more cup of water; I am athirst.’ He took a cup of water and sprinkled it on the bung; and as soon as he had done so, another hoop burst on the cask. The voice then cried: ‘I am athirst; give me, brother, one more cup of water.’ The prince took another cup of water and poured it on the bung; but as soon as he had finished pouring it, the third hoop of the cask burst, the cask split asunder, and out of it flew a dragon, found the empress on her way, and carried her off. Thus it happened, and the attendants came and told their master that a dragon had carried the empress away. Finally he set off to seek her in the world. When he had travelled a long time, he came to a marsh, and in that marsh espied a little fish, which was endeavouring to jump into the water, but was unable to do so. This little fish, on seeing the prince, addressed itself to him: ‘I pray you, brother, do a good action: throw me into the water; I shall some time be of use to you; only take a scale from me, and when you are in want of me, rub it between your fingers.’ On hearing this he took a scale off it, threw the fish into the water, put the scale into a handkerchief, and went on his way. When he had gone a little further, he espied a fox caught in a trap. When the fox saw him, it called out: ‘I pray you, brother, let me out of this trap; I shall some day be of use to you; only take one or two hairs from my fur, and when I am wanted for you, rub them between your fingers.’ He let it out of the trap, took one or two hairs from it, and went on his way. Thus he proceeded onwards, till, as he went, he came to a hill, and found a crow caught in a trap just like the fox before. As soon as the crow saw him, it cried out: ‘I pray you, be a brother to me, traveller; let me out of this trap; I shall some day be of use to you; only take a feather or two from me, and when you are in want of me, rub them between your fingers.’ The prince took one or two feathers from the crow, let it out of the trap, and then went on his way. As he went on to find the empress, he met a man, and asked him: ‘I pray you, brother, do you not know where is the palace of the dragon emperor?’ The man showed him the way, and also told him at what time he was at home, that he might find him. The prince thanked him, and said: ‘Farewell.’ He then went on, and gradually came to the palace of the dragon emperor. On his arrival there he found his beloved, and when she saw him and he saw her, they were both full of joy. Now they began to plan together how to escape. Finally they agreed to saddle their horses and take to flight. They saddled them, mounted, and off. When they had ridden off, the dragon arrived and looked about, but the empress was not to be found. ‘Now what shall we do?’ said the dragon to his horse. ‘Shall we eat and drink, or pursue them?’ The horse replied to him: ‘Don’t trouble yourself; eat and drink.’ When he had dined, the dragon mounted his horse and galloped after them, and in course of time overtook them, and took the empress away, but said to the prince: ‘Go in safety; this time you are forgiven, because you gave me water in the cellar; but do not come a second time if your life is dear to you.’ The poor prince remained as if thunderstricken, then started and proceeded a little way; but as he could not overcome his heart, he returned to the dragon’s palace. There he found the empress weeping. When they saw each other and met, they began to consult how to get away so as to escape. Then said the prince to the empress: ‘When the dragon comes, ask him from whom he bought that horse, and tell me, that I may obtain such another, that we may escape.’ After saying this to her he went out, that the dragon might not find him on his arrival. When the dragon came, the empress began to coax him and make herself agreeable to him, and said to him: ‘What a swift horse yours is! From whom did you buy him? Tell me, I pray you.’ He answered: ‘Where I bought him nobody can make a purchase. On a certain hill lives an old woman who has twelve horses in her stable, such that you don’t know which is better than another. One of them is in the corner, and this one looks skinny; but he is the best of all, and is brother of mine: this one could fly to the sky. Whoever seeks to obtain a horse from the old woman must serve her three days. The old woman has a mare with a foal; whoever watches the mare successfully for three days, to him the old woman gives the choice of whichever horse he wishes. Whoever engages himself to watch the mare, and fails to watch her successfully for three days and three nights, loses his life.’ On the morrow the dragon went away, and the prince came in. The empress told him what the dragon had said. Then the prince started off and went to the hill where the old woman was to be found. When he entered her house, he said to her: ‘Good-day, old woman!’ The old woman replied: ‘The Lord give you prosperity, my son!’ She said to him: ‘What brings you here, my son?’ He replied: ‘I should like to take service with you.’ The old woman said to him: ‘Very good, my son. I have a mare with a foal. If you watch her successfully for three days, I will give you one of these twelve horses of mine to take away, whichever you choose; but if you fail to watch her successfully, I shall take off your head.’ Then she took him into the yard. In the yard post after post was fixed in the ground, and on each was stuck a human head; only one remained vacant, and this cried out continually: ‘Old woman, give me a head!’ When the old woman had shown him all, she said: ‘Know that all these engaged to watch the mare and the foal, but were unable to watch her successfully.’ But the prince was in no wise terrified thereby. In the afternoon he mounted the mare and galloped uphill and downhill, and the foal galloped after her. Thus till midnight, and then, would he nould he, sleep crept over him, and he fell asleep. When he woke up at dawn his arms were round a stump instead of the mare, but he held the halter in his hand. When he perceived this, the poor fellow became dizzy from terror, and started off to look for her; and while he was looking for her, came to a sheet of water, and when he came to the water, he remembered the little fish, unfolded the handkerchief, and took out the scale and rubbed it between his fingers. Up sprang the little fish out of the water, and lay before him. ‘What is the matter, adopted brother?’ said the fish. He replied: ‘The old woman’s mare has escaped from me, and I don’t know where she is.’ The fish said to him: ‘Here she is amongst us; she has transformed herself into a fish, and her foal into a little fish; but do you flap the halter on the water, and call out: “Coop! coop! old woman’s mare!”’ He flapped the water with the halter, and called out: ‘Coop! coop! old woman’s mare!’ and immediately she transformed herself again into a mare, and, pop! there she was on the brink of the water before him! He put the halter on her and mounted her, and trot! trot! and at the old woman’s. When he brought her in, the old woman gave him his dinner, but led the mare into the stable, scolded her, and said: ‘Among the fish, good-for-nothing rogue?’ The mare replied: ‘I was among the fish, but they told of me, because they are his friends.’ The old woman said to her: ‘Go among the foxes.’ The second day he mounted the mare, and galloped uphill and downhill, and the foal galloped after. Thus till midnight. When it was about midnight sleep overcame him, and he fell asleep upon the mare’s back. At dawn, when he awoke, his arms were round a stump, but he held the halter in his hand. When he perceived this, he sprang off again to seek her. As he was seeking her, it came at once into his head what the old woman had said to the mare when she was leading it into the stable. Then he unwrapped the fox’s hairs out of the handkerchief, rubbed them between his fingers, and the fox immediately jumped out before him. ‘What is it, adopted brother?’ He replied: ‘The old woman’s mare has run away.’ The fox said to him: ‘Here she is amongst us; she has become a fox, and the foal a fox-cub. But do you flap the ground with the halter, and call out: “Coop! coop! old woman’s mare!”’ He flapped and called, and the mare leaped out before him. Then he caught her and put the halter on her, mounted her, and rode to the old woman’s. When he brought her home, the old woman gave him his dinner, led the mare off to the stable, and said: ‘Among the foxes, good-for-nothing rogue?’ The mare replied: ‘I was among them, but they are his friends, and told of me.’ The old woman said to her: ‘Be among the crows.’ The third day the prince again mounted the mare, and galloped her uphill and downhill, and the foal galloped after. Thus till midnight. About midnight he became sleepy, and fell asleep, and woke up at dawn; but his arms were round a stump, and he held the halter in his hand. As soon as he perceived this, he darted off again to seek the mare, and as he was seeking her, it came into his head what the old woman had said the day before when scolding the mare. He took out the handkerchief and unwrapped the crow’s feathers, rubbed them between his fingers, and, pop! the crow was before him. ‘What is it, adopted brother?’ The prince replied: ‘The old woman’s mare has run away, and I don’t know where she is.’ The crow answered: ‘Here she is amongst us; she has become a crow, and the foal a young crow. But flap the halter in the air, and cry: “Coop! coop! old woman’s mare!”’ He flapped the halter in the air, and cried: ‘Coop! coop! old woman’s mare!’ and the mare transformed herself from a crow into a mare, just as she had been, and came before him. Then he put the halter on her, and mounted her, and galloped off, the foal following behind, to the old woman’s. The old woman gave him his dinner, caught the mare, led her into the stable, and said to her: ‘Among the crows, good-for-nothing rogue?’ The mare replied: ‘I was among them, but they are his friends, and told of me.’ Then when the old woman came out, the prince said to her: ‘Well, old woman, I have served you honestly; now I ask you to give me that which we agreed upon.’ The old woman replied: ‘My son, what is agreed upon must be given. Here are twelve horses—choose whichever you please.’ He replied: ‘Why shall I pick and choose? Give me that one where he is in the corner; there is none better in my eyes.’ Then the old woman began to dissuade him: ‘Why chose that skinny one when there are so many good ones?’ He then insisted once for all: ‘Give me the one which I ask, for such was our agreement.’ The old woman twisted, turned, and without more ado gave him the one which he asked for. Then he mounted it, and ‘Farewell, old woman!’ ‘Good-bye, my son!’ When he took it to a wood and groomed it, it glittered like gold. Afterwards, when he mounted it and gave it its head, it flew, flew like a bird, and in a jiffy arrived at the dragon’s palace. As soon as he entered the courtyard, he bade the empress to get ready for flight. She was not long in getting ready; they both mounted the horse and set off. They had not long started in flight when the dragon arrived—looked about. No empress. Then he said to his horse: ‘Shall we eat and drink, or shall we pursue?’ ‘Eat or not, drink or not, pursue or not, you won’t catch him.’ When the dragon heard this, he immediately mounted his horse, and started to pursue them. When the prince and empress perceived that he was pursuing them, they were terrified, and urged their horse to go quickly, but the horse answered them: ‘Never fear; there’s no need to hurry.’ The dragon came trot, trot, and the horse he rode called to that which bore the prince and the empress: ‘Bless you, brother, wait! for I shall break my wind from pursuing you.’ The other replied: ‘Whose fault is it, if you’re such a fool as to carry that spectre on your back? Buck, and throw him on the ground, and then follow me.’ When the dragon’s horse heard this, up with his head, a jump with his hind-quarters, and bang went the dragon against a stone. The dragon was smashed to pieces, and his horse followed the prince and empress. Then the empress caught and mounted it, and they arrived safe and sound in the empress’s dominions, and reigned honourably as long as they lived.

XXXIX.—THE LANGUAGE OF ANIMALS.

A certain man had a shepherd, who served him faithfully and honestly for many years. This shepherd, when he was once upon a time following the sheep, heard a whistling on the hill, and, not knowing what it was, went off to see. When he got to the place, there was a conflagration, and in the middle of it a serpent was squeaking. When he saw this, he waited to see how the serpent would act, for all around it was burning, and the fire had almost come close to it. When the serpent saw him, it screamed: ‘Dear shepherd, do a good action: take me out of this fire.’ The shepherd took pity on its words, and reached it his crook, and it crawled out upon it. When it had crawled out, it coiled itself round his neck. When the shepherd saw this, he was frightened, and said: ‘Indeed you are a wretch! Is that the way you are going to thank me for rescuing you? So runs the proverb: “Do good, and find evil.”’ The serpent answered him: ‘Don’t fear: I shall do you no harm; only carry me to my father; my father is the emperor of the serpents.’ The shepherd begged pardon, and excused himself: ‘I can’t carry you to your father, because I have no one to leave in charge of my sheep.’ The serpent said to him: ‘Don’t fear for your sheep; nothing will happen to them; only carry me to my father, and go quickly.’ Then there was no help for it, so he started with it over the hill. When he came to a door, which was formed of nothing but serpents intertwined, and went up to it, the serpent which was coiled round his neck gave a whistle, and the serpents, which had twined themselves into the form of a door, immediately untwined, and made way for them to enter. As the shepherd and the serpent entered the palace, the serpent called to the shepherd: ‘Stop! let me tell you something: when you come into my father’s palace, he will promise you what you desire, silver and gold; but don’t you accept anything, only ask him to give you such a tongue that you will be able to understand all animals. He will not give you this readily, but at last grant it you he will.’ The shepherd went with it into its father’s palace, and its father, on seeing it, shed tears, and asked it: ‘Hey, my son, where have you been till now?’ It replied, and told him everything in order: what had taken place, and how it had taken place, and how the shepherd had rescued it. Then the emperor of the serpents turned to the shepherd, and said to him: ‘Come, my son, what do you wish me to give you in recompense for rescuing my child?’ The shepherd replied to him: ‘Nothing else, only give me such a tongue that I can understand all animals.’ The emperor of the serpents said to him: ‘That is not a proper gift for you, my son, because, if I give you anything of the kind, you will betray yourself in somebody’s presence by boasting of it, and then you will die immediately; ask something else.’ The shepherd replied to him: ‘I wish for nothing else. If you will give it me, give it; if not, farewell!’ He turned to go; but the emperor of the serpents cried out: ‘Stay! Return! If you ask this, come, that I may give it you. Open your mouth.’ The shepherd opened his mouth, and the emperor of the serpents spat into it, and told him to spit also into his mouth. And thus they spat thrice into each other’s mouths. When this was done, the emperor of the serpents said to the shepherd: ‘Now you have the tongue which you desired; go, and farewell! But it is not permitted you to tell anybody, because, if you do, you will die. I am telling you the truth.’ The shepherd then departed. As he went over the hill, he understood the conversation of the birds, and, so to speak, of everything in the world. When he came to his sheep, he found them correct in number, and sat down to rest. But scarcely had he lain down, when two crows flew up, perched on a tree hard by him, and began to converse in their language: ‘If that shepherd knew that just where that black lamb lies a vault full of silver and gold is buried in the ground, he would take its contents.’ When he heard this, he went and told his master, and he brought a cart, and they broke open the door of the vault, and took out its valuable contents. His master was a righteous man, and said to him: ‘Well, my son, this is all yours; the Lord has given it you. Go, provide a house, get married, and live comfortably.’ The shepherd took the property, went away, provided a house, got married, and lived very comfortably. This shepherd, after a little time, became so rich and prosperous that there was nobody richer than he in his own or the neighbouring villages. He had shepherds, cowherds, swineherds, grooms, and everything on a handsome scale. Once upon a time this shepherd ordered his wife on New Year’s Eve to provide wine, brandy, and everything requisite, and to go the next morning to his cattle, to take the provisions to the herdsmen, that they, too, might enjoy themselves. His wife obeyed him, and did as her husband ordered her.

The next day they got up, got ready, and went. When they arrived where the cattle were, the master said to his shepherds: ‘Lads, assemble together, and sit down to eat and drink your fill, and I will watch the cattle to-night.’ This was done; they assembled together, and he went out to sleep by the cattle. In the course of the night, after some time, the wolves began to howl and speak in their language, and the dogs to bark and speak in theirs. The wolves said: ‘Can we capture any young cattle?’ The dogs answered in their language: ‘Come in, that we, too, may eat our fill of flesh.’ But among the dogs there was one old dog, who had only two teeth left. This dog spoke and answered the wolves: ‘In faith, as long as these two teeth of mine last, you shan’t come near to do harm to my master.’ In the morning, when it dawned, the master called the herdsmen, and told them to kill all the dogs except that old one. His servants began to implore him: ‘Don’t, master! Why? It’s a sin.’ But he said to them: ‘Do just as I ordered you, and not otherwise.’

Then he and his wife mounted their horses and went off. His wife rode a mare, and he a horse. As they went, the master’s horse outstripped the wife’s mare, and began to say to her in their language: ‘Go quicker; why do you hang back?’ The mare’s reply in defence of her lagging pace was so amusing that the man laughed out loud, turned his head, and looked behind him with a smile. His wife observed him smiling, whipped her mare to catch him up, and then asked him to tell her why he smiled. He said to her: ‘Well, suppose I did? Something came into my head.’ This answer did not satisfy her, but she began to worry him to tell her why he smiled. He said this and that to her to get out of it, but the more he said to get out of it, the more did she worry him. At length he said to her that, if he told her, he would die immediately. But she had no dread of her husband’s dying, and went on worrying him: ‘There is no alternative, but tell me you must.’ When they got home, they dismounted from their horses, and as soon as they had done so, her husband ordered a grave to be dug for him. It was dug, and he lay down in it, and said to his wife: ‘Did you not press me to tell you why I smiled? Come now, that I may tell you; but I shall die immediately.’ On saying this, he gave one more look round him, and observed that the old dog had come from the cattle. Seeing this, he told his wife to give him a piece of bread. She gave it him, but the dog would not even look at it, but shed tears and wept; but the cock, seeing it, ran up and began to peck it. The dog was angry, and said: ‘As if you’d die hungry! Don’t you see that our master is going to die?’ ‘What a fool he is! Let him die! Whose fault is it? I have a hundred wives. When I find a grain of millet, I call them all to me, and finally eat it myself. If one of them gets cross at this, I give her one or two pecks, and she lowers her tail; but this man isn’t equal to keeping one in order.’ When the man heard the cock say this, he jumped up at once out of the grave, seized a stick, chased his wife over hill and dale, and at last settled her completely, so that it never entered her head any more to ask him why he smiled.

SERBIAN STORIES.

THE Serbian is the most widely spread of the South Slavonic dialects, being spoken not only in Serbia proper, but also in Bosnia, Herzegovina, Croatia, Carniola, and a great part of South Hungary. It has, like the Bulgarian, been affected by the old Thracian language, but not to the same extent. The infinitive is very frequently represented by da with the finite verb. Szafarzik includes the whole of the South Slavonic dialects, except the Bulgarian, under the common name ‘Illyrian,’ and subdivides them into the three divisions of Serbian, Croatian, and Carinthian-Slovenish.

The Serbian stories are generally good, particularly No. 40, which may be compared with a very inferior variant in Grimm, ‘The Golden Bird.’ No. 40 is one of the stories, the beauty of which set me to work upon the present series of translations. In it is to be noticed the pobratimstvo, or adoptive brotherhood, which plays so important a part in Serbian life, and of which we have just had a glimpse in the Bulgarian story, No. 38. No. 43 is a very good story, containing novel and interesting incidents. In No. 44 it must be observed that ‘Fate’ is represented as a man, for the converse reason to that for which Death is represented as a woman in the Moravian story, No 8. Usud (Fate) is masculine, while Smrt (Death) is feminine in Slavonic.

The Serbs possess actual epic poetry, of which an account is given by Mr. Morfill (‘Slavonic Literature,’ pp. 154-162).

There was a man who had three sons—two intelligent, and one a simpleton. This man’s right eye was always laughing, while his left eye was weeping and shedding tears. This man’s sons agreed to go to him one by one, and ask him why his right eye laughed and his left eye shed tears.

Accordingly the eldest went to his father by himself, and asked him: ‘Father, tell me truly what I am going to ask you. Why does your right eye always laugh and your left eye weep?’ His father gave him no answer, but flew into a rage, seized a knife, and at him, and he fled out of doors, and the knife stuck in the door. The other two were outside, anxiously expecting their brother, and when he came out, asked him what his father had said to him. But he answered them: ‘If you’re not wiser than another, go, and you will hear.’

Then the middle brother went to his father by himself, and asked him: ‘Father, tell me truly what I am going to ask you. Why does your right eye always laugh and your left weep?’ His father gave him no answer, but flew into a rage, seized a knife, and at him, and he fled out of doors, and the knife stuck in the door. When he came out to his brothers, his brothers asked him: ‘Tell us, brother—so may health and prosperity attend you!—what our father has said to you.’ He answered them: ‘If you’re not wiser than another, go, and you will hear.’ But this he said to his elder brother on account of the simpleton, that he, too, might go to his father to hear and see. Then the simpleton, too, went by himself to his father, and asked him: ‘Father, my two brothers won’t tell me what you have said to them; tell me why your right eye always laughs and your left eye weeps?’ His father immediately flew into a rage, seized a knife, and brandished the knife to pierce him through; but as he was standing, so he remained standing where he was, and wasn’t frightened in the least. When his father saw that, he came to him, and said: ‘Well, you’re my true son, I will tell you; but those two are cowards. The reason why my right eye laughs is, that I rejoice and am glad because you children obey and serve me well. And why my left eye weeps, it weeps on this account: I had in my garden a vine, which poured forth a bucket of wine every hour, thus producing me twenty-four buckets of wine every day and night. This vine has been stolen from me, and I have not been able to find it, nor do I know who has taken it or where it is. And for this reason my left eye weeps, and will weep till I die, unless I find it.’ When the simpleton came out of doors, his brothers asked him what his father had said, and he told them all in order.

Then they prepared a drinking bout for their father and the domestics, and set out on their journey. On the journey they came to a cross-road, and three ways lay before them. The two elder consulted together, and said to their youngest brother, the simpleton: ‘Come, brother, let us each choose a road, and let each go by himself and seek his fortune.’ ‘Yes, brothers,’ answered the simpleton; ‘you choose each a road; I will take that which remains to me.’ The two elder took two roads which ran into each other, started on their way, and afterwards met, came out into the road, and said: ‘Praise be to God that we’re quit of that fool!’ They then sat down to take their dinner. Scarcely had they sat down to eat, when up came a lame she-fox on three legs, which approached them, fawning and begging to obtain something to eat. But as soon as they saw the fox: ‘Here’s a fox,’ said they; ‘come, let us kill it.’ Then, stick in hand, and after it. The fox limped away in the best fashion it could, and barely escaped from them. Meanwhile, shepherd-dogs came to their wallet and ate up everything that they had. When they returned to the wallet they had a sight to see.

The simpleton took the third road right on, and went forward till he began to feel hungry. Then he sat down on the grass under a pear-tree, and took bread and bacon out of his wallet to eat. Scarcely had he sat down to eat, when, lo! that very same lame fox which his two brothers had seen began to approach him, and to fawn and beg, limping on three feet. He had compassion on it because it was so lame, and said: ‘Come, fox, I know that you are hungry, and that it is hard lines for you that you have not a fourth foot.’ He gave it bread and bacon to eat, a portion for himself, and a portion for the fox. When they had refreshed themselves a little, the fox said to him: ‘But, brother, tell me the truth: whither are you going?’ He said: ‘Thus and thus: I have a father and us three brothers; and one of my father’s eyes always laughs, because we serve him well, and the other eye weeps, because there has been stolen from him a vine belonging to him, which poured forth a bucket of wine every hour; and now I am going to ask people all over the world whether someone cannot inform me about this vine, that I may obtain it for my father, that his eye may not weep any longer.’

The fox said: ‘Well, I know where the vine is; follow me.’ He followed the fox, and they came to a large garden. Then the fox said: ‘There is the vine of which you are in search; but it is difficult to get to it. Do you now mark well what I am going to say to you. In the garden, before the vine is reached, it is necessary to pass twelve watches, and in each watch twelve warders. When the warders are looking, you can pass them freely, because they sleep with their eyes open. If they have their eyes closed, go not, for they are awake, not sleeping, with their eyes closed. When you come into the garden, there under the vine stand two shovels—one of wood, and the other of gold. But mind you don’t take the golden shovel to dig up the vine, for the shovel will ring, and will wake up the watch; the watch will seize you, and you may fare badly. But take the wooden shovel, and with it dig up the vine, and, when the watch is looking, come quietly to me outside, and you will have obtained the vine.’

He went into the garden, arrived at the first watch; the warders directed their eyes towards him; one would have thought they would have looked him to powder. But he went past them as past a stone, came to the second, third, and all the watches in succession, and arrived in the garden at the vine itself. The vine poured forth a bucket of wine every hour. He was too lazy to dig with the wooden shovel, but took the golden one, and as soon as he struck it into the ground, the shovel rang and woke the watch; the watch assembled, seized him, and delivered him to their lord.

The lord asked the simpleton: ‘How did you dare to pass so many watches, and come into the garden to take my vine away?’ The simpleton said: ‘It is not your vine, but my father’s; and my father’s left eye weeps, and will weep till I obtain him the vine, and I must do it; and if you don’t give me my father’s vine, I shall come again, and the second time I shall take it away.’ The lord said: ‘I cannot give you the vine. But if you procure me the golden apple-tree which blooms, ripens, and bears golden fruit every twenty-four hours, I will give it you.’

He went out to the fox, and the fox asked him: ‘Well, how is it?’ He answered: ‘No how. I went past the watch, and began to dig up the vine with the wooden shovel; but it was too long a job, and I took the golden shovel; the shovel rang and woke the watch; the watch seized me, and delivered me to their lord, and the lord promised to give me the vine, if I procured him the golden apple-tree which, every twenty-four hours, blooms, ripens, and bears golden fruit.’ The fox said: ‘But why did you not obey me? You see how nice it would have been to go to your father with the vine.’ He shook his head: ‘I see that I have done wrong; but I will do so no more.’ The fox said: ‘Come! now let us go to the golden apple-tree.’ The fox led him to a far handsomer garden than the first one, and told him that he must pass similarly through twelve similar watches. ‘And when you come in the garden,’ said she, ‘to where the golden apple-tree is, two very long poles stand there—one of gold, and the other of wood. Don’t take the golden one to beat the golden apple-tree, for the golden branch will emit a whistling sound, and will wake the watch, and you will fare ill; but take the wooden pole to beat the golden apple-tree, and then mind you come out immediately to me. If you do not obey me, I will not help you further.’ He said: ‘I will, fox, only that it may be mine to acquire the golden apple-tree to purchase the vine; I am impatient to go to my father.’ He went into the garden, and the fox stayed waiting for him outside. He passed the twelve watches, and also arrived at the apple-tree. But when he saw the apple-tree, and the golden apples on the apple-tree, he forgot for joy where he was, and hastily took the golden pole to beat the golden apple-tree. As soon as he had stripped a golden branch with the pole, the golden branch emitted a whistling sound, and woke the watch; the watch hastened up, seized and delivered him to the lord of the golden apple-tree. The lord asked the simpleton: ‘How did you dare, and how were you able, to go into my garden in face of so many watches of mine, to beat the golden apple-trees?’ The simpleton said: ‘Thus and thus: my father’s left eye weeps because a vine has been stolen from him, which poured forth a bucket of wine every hour. That vine is kept in such and such a garden, and the lord of the garden and the vine said to me: “If you procure me the golden apple-tree which, every twenty-four hours, blooms, ripens, and produces golden fruit, I will give you the vine.” And, therefore, I have come to beat the golden apple-tree, to give the apple-tree for the vine, and to carry the vine to my father, that his left eye may not weep. And if you do not give me the golden apple-tree now, I shall come again to steal it.’

The lord said: ‘It is good, if it is so. Go you and procure me the golden horse which, in twenty-four hours, goes over the world, and I will give you the golden apple-tree; give the apple-tree for the vine, and take the vine to your father, that he may weep no more.’

Then he went outside, and the fox, awaiting him, said: ‘Now, then; how is it?’ ‘Not very well. The golden apple-trees are so beautiful that you can’t look at them for beauty. I forgot myself, and couldn’t take the wooden pole, as you told me, but took the golden pole to beat the golden apple-tree; the branch emitted a whistling sound, and woke the watch; the watch seized me, and delivered me to their lord, and the lord told me, if I procured him the golden horse which goes over the world in twenty-four hours, he would give me the golden apple-tree, that I may give the apple-tree for the vine to take to my father, that he may weep no more.’

Again the fox began to scold and reproach him: ‘Why did you not obey me? You see that you would have been by now at your father’s. And thus you torment both yourself and me.’ He said to the fox: ‘Only procure me the horse, fox, and I will always henceforth obey you.’

The fox led him to a large and horrible forest, and in the forest they found a farmyard. In this farmyard twelve watches, as in the case of the vine and the apple-tree, guarded the golden horse. The fox said: ‘Now you will pass the watches as before; go if they are looking; do not go if they have their eyes shut. When you enter the stable, there stands the golden horse, equipped with golden trappings. By the horse are two bridles—one of gold, and the other plaited of tow. Mind you don’t take the golden bridle, but the one of tow; if you bridle him with the golden bridle, the horse will neigh and will wake the watch; the watch will seize you, and who will be worse off than you? Don’t come into my sight without the horse!’ ‘I won’t, fox,’ said he, and went. He passed all the watches, and entered the stable where the horse was. When he was there, golden horse! golden wings! so beautiful, good heavens! that you couldn’t look at them for beauty! He saw the golden bridle; it was beautiful and ornamented; he saw also that of tow; it was dirty, and couldn’t be worse. Now he thought long what to do and how to do. ‘I can’t put that nasty thing’ (the tow bridle)—‘it’s so nasty!—on that beauty; I had rather not have him at all than put such a horse to shame.’ He took the golden bridle, bridled the golden horse, and mounted him. But the horse neighed, and woke the watch; the watch seized him and delivered him to their lord.

Then the lord said: ‘How did you have resolution to pass my numerous warders into my stable to take away my golden horse?’ The simpleton replied: ‘Need drove me; I have a father at home, and his left eye continually weeps, and will weep till I obtain for him a vine which in a day and night poured forth twenty-four buckets of wine; this vine has been stolen from him. Well, I have found it, and it has been told me that I shall obtain the vine if I procure the golden apple-tree for the lord of the vine. And the lord of the golden apple-tree said if I procured him the golden horse, he would give me the golden apple-tree. And I came from him to take away the golden horse, that I might give the golden horse for the golden apple-tree, and the golden apple-tree for the vine, to take it home and give it my father, that he may weep no more.’ The lord said: ‘Good; if it is so, I will give you my golden horse, if you procure me the golden damsel in her cradle, who has never yet seen either the sun or the moon, so that her face is not tanned.’ And the simpleton said: ‘I will procure you the golden damsel, but you must give me your golden horse, on which to seek the golden damsel and bring her to you. And a golden horse properly appertains to a golden damsel.’ The lord: ‘And how will you guarantee that you will return to me again?’ The simpleton: ‘Behold, I swear to you by my father’s eyesight, that I will return to you again, and either bring the horse, if I do not find the damsel, or give you the damsel, if I find her, for the horse.’ To this the lord agreed, and gave him the golden horse; he bridled it with the golden bridle, and came outside to the fox. The fox was impatiently expecting him, to know what had happened.

The fox: ‘Well, have you obtained the horse?’ The simpleton: ‘I have, but on condition that I procure for him the golden damsel in her cradle, who has never yet seen the sun or the moon, so that her face is not tanned. But if you know what need is, good friend, in the world, say whether she is anywhere, and whether you know of such a damsel.’ The fox said: ‘I know where the damsel is; only follow me.’ He followed, and they came to a large cavern. Now the fox said: ‘There the damsel is. You will go into that cavern, deep into the earth. You will pass the watches as before. In the last chamber lies the golden damsel in a golden cradle. By the damsel stands a huge spectre, which says: “No! No! No!” Now, don’t be at all afraid; it cannot do anything to you in any wise; but her wicked mother has placed it beside her daughter, that no one may venture to approach her to take her away. And the damsel is impatiently waiting to be released and freed from her mother’s cruelty. When you come back with the damsel in the cradle, push all the doors to behind you, that they may be shut, that the watch may not be able to come out after you in pursuit.’ He did so. He passed all the watches, entered the last chamber, and in the chamber was the damsel, rocking herself in a golden cradle, and on the way to the cradle stood a huge spectre, which said: ‘No! No! No!’ But he paid no attention to it. He took the cradle in his hands, seated himself with the cradle on the horse, and proceeded, pushed the doors to, and the doors closed from the first to the last, and out he flew with the damsel in the cradle before the fox. The fox was anxiously expecting him.

Now the fox said to him: ‘Are you not sorry to give so beautiful a damsel for the golden horse? But you will not otherwise be able to acquire the golden horse, because you have sworn by your father’s eyesight. But come! let me try whether I can’t be the golden damsel.’ She bounded hither and thither, and transformed herself into a golden damsel; everything about her was damsel-like, only her eyes were shaped like a fox’s eyes. He put her into the golden cradle, and left the real damsel under a tree to take charge of the golden horse. He went, he took away the golden cradle, and in the cradle the fox-damsel, delivered her to the lord of the golden horse, and absolved himself from the oath by his father’s eyesight. He returned to the horse and the damsel. Now that same lord of the golden horse, full of joy at acquiring the golden damsel, assembled all his lordship, prepared a grand banquet for their entertainment, and showed them what he had acquired in exchange for his golden horse. While the guests were gazing at the damsel, one of them scrutinized her attentively, and said: ‘All is damsel-like, and she is very beautiful, but her eyes are shaped like a fox’s eyes.’ No sooner had he said this, when up sprang the fox and ran away. The lord and the guests were enraged that he had said ‘fox’s eyes,’ and put him to death.

The fox ran to the simpleton, and on they went to give the golden horse for the golden apple-tree. They arrived at the place. Here again the fox said: ‘Now, you see, you have got possession of the golden damsel, but the golden horse properly appertains to the golden damsel. Are you sorry to give the golden horse?’ ‘Yes, fox; but though I am sorry, yet I wish my father not to weep.’ The fox: ‘But stay; let me try whether I can be the golden horse.’ She bounded hither and thither, and transformed herself into a golden horse, only she had a fox’s tail. Then she said: ‘Now lead me; let them give you the golden apple-tree, and I know when I shall come to you.’

He led off the fox-horse, delivered it to the lord of the golden apple-tree, and obtained the golden apple-tree. Now, the lord of the golden apple-tree was delighted at having acquired so beautiful a horse, and invited his whole lordship to a feast, to boast to them what a horse he had acquired. The guests began to gaze at the horse, and to wonder how beautiful he was. All at once one scrutinized his tail attentively, and said: ‘All is beautiful and all pleases me, only I should say that it is a fox’s tail!’ The moment he said that, the fox jumped up and ran away. But the guests were enraged at him for using the expression ‘fox’s tail,’ and put him to death. The fox came to the simpleton, and proceeded with the golden damsel, the horse, and the golden apple-tree to the vine.

Now again the fox said: ‘You see, now you have acquired the golden apple-tree. But the golden damsel is not appropriate without the golden horse, or the golden horse without the golden apple-tree. Are you sorry to give the golden apple-tree?’ The simpleton: ‘Yes, fox; but I must, to obtain the vine, that my father may not weep. I had rather that my father did not weep than all that I have.’ The fox said: ‘Stay! I will try whether I can be the golden apple-tree.’ She bounded hither and thither, and transformed herself into a golden apple-tree, and told him to take it away and give it for the vine. He took off the golden fox-apple-tree, and gave it to the lord of the vine, obtained the vine, and went away.

The lord for joy assembled his whole lordship, and prepared a grand feast, to display what a golden apple-tree he had acquired. The guests assembled and began to gaze at the apple-tree. But one scrutinized it attentively, and said: ‘All is beautiful, and cannot be more beautiful, only the fruit is in shape a fox’s head, and not like other apples.’ No sooner had he said this when up jumped the fox and ran away. But they were enraged at him and slew him, because he had said ‘fox’s head.’

Now the simpleton took leave of the fox and went home, having with him the golden damsel, the golden horse, the golden apple-tree, and the vine. When he arrived at the cross-road, where he had parted from his brothers when he went from home to seek the vine, he saw a multitude of people assembled, and he, too, went thither to see what was the matter. When he got there, his two brothers were standing condemned, and the people were going to hang them. He told the damsel that they were his brothers, and that he would like to ransom them. The damsel took a large quantity of treasure out of her bosom, and he ransomed his brothers, the malefactors, who had thought to acquire the vine by slaying, burning, and plundering. They envied him, but could not help themselves. They proceeded home. The simpleton planted the vine in the garden where it had been; the vine began to pour forth wine, and his father’s left eye ceased to weep and began to laugh. The apple-tree began to blossom, the golden horse to neigh, the damsel to sing, and there was love and beauty at the farmhouse. Everything was merry, everything was rejoicing and making progress.

All at once the father sent his sons to bring him from the country three ears of rye, that he might see what manner of season it would be. When they came to a well in the country, they told their simpleton brother to get them some water to drink. He stooped over the well to reach the water for them; they pushed him into the water and he was drowned. Immediately the vine ceased to pour forth wine, the father’s eye began to weep, the apple-tree drooped, the horse ceased to neigh, the damsel began to weep, and everything lost its cheerful appearance. Thereupon that self-same lame fox came up, got down into the well, gently drew her adopted brother out, poured the water out of him, placed him on the fresh grass, and he revived. As soon as he revived the fox was transformed into a very beautiful damsel. Then she related to him how her mother had cursed her because she had rescued her greatest enemy from death. She was cursed, and was transformed into a cunning fox, and limped on three feet until she should rescue her benefactor from a watery death. ‘And, lo! I have rescued you, my adopted brother. Now, adieu!’ She went her way, and the simpleton his way to his father, and when he arrived at the farmhouse the vine began again to pour forth wine, his father’s eye to laugh [the golden apple-tree to bloom], the golden horse to neigh, and the golden damsel to sing. He told his father what his brothers had done to him on the way, and how a damsel had rescued him and freed herself from a curse. When his father heard this he drove the two villains into the world. But he married the simpleton to the golden damsel, with whom he lived long in happiness and content.

There was an old man who had three sons and one daughter. When the time came for the old man to die, he summoned all his three sons, and made them promise under oath to give their sister to the first who came to ask for her, whoever he might be. When some time had elapsed after the father’s death, an old man arrived in a two-wheeler, and asked for the maiden in marriage. The two elder brothers would not give her to him immediately, because he was old and poor; but the youngest insisted that they should give her to him, reminding them of the oath they had sworn to their father. And so they gave her in marriage to the old man, and the old man took her away to his home. After some time, the elder brother went on a visit to his sister. When he got there, it was a large house, and couldn’t be better. The sister was greatly delighted when she saw her brother, and when he inquired of her how she was getting on, she replied: ‘Excellently; it can’t be better.’ When the brother arrived at his sister’s, the old man was not at home, but soon afterwards arrived, and was very pleased when he saw his wife’s brother, and said to him: ‘We will feast and be merry; but first you shall go on my horse to fetch him some grass, but you must cut it where the horse paws with his foot, and not where you please.’ His wife’s brother said to him: ‘Good! brother-in-law, I will.’ He then mounted the horse and went off. As on he went, he came to a silver bridge. When he espied the bridge and saw that it was all of silver, he became covetous, dismounted, and pulled off a silver plate, saying: ‘I may benefit myself.’ Afterwards he cut grass where he pleased, without waiting till the horse pawed with his foot, mounted the horse again, and returned back. On arriving at the house, he put the horse in the stable, placed the grass before him, and went off into the house. When he arrived in the house, the old man asked him whether he had satisfied the horse, and whether the horse was eating the grass. He replied, ‘Yes,’ and that the horse was eating. The old man said: ‘It is good that I also look.’ He then went into the stable. When he got there, the horse had not touched it. The old man understood that the grass had not been cut where he had told him; he therefore at once sent off his brother-in-law supperless, to go back whence he had come. On reaching home, he didn’t tell his brothers how he had fared at his brother-in-law’s, but said to the middle brother: ‘Our brother-in-law salutes you, and wishes you to go to be his guest.’ After some time, the middle brother went on a visit to his sister; but he, too, fared even as the first one. His sister’s husband sent him, too, for grass, and when he got to the silver bridge, he, too, became covetous, like the first, pulled off a silver plate, and did not cut the grass as his brother-in-law told him, but where he thought fit. When he came back to his brother-in-law’s house, his brother-in-law caught him, too, out in a lie, and sent him home supperless, like the first one. When he got home, he told nobody how he had fared at his brother-in-law’s, but said to the youngest brother: ‘Our brother-in-law salutes you, and wishes you to go to visit him.’

After some time, the youngest brother, too, went off. When his sister espied him, she said to him: ‘Only, brother, be sure not to do as our two brothers have done.’ He didn’t know what they had done, and his sister would not tell him anything more. When his sister’s husband came home, he, too, was delighted with his wife’s brother, and said to him: ‘We will feast and be merry, only go first on my horse and fetch him some grass; but you will cut it there where the horse paws with his foot, and not where you please.’ He mounted the horse and went off for the grass. When he arrived at the bridge, he was astonished at its beauty, but was quite sorry that it hadn’t those two plates; and when he came to the middle, he looked on one side and the other, and saw under it, where water was bubbling in a huge caldron, and human heads boiling in it, and eagles pecking them from above. Afterwards, having passed over the bridge, he came to a village, and, as he passed through it, saw that there everything was sad and sorrowful, and wondered thereat, and asked a man: ‘How is this, brother, that all is so sorrowful with you?’ He replied: ‘How should it not be sorrowful, when hail smites us every hour, and we have nothing.’ When he came out of the village, he found two pigs on the road, and they were fighting without ceasing. He tried to part them, but in vain, and, being unable to part them, went on further. Thus proceeding, he came to another village, and, as he went through, heard on all sides singing and merriment, and said to someone: ‘I went through one village and found everything sorrowful, and why is all so merry with you?’ The villager answered him: ‘Why should it not be so, when every hour is productive to us, and we have all in abundance?’ Finally, the horse carried him to a very beautiful meadow. When they were in the middle of the meadow, the horse stood still and pawed with his foot, and he dismounted and cut grass, and returned back to the house. When he got to the house, he led the horse into the stable, laid the grass before him, and the horse immediately began to eat. When his sister’s husband saw that he had satisfied the horse, he was very pleased, and said to him: ‘You are my true brother-in-law; now let us be merry and feast.’ Then they sat down to table and began to sup. At supper the old man said to him: ‘Now, tell me what you have seen.’ He answered him: ‘Oh, my brother-in-law! what I have seen cannot be expressed. First I saw a very beautiful silver bridge, but it was disfigured where it wanted a pair of plates. Whoever took these away, the living God hath slain him!’ The old man thereupon told him: ‘Your two brothers stole them. As they have done, so have they fared. But tell me what you saw next.’ His wife’s brother replied: ‘At the middle under the bridge I saw a huge caldron, where it was bubbling, and in it the heads of dead people, and eagles were pecking them from above.’ Thereupon his sister’s husband said: ‘Those are the eternal torments in that world. What did you see more?’ His wife’s brother continued: ‘I saw a village, and in it everything miserable.’ The old man said to him: ‘There there is no union and no truth, nor knowledge of God. What did you see further?’ His wife’s brother said to him further: ‘I saw two pigs fighting without ceasing.’ His sister’s husband replied: ‘Those are two brothers who do not live in concord. What did you see further?’ ‘I saw another village, and in it all was cheerful.’ His sister’s husband said to that: ‘Those are people after God’s will; they gladly welcome and entertain everybody, and do not drive the poor empty-handed from before their houses. Tell me what you saw further.’ His wife’s brother said to him: ‘I saw a very beautiful meadow. I would stay there three days to view such beauty.’ His sister’s husband replied: ‘That is the paradise of that world, but it is difficult to attain to it.’ After this they enjoyed each other’s society for many days. Finally, the wife’s brother declared that he must go home, and his sister’s husband presented him with a large gift, and told him that he recognised him immediately for an honourable man, because he had insisted that his father’s directions, which he had sworn to observe, should be carried out, and that he would be prosperous, and his two brothers unprosperous.

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N.B.—There are two words for ‘brother-in-law’ in Servian: shura, the wife’s brother, and zet, the sister’s husband. This makes the tale read better in Servian than in English.

There was a man who was very poor, but so well supplied with children that he was utterly unable to maintain them, and one morning more than once prepared to kill them, in order not to see their misery in dying from hunger, but his wife prevented him. One night a child came to him in his sleep, and said to him: ‘Man! I see that you are making up your mind to destroy and to kill your poor little children, and I know that you are distressed thereat; but in the morning you will find under your pillow a mirror, a red kerchief, and an embroidered pocket-handkerchief; take all three secretly and tell nobody; then go to such a hill; by it you will find a stream; go along it till you come to its fountain-head; there you will find a damsel as bright as the sun, with her hair hanging down over her back, and without a scrap of clothing. Be on your guard, that the ferocious she-dragon do not coil round you; do not converse with her if she speaks; for if you converse with her, she will poison you, and turn you into a fish, or something else, and will then devour you; but if she bids you examine her head, examine it, and as you turn over her hair, look, and you will find one hair as red as blood; pull it out and run back again; then, if she suspects and begins to run after you, throw her first the embroidered pocket-handkerchief, then the kerchief, and, lastly, the mirror; then she will find occupation for herself. And sell that hair to some rich man; but don’t let them cheat you, for that hair is worth countless wealth; and you will thus enrich yourself and maintain your children.’

When the poor man awoke, he found everything under his pillow, just as the child had told him in his sleep; and then he went to the hill. When there, he found the stream, went on and on alongside of it, till he came to the fountain-head. Having looked about him to see where the damsel was, he espied her above a piece of water, like sunbeams threaded on a needle, and she was embroidering at a frame on stuff, the threads of which were young men’s hair. As soon as he saw her, he made a reverence to her, and she stood on her feet and questioned him: ‘Whence are you, unknown young man?’ But he held his tongue. She questioned him again: ‘Who are you? Why have you come?’ and much else of all sorts; but he was as mute as a stone, making signs with his hands, as if he were deaf and wanted help. Then she told him to sit down on her skirt. He did not wait for any more orders, but sat down, and she bent down her head to him, that he might examine it. Turning over the hair of her head, as if to examine it, he was not long in finding that red hair, and separated it from the other hair, pulled it out, jumped off her skirt and ran away back as he best could. She noticed it, and ran at his heels full speed after him. He looked round, and seeing that she was about to overtake him, threw, as he was told, the embroidered pocket-handkerchief on the way, and when she saw the pocket-handkerchief, she stooped and began to overhaul it in every direction, admiring the embroidery, till he had got a good way off. Then the damsel placed the pocket-handkerchief in her bosom, and ran after him again. When he saw that she was about to overtake him, he threw the red kerchief, and she again occupied herself, admiring and gazing, till the poor man had again got a good way off. Then the damsel became exasperated, and threw both the pocket-handkerchief and the kerchief on the way, and ran after him in pursuit. Again, when he saw that she was about to overtake him, he threw the mirror. When the damsel came to the mirror, the like of which she had never seen before, she lifted it up, and when she saw herself in it, not knowing that it was herself, but thinking that it was somebody else, she, as it were, fell in love with herself in the mirror, and the man got so far off that she was no longer able to overtake him. When she saw that she could not catch him, she turned back, and the man reached his home safe and sound. After arriving at his home, he showed his wife the hair, and told her all that had happened to him, but she began to jeer and laugh at him. But he paid no attention to her, and went to a town to sell the hair. A crowd of all sorts of people and merchants collected round him; one offered a sequin, another two, and so on, higher and higher, till they came to a hundred gold sequins. Just then the emperor heard of the hair, summoned the man into his presence, and said to him that he would give him a thousand sequins for it, and he sold it to him. What was the hair? The emperor split it in two from top to bottom, and found registered in it in writing many remarkable things, which had happened in the olden time since the beginning of the world. Thus the man became rich and lived on with his wife and children. And that child, that came to him in his sleep, was an angel sent by the Lord God, whose will it was to aid the poor man, and to reveal secrets which had not been revealed till then.

XLIII.—THE DRAGON AND THE PRINCE.

There was an emperor who had three sons. One day the eldest son went out hunting, and when he got outside the town, up sprang a hare out of a bush, and he after it, and hither and thither, till the hare fled into a water-mill, and the prince after it. But it was not a hare, but a dragon, and it waited for the prince and devoured him. When several days had elapsed and the prince did not return home, people began to wonder why it was that he was not to be found. Then the middle son went hunting, and as he issued from the town, a hare sprang out of a bush, and the prince after it, and hither and thither, till the hare fled into the water-mill and the prince after it; but it was not a hare, but a dragon, which waited for and devoured him. When some days had elapsed and the princes did not return, either of them, the whole court was in sorrow. Then the third son went hunting, to see whether he could not find his brothers. When he issued from the town, again up sprang a hare out of a bush, and the prince after it, and hither and thither, till the hare fled into the water-mill. But the prince did not choose to follow it, but went to find other game, saying to himself: ‘When I return I shall find you.’ After this he went for a long time up and down the hill, but found nothing, and then returned to the water-mill; but when he got there, there was only an old woman in the mill. The prince invoked God in addressing her: ‘God help you, old woman!’ The old woman replied: ‘God help you, my son!’ Then the prince asked her: ‘Where, old woman, is my hare?’ She replied: ‘My son, that was not a hare, but a dragon. It kills and throttles many people.’ Hearing this, the prince was somewhat disturbed, and said to the old woman: ‘What shall we do now? Doubtless my two brothers also have perished here.’ The old woman answered: ‘They have indeed; but there’s no help for it. Go home, my son, lest you follow them.’ Then he said to her: ‘Dear old woman, do you know what? I know that you will be glad to liberate yourself from that pest.’ The old woman interrupted him: ‘How should I not? It captured me, too, in this way, but now I have no means of escape.’ Then he proceeded: ‘Listen well to what I am going to say to you. Ask it whither it goes and where its strength is; then kiss all that place where it tells you its strength is, as if from love, till you ascertain it, and afterwards tell me when I come.’ Then the prince went off to the palace, and the old woman remained in the water-mill. When the dragon came in, the old woman began to question it: ‘Where in God’s name have you been? Whither do you go so far? You will never tell me whither you go.’ The dragon replied: ‘Well, my dear old woman, I do go far.’ Then the old woman began to coax it: ‘And why do you go so far? Tell me where your strength is. If I knew where your strength is, I don’t know what I should do for love; I would kiss all that place.’ Thereupon the dragon smiled and said to her: ‘Yonder is my strength, in that fireplace.’ Then the old woman began to fondle and kiss the fireplace, and the dragon on seeing it burst into a laugh, and said to her: ‘Silly old woman, my strength isn’t there; my strength is in that tree-fungus in front of the house.’ Then the old woman began again to fondle and kiss the tree, and the dragon again laughed, and said to her: ‘Away, old woman! my strength isn’t there.’ Then the old woman inquired: ‘Where is it?’ The dragon began to give an account in detail: ‘My strength is a long way off, and you cannot go thither. Far in another empire under the emperor’s city is a lake, in that lake is a dragon, and in the dragon a boar, and in the boar a pigeon, and in that is my strength.’ The next morning when the dragon went away from the mill, the prince came to the old woman, and the old woman told him all that she had heard from the dragon. Then he left his home, and disguised himself; he put shepherd’s boots on his feet, took a shepherd’s staff in his hand, and went into the world. As he went on thus from village to village, and from town to town, at last he came into another empire and into the imperial city, in a lake under which the dragon was. On going into the town, he began to inquire who wanted a shepherd. The citizens told him that the emperor did. Then he went straight to the emperor. After he announced himself, the emperor admitted him into his presence, and asked him: ‘Do you wish to keep sheep?’ He replied: ‘I do, illustrious crown!’ Then the emperor engaged him, and began to inform and instruct him: ‘There is here a lake, and alongside of the lake very beautiful pasture, and when you call the sheep out, they go thither at once, and spread themselves round the lake; but whatever shepherd goes off there, that shepherd returns back no more. Therefore, my son, I tell you, don’t let the sheep have their own way and go where they will, but keep them where you will.’ The prince thanked the emperor, got himself ready, and called out the sheep, taking with him, moreover, two hounds that could catch a boar in the open country, and a falcon that could capture any bird, and carrying also a pair of bagpipes. When he called out the sheep he let them go at once to the lake, and when the sheep arrived at the lake, they immediately spread round it, and the prince placed the falcon on a stump, and the hounds and bagpipes under the stump, then tucked up his hose and sleeves, waded into the lake, and began to shout ‘Dragon! dragon! come out to single combat with me to-day that we may measure ourselves together, unless you’re a woman.’[15] The dragon called out in reply, ‘I will do so now, prince—now!’ Erelong, behold the dragon! it is large, it is terrible, it is disgusting! When the dragon came out, it seized him by the waist, and they wrestled a summer day till afternoon. But when the heat of afternoon came on, the dragon said: ‘Let me go, prince, that I may moisten my parched head in the lake, and toss you to the sky.’ But the prince replied: ‘Come, dragon, don’t talk nonsense; if I had the emperor’s daughter to kiss me on the forehead, I would toss you still higher.’ Thereupon the dragon suddenly let go of him, and went off into the lake. On the approach of evening, he washed and got himself up nicely, placed the falcon on his arm, the hounds behind him, and the bagpipes under his arm, then drove the sheep and went into the town playing on the bagpipes. When he arrived at the town, the whole town assembled as to see a wondrous sight because he had come, whereas previously no shepherd had been able to come from the lake. The next day the prince got ready again, and went with his sheep straight to the lake. But the emperor sent two grooms after him to go stealthily and see what he did, and they placed themselves on a high hill whence they could have a good view. When the shepherd arrived, he put the hounds and bagpipes under the stump and the falcon upon it, then tucked up his hose and sleeves, waded into the lake and shouted: ‘Dragon, dragon! come out to single combat with me, that we may measure ourselves once more together, unless you are a woman!’ The dragon replied: ‘I will do so, prince; now, now!’ Erelong, behold the dragon! it was large, it was terrible, it was disgusting! And it seized him by the waist and wrestled with him a summer’s day till afternoon. But when the afternoon heat came on, the dragon said: ‘Let me go, prince, that I may moisten my parched head in the lake, and may toss you to the sky.’ The prince replied: ‘Come, dragon, don’t talk nonsense; if I had the emperor’s daughter to kiss me on the forehead, I would toss you still higher.’ Thereupon the dragon suddenly left hold of him, and went off into the lake. When night approached the prince drove the sheep as before, and went home playing the bagpipes. When he arrived at the town, the whole town was astir and began to wonder because the shepherd came home every evening, which no one had been able to do before. Those two grooms had already arrived at the palace before the prince, and related to the emperor in order everything that they had heard and seen. Now when the emperor saw that the shepherd returned home, he immediately summoned his daughter into his presence and told her all, what it was and how it was. ‘But,’ said he, ‘to-morrow you must go with the shepherd to the lake and kiss him on the forehead.’ When she heard this she burst into tears and began to entreat her father. ‘You have no one but me, and I am your only daughter, and you don’t care about me if I perish.’ Then the emperor began to persuade and encourage her: ‘Don’t fear, my daughter; you see, we have had so many changes of shepherds, and of all that went out to the lake not one has returned; but he has been contending with the dragon for two whole days and it has done him no hurt. I assure you, in God’s name, that he is able to overcome the dragon, only go to-morrow with him to see whether he will free us from this mischief which has destroyed so many people.’

When, on the morrow, the day dawned, the day dawned and the sun came forth, up rose the shepherd, up rose the maiden too, to begin to prepare for going to the lake. The shepherd was cheerful, more cheerful than ever, but the emperor’s daughter was sad, and shed tears. The shepherd comforted her: ‘Lady sister, I pray you, do not weep, but do what I tell you. When it is time, run up and kiss me, and fear not.’ As he went and drove the sheep, the shepherd was thoroughly cheery, and played a merry tune on his bagpipes; but the damsel did nothing but weep as she went beside him, and he several times left off playing and turned towards her: ‘Weep not, golden one; fear nought.’ When they arrived at the lake, the sheep immediately spread round it, and the prince placed the falcon on the stump, and the hounds and bagpipes under it, then tucked up his hose and sleeves, waded into the water, and shouted: ‘Dragon! dragon! Come out to single combat with me; let us measure ourselves once more, unless you’re a woman!’ The dragon replied: ‘I will, prince; now, now!’ Erelong, there was the dragon! it was huge, it was terrible, it was disgusting! When it came out, they seized each other by the middle, and wrestled a summer’s day till afternoon. But when the afternoon heat came on, the dragon said: ‘Let me go, prince, that I may moisten my parched head in the lake, and toss you to the skies.’ The prince replied: ‘Come, dragon, don’t talk nonsense; if I had the emperor’s daughter to kiss me on the forehead, I would toss you much higher.’ When he said this, the emperor’s daughter ran up and kissed him on the face, on the eye, and on the forehead. Then he swung the dragon, and tossed it high into the air, and when it fell to the ground it burst into pieces. But as it burst into pieces, out of it sprang a wild boar, and started to run away. But the prince shouted to his shepherd dogs: ‘Hold it! don’t let it go!’ and the dogs sprang up and after it, caught it, and soon tore it to pieces. But out of the boar flew a pigeon, and the prince loosed the falcon, and the falcon caught the pigeon and brought it into the prince’s hands. The prince said to it: ‘Tell me now, where are my brothers?’ The pigeon replied: ‘I will; only do me no harm. Immediately behind your father’s town is a water-mill, and in the water-mill are three wands that have sprouted up. Cut these three wands up from below, and strike with them upon their root; an iron door will immediately open into a large vault. In that vault are many people, old and young, rich and poor, small and great, wives and maidens, so that you could settle a populous empire; there, too, are your brothers.’ When the pigeon had told him all this, the prince immediately wrung its neck.

The emperor had gone out in person, and posted himself on the hill from which the grooms had viewed the shepherd, and he, too, was a spectator of all that had taken place. After the shepherd had thus obtained the dragon’s head, twilight began to approach. He washed himself nicely, took the falcon on his shoulder, the hounds behind him, and the bagpipes under his arm, played as he went, drove the sheep, and proceeded to the emperor’s palace, with the damsel at his side still in terror. When they came to the town, all the town assembled as to see a wonder. The emperor, who had seen all his heroism from the hill, called him into his presence, and gave him his daughter, went immediately to church, had them married, and held a wedding festival for a week. After this the prince told him who and whence he was, and the emperor and the whole town rejoiced still more. Then, as the prince was urgent to go to his own home, the emperor gave him a large escort, and equipped him for the journey. When they were in the neighbourhood of the water-mill, the prince halted his attendants, went inside, cut up the three wands, and struck the root with them, and the iron door opened at once. In the vault was a vast multitude of people. The prince ordered them to come out one by one, and go whither each would, and stood himself at the door. They came out thus one after another, and lo! there were his brothers also, whom he embraced and kissed. When the whole multitude had come out, they thanked him for releasing and delivering them, and went each to his own home. But he went to his father’s house with his brothers and bride, and there lived and reigned to the end of his days.

There were two brothers living together in a house, one of whom did all the work, while the other did nothing but idle, and eat and drink what was ready at hand. And God gave them prosperity in everything—in cattle, in horses, in sheep, in swine, in bees, and in everything else. The one that worked one day began to think to himself: ‘Why should I work for that lazybones as well? It is better that we should separate, and that I should work for myself, and he do as he likes.’ So one day he said to his brother: ‘Brother, it isn’t right. I do all the work, and you don’t help in anything, but merely eat and drink what’s ready. I have made up my mind that we separate.’ The other began to dissuade him: ‘Don’t, brother; it is good for us to be tenants in common; you have everything in your hands, both your own and mine, and I am content whatever you do.’ But the first abode by his determination, so the second gave way, and said to him: ‘If it is so, take your own course; make the division yourself, as you know how.’ Then he divided everything in order, and took everything that was his before him. The do-nothing engaged a herdsman for his cattle, a horsekeeper for his horses, a shepherd for his sheep, a goatherd for his goats, a swineherd for his swine, a beeman for his bees, and said to them: ‘I leave all my property in your hands and God’s,’ and began to live at home as before. The first took pains about his property himself as before, watched and overlooked, but saw no prosperity, but all loss. From day to day everything went worse, till he became so poverty-stricken, that he hadn’t shoes to his feet, but went barefoot. Then said he to himself: ‘I will go to my brother, and see how it is with him.’ He did so, and as he went came to a flock of sheep in a meadow, and with the sheep there was no shepherd, but a very beautiful damsel was sitting there spinning golden thread. He addressed her: ‘God help you!’ and inquired whose the sheep were. She replied: ‘The sheep belong to the person to whom I belong.’ He asked her further: ‘To whom do you belong?’ She answered: ‘I am your brother’s luck.’ He was put out, and said to her: ‘And where is my luck?’ The damsel answered him: ‘Your luck is far from you.’ ‘But can I find it?’ inquired he, and she replied: ‘You can; go, seek for it.’ When he heard this, and saw that his brother’s sheep were good—so good, that they could not be better, he didn’t care about going further to see other cattle, but went off straight to his brother. When his brother saw him, he had compassion on him, and began to weep: ‘Where have you been so long a time?’ Then, seeing him barehead and barefoot, he gave him at once a pair of boots and some money. Afterwards, when they had enjoyed each other’s company for some days, the visitor rose up to go to his own house. When he got home, he took a wallet on his back, some bread in it, and a staff in his hand, and went into the world to look for his luck. As he travelled, he came to a large wood, and as he went through it, he saw a gray-haired old maid asleep under a bush, and reached out his staff to give her a push. She barely raised herself up, and, hardly opening her eyes for the rheum, addressed him: ‘Thank God that I fell asleep, for, if I had been awake, you wouldn’t have obtained even that pair of boots.’ Then he said to her: ‘Who are you, that I shouldn’t even have obtained this pair of boots?’ She replied: ‘I am your luck.’ When he heard this, he began to beat his breast: ‘If you are my luck, God slay you! Who gave you to me?’ She quickly rejoined: ‘Fate gave me to you.’ He then inquired: ‘And where is this Fate?’ She answered: ‘Go and look for him.’ And that instant she disappeared. Then the man went on to look for Fate. As he journeyed, he came to a village, and saw in the village a large farmhouse, and in it a large fire, and said to himself: ‘Here there is surely some merry-making or festival,’ and went in. When he went in, on the fire was a large caldron, in which supper was cooking, and in front of the fire sat the master of the house. The traveller, on going into the house, addressed the master: ‘Good-evening!’ The master replied: ‘God give you prosperity!’ and bade him sit down with him, and then began to ask him whence he came, and whither he was going. He related to him everything: how he had been a master, how he had become impoverished, and how he was now going to Fate to ask him why he was so poor. Then he inquired of the master of the house why he was preparing so large a quantity of food, and the master said to him: ‘Well, my brother, I am master here, and have enough of everything, but I cannot anyhow satisfy my people; it is quite as if a dragon were in their stomachs. You’ll see, when we begin to sup, what they will do.’ When they sat down to sup, everybody snatched and grabbed from everybody else, and that large caldron of food was empty in no time. After supper, a maidservant came in, put all the bones in a heap, and threw them behind the stove; and he began to wonder why the young woman threw the bones behind the stove, till all at once out came two old poverty-stricken spectres, as dry as ghosts, and began to suck the bones. Then he asked the master of the house: ‘What’s this, brother, behind the stove?’ He replied: ‘Those, brother, are my father and mother; just as if they were fettered to this world, they will not quit it.’ The next day, at his departure, the master of the house said to him: ‘Brother, remember me, too, if anywhere you find Fate, and ask him what manner of misfortune it is that I cannot satisfy my people, and why my father and mother do not die.’ He promised to ask him the question, took leave of him, and went on to look for Fate. As on he went, he came, after a long time, to another village, and begged at a certain house that they would take him in for a night’s lodging. They did so, and asked him whither he was going; and he told them all in order, what it was, and how it was. Then they began to say to him: ‘In God’s name, brother, when you get there, ask him with regard to us too, why our cattle are not productive, but the contrary.’ He promised them to ask Fate the question, and the next day went on. As he went, he came to a stream of water, and began to shout: ‘Water! water! carry me across.’ The water asked him: ‘Whither are you going?’ He told it whither he was going. Then the water carried him across, and said to him: ‘I pray you, brother, ask Fate why I have no offspring.’ He promised the stream to ask the question, and then went on. He went on for a long time, and at last came to a wood, where he found a hermit, whom he asked whether he could tell him anything about Fate. The hermit answered: ‘Go over the hill yonder, and you will come right in front of his abode; but when you come into Fate’s presence, do not say a word, but do exactly what he does, until he questions you himself.’ The man thanked the hermit, and went over the hill. When he came to Fate’s abode, there was something for him to see. It was just as if it were an emperor’s palace; there were men-servants and maid-servants there; everything was in good order, and Fate himself was sitting at a golden dinner-table at supper. When the man saw this, he, too, sat down to table, and began to sup. After supper, Fate lay down to sleep, and he lay down too. About midnight a terrible noise arose, and out of the noise a voice was heard: ‘Fate! Fate! so many souls have been born to-day; assign them what you will.’ Then Fate arose, and opened a chest with money in it, and began to throw nothing but ducats behind him, saying: ‘As to me to-day, so to them for life!’ When on the morrow day dawned, that large palace was no more, but instead of it a moderate-sized house; but in it again there was enough of everything.

At the approach of evening Fate sat down to supper; and he, too, sat down with him, but neither spoke a single word. After supper they lay down to sleep. About midnight a terrible noise began, and out of the noise was heard a voice: ‘Fate! Fate! so many souls have been born to-day; assign them what you will.’ Then Fate arose, and opened the money-chest; but there were not ducats in it, but silver coins, with an occasional ducat. Fate began to scatter the coins behind him, saying: ‘As to me to-day, so to them for life.’ When, on the morrow, day dawned, that house was no more, but instead of it there stood a smaller one. Thus did Fate every night, and his house became smaller every morning, till, finally, nothing remained of it but a little cottage. Fate took a mattock, and began to dig; the man, too, took a mattock and began to dig, and thus they dug all day. When it was eventide, Fate took a piece of bread, broke off half of it, and gave it to him. Thus they supped, and, after supper, lay down to sleep. About midnight, again, a terrible noise began, and out of the noise was heard a voice: ‘Fate! Fate! so many souls have been born to-day; assign them what you will.’ Then Fate arose, opened the chest, and began to scatter behind him nothing but bits of rag, and here and there a day-labourer’s wage-penny,[16] shouting: ‘As to me to-day, so to them for life.’ When he arose on the morrow, the cottage was transformed into a large palace, like that which had been there the first day. Then Fate asked him: ‘Why have you come?’ He detailed to him all his distress, and said that he had come to ask him why he gave him evil luck. Fate then said to him: ‘You saw how the first night I scattered ducats, and what took place afterwards. As it was to me the night when anyone was born, so will it be to him for life. You were born on an unlucky night, you will be poor for life; but your brother was born on a lucky night, and he will be lucky for life. But, as you have been so resolute, and have taken so much trouble, I will tell you how you may help yourself. Your brother has a daughter, Militza, who is lucky, just as her father is; adopt her, and, whatever you acquire, say that it is all hers.’ Then he thanked Fate, and said to him again: ‘In such a village there is a wealthy peasant, who has enough of everything; but he is unlucky in this, that his people can never be satisfied: they eat up a caldron full of food at a single meal, and even that is too little for them. And this peasant’s father and mother are, as it were, fettered to this world; they are old and discoloured, and dried up like ghosts, but cannot die. He begged me, Fate, when I lodged with him for the night, to ask you why that was the case.’ Then Fate replied: ‘All that is because he does not honour his father and mother, throwing their food behind the stove; but, if he puts them in the best place at table, and if he gives them the first cup of brandy, and the first cup of wine, his servants would not eat half so much, and his parents’ souls would be set at liberty.’ After this he again questioned Fate: ‘In such a village, when I spent the night in a house, the householder complained to me that his cattle were not productive, but the contrary, and he begged me to ask you why this was the case.’ Fate replied: ‘That is because on the festival of his name-day he slaughters the worst animals; but if he slaughtered the best he has, his cattle would all become productive.’ Then he asked him the question about the stream of water: ‘Why should it be that that stream of water has no offspring?’ Fate replied: ‘Because it has never drowned a human being; but don’t have any nonsense; don’t tell it till it carries you across, for if you tell it, it will immediately drown you.’ Then he thanked Fate, and went home. When he came to the water, the water asked him: ‘What is the news from Fate?’ He replied: ‘Carry me over, and then I will tell you.’ When the water had carried him over, he ran on a little, and, when he had got a little way off, turned and shouted to the water: ‘Water! Water! you have never drowned a human being, therefore you have no offspring.’ When the water heard that, it overflowed its banks, and after him; but he ran, and barely escaped. When he came to the man whose cattle were unproductive, he was impatiently waiting for him. ‘What news, brother, in God’s name? Have you asked Fate the question?’ He replied: ‘I have; and Fate says when you celebrate the festival of your name-day, you slaughter the worst animals; but if you slaughter the best you have, all your cattle will be productive.’ When he heard this, he said to him: ‘Stay, brother, with us; it isn’t three days to my name-day, and, if it is really true, I will give you an apple.’[17] He stayed till the name-day. When the name-day arrived, the householder slaughtered his best ox, and from that time forth his cattle became productive. After this, the householder presented him with five head of cattle. He thanked him, and proceeded on his way. When he came to the village of the householder who had the insatiable servants, the householder was impatiently expecting him. ‘How is it, brother, in God’s name? What says Fate?’ He replied: ‘Fate says you do not honour your father and mother, but throw their food behind the stove for them to eat; if you put them in the best place at table, and give them the first cup of brandy, and the first cup of wine, your people will not eat half as much, and your father and mother will be content.’ When the householder heard this, he told his wife, and she immediately washed and combed her father and mother in law, and put nice shoes on their feet; and, when evening came, the householder put them in the best place at table, and gave them the first cup of brandy and the first cup of wine. From that time forth the household could not eat half what they did before, and on the morrow both the father and the mother departed this life. Then the householder gave him two oxen; he thanked him, and went home. When he came to his place of abode, his acquaintances began to congratulate him, and ask him: ‘Whose are these cattle?’ He replied to everybody: ‘Brother, they are my niece Militza’s.’ When he got home he immediately went off to his brother, and began to beg and pray him: ‘Give me, brother, your daughter Militza to be my daughter. You see that I have no one.’ His brother replied: ‘It is good, brother; Militza is yours.’ He took Militza, and conducted her home, and afterwards acquired much, but said, with regard to everything, that it was Militza’s. Once he went out into the field to go round some rye; the rye was beautiful; it could not be better. Thereupon a traveller happened to come up, and asked him: ‘Whose is this rye?’ He forgot himself, and said: ‘Mine.’ The moment he said that, the rye caught fire and began to burn. When he saw this, he ran after the man: ‘Stop, brother! it is not mine; it belongs to Militza, my niece.’ Then the fire in the rye went out, and he remained lucky with Militza.

SERBIAN STORIES FROM BOSNIA.

THE Bosnian stories are not written in the Cyrillic, but in the Latin character. This indicates that the Christian inhabitants of Bosnia belong to the Latin rather than to the Greek Church. The Serbians of the Kingdom of Serbia would, no doubt, gladly absorb Bosnia, but it is very doubtful whether the Bosnians would be equally glad to be absorbed by them. In Bosnia the landed proprietors are extensively Mahometans, and neither they nor the Latin Christians would be very willing to place themselves under the domination of the Orthodox Greek Church, without much stronger guarantees than the Serbians of the kingdom, as at present constituted, are likely to be able or willing to give them.

Near Constantinople there lived a man who knew no other occupation but that of catching birds; his neighbours called him the birdcatcher. Some he used to sell, others served him for food, and thus he maintained himself. One day he caught a crow, and wanted to let it go, but then he had nothing to take home. ‘If I can’t catch anything to-day, I’ll take my children the crow, that they may amuse themselves; and they have no other birds at hand.’ So he intended, and so he did. His wife, on seeing the crow, said: ‘What mischief have you brought me? Wring the worthless thing’s neck!’ The crow, on hearing that sentence, besought the birdcatcher to let her go, and promised to be always at his service. ‘I will bring birds to you; through me you will become prosperous.’ ‘Even if you’re lying, it’s no great loss,’ said the birdcatcher to himself, and set the crow at liberty.

On the morrow the birdcatcher went out birdcatching as usual, and the crow kept her word; she brought him two nightingales; he caught them both, and took them home. The nightingales were not long with the birdcatcher, for the grand vizier heard of them, sent for the birdcatcher, took the two nightingales from him, and placed them in the new mosque. The nightingales were able to sing sweetly and agreeably; the people collected in front of the mosque and listened to their beautiful singing; and the wonder came to the ears of the emperor. The emperor summoned the grand vizier, took the birds from him, and inquired whence he had got them. When the emperor had thought the matter over, he sent his cavasses, and they summoned the birdcatcher. ‘It’s no joke to go before the emperor! I know why he summons me; no half torture will be mine. I am guilty of nothing, I owe nothing; but the emperor’s will, that’s my crime!’ said the birdcatcher, and went into the emperor’s presence all pale with fear. ‘Birdcatcher, sirrah! are you the catcher of those nightingales which were at the new mosque?’ ‘Padishah! both father and mother! where your slipper is, there is my face!—I am.’ ‘Sirrah!’ again said the emperor, ‘I wish you to find their mother; doubtless your reward will be forthcoming. But do you hear? You may be quite sure of it; if you don’t, there will be no head on your shoulders. I’m not joking.’ Now the poor fellow went out of the emperor’s presence, and how he got home he didn’t know; a good two hours afterwards he came to himself and began to lament. ‘I’m a fool! I thought my trade led no-whither, and not to misfortune for me; but now see! To find the mother of the birds—none but a fool could imagine it—and to catch her!’ To this lamentation there was neither limit nor end. It was getting dark, and his wife summoned him to supper; just then the crow was at the window: ‘What’s this?’ the crow asked. ‘What are these lamentations? What’s the distress?’ ‘Let me alone; don’t add to my torture; I’m done for owing to you!’ said the birdcatcher, and told her all, what it was and how it was. ‘That’s easy,’ answered she; ‘go to the emperor to-morrow, and ask for a thousand loads of wheat; then pile up the corn in one heap, and I will inform the birds that the emperor gives them a feast; they will all assemble; their mother, too, will doubtless come; the one with regard to which I give you a sign is she; bring a cage, put the two nightingales in it; the mother, seeing her two young birds, will fly up; let your snare be ready, and then we shall find and catch her.’ As the crow instructed him, so he did. The emperor gave him the corn; he feasted the birds, caught the mother of the nightingales, and took her to the emperor. He received a handsome reward, but he would gladly have gone without such reward when he remembered how many tears he had shed. The crow, too, received a reward, for she persuaded the birdcatcher to give his wife a good beating, which he did, to the satisfaction of the crow, in her presence.

Time after time, behold some of the emperor’s cavasses! ‘Come, the emperor summons you!’ sounded from the door. ‘A new misfortune! a new sorrow!’ thought the birdcatcher in his heart, and went before the emperor. ‘Do you hear, sirrah? Just now I paid you a good recompense, now a greater one awaits you. I wish you to seek the mistress of those birds, otherwise, valah! bilah! your head will be in danger! Do you understand me?’ At these words of the emperor the birdcatcher either could not or dared not utter a word; he shrugged his shoulders and went out of his presence. As he went home he talked to himself weeping: ‘I see that he is determined to destroy me, and some devil has put it into his head to torture me first.’ On arriving at home he found his crow at the window: ‘Has some misfortune again occurred to you?’ ‘Don’t ask,’ replied the birdcatcher; ‘one still blacker and more miserable!’ and told her all in detail, what it was and how it was. ‘Don’t trouble your head much about that,’ said the crow. ‘Be quick; ask the emperor for a boat full of all manner of wares. Then we will push off on the deep sea; when people hear that the emperor’s agent is bringing wares, the people will assemble, and that lady is sure to come; the one on which I perch is she; up anchor and off with the boat!’ This the birdcatcher remembered well. What he asked of the emperor, that he gave him, and he pushed the boat over the sea; his bringing wares for sale went from mouth to mouth; people came and purchased the wares. At last came the mistress of the birds also, and began to examine the wares; the crow perched on her shoulder; the anchor was raised, and in a short time the birdcatcher brought the boat to under the emperor’s quay. When the birdcatcher brought her before the emperor, the emperor was astounded. He didn’t know which to admire most, the birdcatcher’s cleverness or her beauty. Her beauty overpowered the emperor’s mind; he rewarded the birdcatcher handsomely, and placed the sultana in his house. ‘You are the dearest to me of all,’ said the emperor several times to her; ‘if I were to banish all the sultanas, you should never go out of my seraglio.’ The birdcatcher was again in evil case. The new sultana was in a perpetual state of irritation, for it was poor luck to be obliged to be affectionate to an elderly longbeard. The emperor comforted her, and asked her what failed her, when she had everything in abundance with him. A woman’s revenge is worse than a cat’s. Not daring to tell the emperor the truth, she wanted to revenge herself on the poor birdcatcher. ‘Dear Padishah, I had a valuable ring on my hand when that birdcatcher deluded me into the boat, and pushed it from the shore. I began to wring my hands in distress, the ring broke, and one half fell into the sea, just where it was my hap to be. But, dear sultan, if I am a little dear to you, send that birdcatcher, let him seek that half for me, that I may unite it to this one.’ ‘All shall be done,’ said the emperor; and the cavasses soon brought the birdcatcher. ‘My son,’ said the emperor, ‘if you do not intend to lose my love and favour, hearken to me once more. At the place where you captured that lady, she broke a ring; it fell into the sea. I know that you can do so—find her that half; your reward will not fail; otherwise, you know....’ When the poor fellow got home, a fit of laughter seized him from distress. ‘I knew that the devil was teaching him how to torment and torture me before he put me to death. If hell were to open, all the devils wouldn’t find it!’ ‘What’s the matter, friend?’ said the crow. ‘Till now you were weeping and complaining, and now in a rage you are laughing.’ He told her all—what it was, and how it was. ‘Don’t fret yourself,’ continued the crow. ‘Have you given your wife a good thrashing? I wish you to give her a good hiding again, when we go down to the sea. And now come, ask the emperor for a thousand barrels of oil.’ The emperor had stores of oil and felt; he gave him as much as he required. Everybody thought that he was going to trade with the oil. When he arrived at the place where he captured the young lady, the crow gave the word of command, and they poured out all the oil into the sea. The sea became violently agitated, the crow darted in, and found the missing fragment of the ring. The birdcatcher took the boat back thence under the emperor’s palace, and delivered the ring to the emperor, he passed it on to the lady, and she fitted it to the other half. Both she and the emperor were astonished at the birdcatcher’s cleverness, commended him, and sent him home with a present.

The emperor wished by every means to induce the young lady to marry him, and to have a formal wedding. She for a long time declined, but at last said: ‘If it is your will, I consent, but only on condition that before our wedding you destroy that birdcatcher.’ The emperor now found himself between two fires. It was agony to destroy his benefactor, it was worse agony not to be able to withstand his heart, and to give up the love of the young lady. Love is eternal, and is often stronger even than truth. He summoned the birdcatcher, commended him for having so often fulfilled his will, and told him that he deserved to sit in the grand vizier’s seat.... ‘But there is nothing else for it, but you must go home, take leave of your wife, children, and friends, of whom I will undertake the care; in the afternoon come; you must of necessity jump into the fire.’ He went home, and the crow came to meet him. He told her all that was to be done with him in the afternoon, and said to her: ‘If you do not help me as usual now, I am done for, not through my fault, nor through the emperor’s, but owing to you.’ The crow informed him what to do, but before he went, he was to give his wife a thoroughly good beating. His wife departed this life from so many blows. A fire was flaming before the great mosque, the Turks came out of the mosque, the emperor came, the people swarmed round the fire. The birdcatcher came cheerfully before the emperor. Everyone deemed him a malefactor. ‘Fortunate Padishah, it is your pleasure to burn me to death. I am happy to be able to be a sacrifice for you. It has occurred to my mind, I am anxious to have a ride on a good horse: permit me so to do before I jump into the fire.’ The emperor smiled, and ordered his best horse to be brought for him. He mounted, and made the horse gallop well; when the horse sweated, he dismounted, anointed himself with the horse’s foam, remounted, darted up to the fire, then dismounted, and darted into the fire. The people looked on; five times, six times did he cross the flames, sprang out of the fire, and stood before the emperor as a youth of twenty years of age, sound, young, goodly, and handsome. The people cried: ‘Mercy, emperor! He has fulfilled his penalty.’ And the emperor graciously pardoned him. The emperor now longed to become young and handsome also. He made the birdcatcher grand vizier, merely that he might tell him the secret. He said to him: ‘My lord, it is easy. Take a good horse, gallop about an hour as I did, dismount when the horse sweats, anoint yourself with his perspiration, jump into the fire, and you will come out such as I am.’ Friday dawned; the emperor’s best horse was saddled for him; everybody thought that he was going to the mosque. A fire was burning furiously in front of the mosque. The people said: ‘There’s somebody going to jump in again,’ and they were under no delusion. The emperor darted up to the fire all alone, the people looked on to see what was going to happen. The emperor dismounted with great speed, and sprang into the fire.... The people crowded to rescue the emperor—’twas all in vain. The emperor was burned to death. ‘He was crazy!’ shouted the chief men and soldiers. They conducted the birdcatcher into the mosque, and girt him with the emperor’s sword. Then the birdcatcher became emperor, the damsel he selected sultana, and the crow the chief lady at court.

XLVI.—THE TWO BROTHERS.

There was a man who had a wife but no sons, a female hound but no puppies, and a mare but no foal. ‘What in the world shall I do?’ said he to himself. ‘Come, let me go away from home to seek my fortune in the world, as I haven’t any at home.’ As he thought, so he did, and went out by himself into the white world as a bee from flower to flower. One day, when it was about dinner-time, he came to a spring, took down his knapsack, took out his provisions for the journey, and began to eat his dinner. Just then a traveller appeared in front of him, and sat down beside the spring to rest; he invited him to sit down by him that they might eat together. When they had inquired after each other’s health and shaken hands, then the second comer asked the first on what business he was travelling about the world. He said to him: ‘I have no luck at home, therefore I am going from home; my wife has no children, my hound has no puppies, and my mare has never had a foal; I am going about the white world as a bee from flower to flower.’ When they had had a good dinner, and got up to travel further, then the one who had arrived last thanked the first for his dinner, and offered him an apple, saying: ‘Here is this apple for you’—if I am not mistaken it was a Frederic pippin—‘and return home at once; peel the apple and give the peel to your hound and mare; cut the apple in two, give half to your wife to eat, and eat the other half yourself. What has hitherto been unproductive will henceforth be productive. And as for the two pips which you will find in the apple, plant them on the top of your house.’ The man thanked him for the apple; they rose up and parted, the one going onwards and the other back to his house. He peeled the apple and did everything as the other had instructed him. As time went on his wife became the mother of two sons, his hound of two puppies, and his mare of two foals, and, moreover, out of the house grew two apple-trees. While the two brothers were growing up, the young horses grew up, and the hounds became fit for hunting. After a short time the father and mother died, and the two sons, being now left alone like a tree cut down on a hill, agreed to go out into the world to seek their fortune. Even so they did: each brother took a horse and a hound, they cut down the two apple-trees, and made themselves a spear apiece, and went out into the wide world. I can’t tell you for certain how many days they travelled together; this I do know, that at the first parting of the road they separated. Here they saw it written up: ‘If you go by the upper road you will not see the world for five years; if you go by the lower road, you will not see the world for three years.’ Here they parted, one going by the upper and the other by the lower road. The one that went by the lower road, after three years of travelling through another world, came to a lake, beside which there was written on a post: ‘If you go in, you will repent it; if you don’t go in, you will repent it.’ ‘If it is so,’ thought he to himself, ‘let me take whatever God gives,’ and swam across the lake. And lo! a wonder! he, his horse, and his hound were all gilded with gold. After this he speedily arrived at a very large and spacious city. He went up to the emperor’s palace and inquired for an inn where he might pass the night. They told him, up there, yon large tower, that was an inn. In front of this tower he dismounted; servants came out and welcomed him, and conducted him into the presence of their master in the courtyard. But it was not an innkeeper, but the king of the province himself. The king welcomed and entertained him handsomely. The next day he began to prepare to set forth on his journey. The evening before, the king’s only daughter, when she saw him go in front of her apartments, had observed him well, and fixed her eyes upon him. This she did because such a golden traveller had never before arrived, and consequently she was unable to close her eyes the whole night. Her heart thumped, as it were; and it was fortunate that the summer night was brief, for if it had been a winter one, she could hardly have waited for the dawn. It all seemed to her and whirled in her brain as if the king was calling her to receive a ring and an apple; the poor thing would fly to the door, but it was shut and there was nobody at hand. Although the night was a short one, it seemed to her that three had passed one after another. When she observed in the morning that the traveller was getting ready to go, she flew to her father, implored him not to let that traveller quit his court, but to detain him and to give her to him in marriage. The king was good-natured, and could easily be won over by entreaties; what his daughter begged for, she also obtained. The traveller was detained and offered marriage with the king’s daughter. The traveller did not hesitate long, kissed the king’s hand, presented a ring to the maiden, and she a handkerchief to him, and thus they were betrothed. Methinks they did not wait for publication of banns. Erelong they were wedded; the wedding feast and festival were very prolonged, but came to an end in due course. One morning after all this the bridegroom was looking in somewhat melancholy fashion down on the country through a window in the tower. His young wife asked him what ailed him? He told her that he was longing for a hunt, and she told him to take three servants and go while the dew was still on the grass. Her husband would not take a single servant, but mounting his gilded horse and calling his gilded hound, went down into the country to hunt. The hound soon found scent, and put up a stag with gilded horns. The stag began to run straight for a tower, the hound after him, and the hunter after the hound, and he overtook the stag in the gate of the courtyard, and was going to cut off its head. He had drawn his sword, when a damsel cried through the window: ‘Don’t kill my stag, but come upstairs: let us play at draughts for a wager. If you win, take the stag; if I win, you shall give me the hound.’ He was as ready for this as an old woman for a scolding match, went up into the tower, and on to the balcony, staked the hound against the stag, and they began to play. The hunter was on the point of beating her, when some damsels began to sing: ‘A king, a king, I’ve gained a king!’ He looked round, she altered the position of the draughtsmen, beat him and took the hound. Again they began to play a second time, she staking the hound and he his horse. She cheated him the second time also. The third time they began to play, she wagered the horse, and he himself. When the game was nearly over, and he was already on the point of beating her, the damsels began to sing this time too, just as they had done the first and second times. He looked round, she cheated and beat him, took a cord, bound him, and put him in a dungeon.

The brother, who went by the upper road, came to the lake, forded it, and came out all golden—himself, his horse, and his hound. He went for a night’s lodging to the king’s tower; the servants came out and welcomed him. His father-in-law asked him whether he was tired, and whether he had had any success in hunting; but the king’s daughter paid special attention to him, frequently kissing and embracing him. He couldn’t wonder enough how it was that everybody recognised him; finally, he felt satisfied that it was his brother, who was very like him, that had been there and got married. The king’s daughter could not wonder enough, and it was very distressing to her, that her newly-married husband was so soon tired of her, for the more affectionate she was to him, the more did he repulse her. When the morrow came, he got ready to go out to look for his brother. The king, his daughter, and all the courtiers, begged him to take a rest. ‘Why,’ said they to him, ‘you only returned yesterday from hunting, and do you want to go again so soon?’ All was in vain; he refused to take the thirty servants whom they offered him, but went down into the country by himself. When he was in the midst of the country, his hound put up a stag, and he after them on his horse, and drove it up to a tower; he raised his sword to kill the stag, but a damsel cried through a window: ‘Don’t meddle with my stag, but come upstairs that we may have a game at draughts, then let the one that wins take off the stakes, either you my hound, or I yours.’ When he went into the basement, in it was a hound and a horse—the hounds and horses recognised each other—and he felt sure that his brother had fallen into prison there. They began the game at draughts, and when the damsel saw that he was going to beat her, some damsels began to sing behind them: ‘A king! a king! I’ve gained a king!’ He took no notice, but kept his eye on the draughtsmen; then the damsel, like a she-devil, began to make eyes and wink at the young man. He gave her a flip with his coat behind the ears: ‘Play now!’ and thus beat her. The second game they both staked a horse. She couldn’t cheat him; he took both the hound and the horse from her. The third and last time they played, he staking himself and she herself; and after giving her a slap in her face for her winking and making of eyes, he won the third game. He took possession of her, brought his brother out of the dungeon, and they went to the town.

Now the brother, who had been in prison, began to think within himself: ‘He was yesterday with my wife, and who knows whether she does not prefer him to me?’ He drew his sword to kill him, but the draught-player defended him. He darted before his brother into the courtyard, and as he stepped on to the passage from the tower, his wife threw her arms round his neck and began to scold him affectionately for having driven her from him overnight, and conversed so coldly with her. Then he repented of having so foolishly suspected his brother, who had, moreover, released him from prison, and of having wanted to kill him; but his brother was a considerate person and forgave him. They kissed each other and were reconciled. He retained his wife and her kingdom with her, and his brother took the draught-player and her kingdom with her. And thus they attained to greater fortune than they could ever have even hoped for.

SERBIAN STORIES FROM CARNIOLA.

IN these we come to a very singular mythological being, Kurent, who has not, as yet, found a place in the writings of Slavonic mythologists. With respect to Kurent, Professor Krek writes as follows: ‘The question as to the nature of the Slovinish Kurent is very difficult, especially as the tradition about him is, in my judgment, very corrupt. So far as I know, no one has hitherto discussed it scientifically, and what I am now writing to you is my own subjective opinion, rapidly formed. The name itself does not appear to be indigenous, but I think it is of Romance, perhaps of mediÆval Latin origin, though I am not yet able to say what its signification is. In a mythological point of view, there is to be observed in the stories about Kurent a certain mixture of heathen-Slavonic and Christian elements; but I think the basis is entirely indigenous. If I mistake not, Kurent is essentially of Dionysiac signification, which is indicated by the fact that the Slovinish stories connect him closely with the vine-stock, and with wine in general, just as is the case with the Greek Dionysos. It is noteworthy that the Little Russians have the word “Kurent” in the sense of a merry wedding tune (Zhelechovskij, i. 391), and that the Slovinish tradition frequently puts Kurent in the place of “Pust,” so that both represent the same mythological idea. With regard to “Pust,” there is no doubt that, with his orgiastic system, he is just like the Greek Dionysos, although his name is recent, and rests upon alien conceptions; indeed, here the fact is of more decisive import than the name. The name is not connected with the old Slavonic “pust,” desertus, but with “pust” in the old Slavonic “mesopust,” in Bohemian “masopust,” which are identical with the Greek ?p???e??, in Latin “carnisprivium.” Of what original names “Kurent” and “Pust” have occupied the place, it will now never be possible to determine. It is just in mythological matters, that all manner of old traditions are unsatisfactory, as everybody knows who has busied himself at all closely with this subject. Much that is Christian has similarly become mingled with the original pagan conceptions in the case of Kurent also, and it is not easy to separate them from later accretions. I think that the Slovintzes honoured Kurent with a special solemnity or festival at the same time that the other Slavonians celebrated the regeneration of winter, nature, and the birth of the solar deity. This mythological phenomenon has its analogy in the myths of other Ario-European nations, a matter so generally known that there is no need of dilating upon it now. What I wish to draw attention to is this: that the Slovinish “Kurent,” as also his representative “Pust” is of Dionysiac signification, and I don’t know to what to compare him more properly than to the Greek Dionysos. Circumspection is especially necessary in mythological matters, but I venture to affirm that my opinion will hold its ground before severe criticism. I purpose treating at greater length of this matter at a later time, but I do not think I shall find it necessary to retract any portion of my opinion.’

Mr. Morfill informs me, moreover, that Kurenta grati is given by Zhelikovskij in the sense ‘to play the Kurent,’ i.e., the air so called.

XLVII.—THE ORIGIN OF MAN.

In the beginning there was nothing but God, and God slept and dreamed. For ages and ages did this dream last. But it was fated that he should wake up. Having roused himself from sleep, he looked round about him, and every glance transformed itself into a star. God was amazed, and began to travel, to see what he had created with his eyes. He travelled and travelled, but nowhere was there either end or limit. As he travelled, he arrived at our earth also; but he was already weary; sweat clung to his brow. On the earth fell a drop of sweat: the drop became alive, and here you have the first man. He is God’s kin, but he was not created for pleasure: he was produced from sweat; already in the beginning it was fated for him to toil and sweat.

The earth was waste: nowhere was there aught but stone. God was sorry for this, and sent his cock to make the earth fruitful, as he knew how to do. The cock came down into a cave in the rock, and fetched out an egg of wondrous power and purpose. The egg chipped, and seven rivers trickled out of it. The rivers irrigated the neighbourhood, and soon all was green: there were all manner of flowers and fruits; the land, without man’s labour, produced wheat, the trees not only apples and figs, but also the whitest and sweetest bread. In this paradise men lived without care, working, not from need, but for amusement and merriment. Round the paradise were lofty mountains, so that there was no violence to fear, nor devilish storm to dread. But further: that men, otherwise their own masters, and free, might not, from ignorance, suffer damage, God’s cock hovered high in the sky, and crowed to them every day, when to get up, when to take their meals, and what to do, and when to do it. The nation was happy, only God’s cock annoyed them by his continual crowing. Men began to murmur, and pray God to deliver them from the restless creature: ‘Let us now settle for ourselves,’ said they, ‘when to eat, to work, and to rise.’ God hearkened to them; the cock descended from the sky, but crowed to them just once more: ‘Woe is me! Beware of the lake!’ Men rejoiced, and said that it was never better; no one any more interfered with their freedom. After ancient custom, they ate, worked, and rose, all in the best order, as the cock had taught them. But, little by little, individuals began to think that it was unsuitable for a free people to obey the cock’s crowing so slavishly, and began to live after their own fashion, observing no manner of order. Through this arose illnesses, and all kinds of distress; men looked again longingly to the sky, but God’s cock was gone for ever. They wished, at any rate, to pay regard to his last words. But they did not know how to fathom their meaning. The cock had warned them to dread the lake, but why? for they hadn’t it in their valley; there flowed quietly, in their own channel, the seven rivers which had burst out of the egg. Men therefore conjectured that there was a dangerous lake somewhere on the other side of the mountains, and sent a man every day to the top of a hill to see whether he espied aught. But there was danger from no quarter; the man went in vain, and people calmed themselves again. Their pride became greater and greater; the women made brooms from the wheat-ears, and the men straw mattrasses. They would not go any more to the tree to gather bread, but set it on fire from below, that it might fall, and that they might collect it without trouble. When they had eaten their fill, they lay down by the rivers, conversed, and spoke all manner of blasphemies. One cast his eyes on the water, wagged his head, and jabbered: ‘Eh! brothers! A wondrous wonder! I should like to know, at any rate, why the water is exactly so much, neither more nor less.’ ‘This, too,’ another answered, ‘was a craze of the cock’s; it is disgraceful enough for us to be listening to orders to beware of a lake, which never was, and never will be. If my opinion is followed, the watcher will go to-day for the last time. As regards the rivers, I think it would be better if there were more water.’ His neighbour at first agreed, but thought, again, that there was water in abundance; if more, there would be too much. A corpulent fellow put in energetically that undoubtedly both were right; it would, therefore, be the most sensible thing to break the egg up, and drive just as much water as was wanted into each man’s land, and there was certainly no need of a watchman to look out for the lake. Scarcely had these sentiments been delivered, when an outcry arose in the valley; all rushed to the egg to break it to pieces; all men deplored nothing but this, that the disgraceful look-out could not be put a stop to before the morrow. The people stood round the egg, the corpulent man took up a stone, and banged it against the egg. It split up with a clap of thunder, and so much water burst out of it that almost the whole human race perished. The paradise was filled with water, and became one great lake. God’s cock warned truly, but in vain, for the lawless people did not understand him. The flood now reached the highest mountains, just to the place where the watchman was standing, who was the only survivor from the destruction of mankind. Seeing the increasing waters, he began to flee.

Mankind perished by the flood, and there was only one who survived, and this was Kranyatz. Kranyatz fled higher and higher, till the water flooded the last mountain. The poor wretch saw how the pines and shrubs were covered; one vine, and one only, was still dry. To it he fled, and quickly seized hold of it, not from necessity, but from excessive terror; but how could it help him, being so slender and weak? Kurent observed this, for the vine was his stick, when he walked through the wide world. It was agreeable to him that man should be thought to seek help from him. It is true that Kurent was a great joker; but he was also of a kindly nature, and was always glad to deliver anyone from distress. Hearing Kranyatz lamenting, he straightened the vine, his stick, and lengthened it more and more, till it became higher than the clouds. After nine years the flood ceased, and the earth became dry again. But Kranyatz preserved himself by hanging on the vine, and nourishing himself by its grapes and wine. When all became dry, he got down, and thanked Kurent as his preserver. But this didn’t please Kurent. ‘It was the vine that rescued you,’ said he to Kranyatz; ‘thank the vine, and make a covenant with it, and bind yourself and your posterity, under a curse, that you will always speak its praises and love its wine more than any other food and drink.’ Very willingly did the grateful Kranyatz make the engagement for both himself and his posterity, and to this day his descendants still keep faith, according to his promise, loving wine above all things, and joyfully commemorating Kurent, their ancient benefactor.

Kurent and man contended which should rule the earth. Neither Kurent would yield to man nor man to Kurent, for he (man) was so gigantic—he wouldn’t even have noticed it, if nine of the people of the present day had danced up and down his nostrils. ‘Come,’ said Kurent, ‘let us see which is the stronger; whether it is I or you that is to rule the earth. Yonder is a broad sea; the one that springs across it best shall have both the earth and all that is on the other side of the sea, and that is, in faith, a hundred times more valuable than this wilderness.’ Man agreed. Kurent took off his coat and jumped across the sea, so that just one foot was wetted when he sprang on to dry land. Now he began to jeer at the man; but the man held his tongue, didn’t get out of temper, neither did he take off his coat, but stepped without effort and quite easily over the sea, as over a brook, and came on to dry land without even wetting a foot. ‘I’m the stronger,’ said man to Kurent; ‘see how my foot is dry and yours is wet.’ ‘The first time you have overcome me,’ answered Kurent; ‘yours are the plains, yours is the sea, and what is beyond the sea; but that isn’t all the earth, there is also some beneath us and above us; come, then, let us see a second time which is the stronger.’ Kurent stood on a hollow rock, and stamped on it with his foot, so that it burst with a noise like thunder, and split in pieces. The rock broke up, and a cavern was seen where dragons were brooding. Now the man also stamped, and the earth quaked and broke up right to the bottom, just where pure gold flowed like a broad river, and the dragons fell down and were drowned in the river. ‘This trial, too, is yours,’ said Kurent; ‘but I don’t acknowledge you emperor till you overpower me in a third fierce contest. Yonder is a very lofty mountain. It rises above the clouds; it reaches to the celestial table, where the cock sits and watches God’s provisions. Now, then, take you an arrow and shoot, and so will I; the one which shoots highest is the stronger, and his is the earth, and all that is beneath and above it.’ Kurent shot, and his arrow wasn’t back for eight days; then the man shot, and his arrow flew for nine days, and when, on the tenth day, it fell, the celestial cock that guarded God’s provisions fell also, spitted upon it. ‘You are emperor,’ said cunning Kurent. ‘I make obeisance to you, as befits a subject.’ But the man was good-natured, and made a covenant of adoptive brotherhood with Kurent, and went off to enjoy his imperial dignity. Kurent, too, went off, but he was annoyed that the man had put him to shame; where he could not prevail by strength, he determined to succeed by craft. ‘You are a hero, man,’ he would say, ‘I am witness thereto; but beware of me, if you are a hero also in simplicity; I go to bring you a gift, that I have devised entirely by myself.’

He said and squeezed the vine, his stick, and pure red wine burst out of it. ‘Here’s a gift for you; now, then, where are you?’ He found the man on the earth the other side of the sea, where he was enjoying a bowl of sweet stirabout. ‘What are you doing, my lord?’ said Kurent. ‘I’ve mixed a bowl of stirabout from white wheat and red fruit, and, see, here I am eating it and drinking water.’ ‘My poor lord! you are emperor of the world and drinking water! hand me a cup, that I may present you with better drink, which I, your humble servant, have prepared for you myself.’ The man was deceived, took the cup with red wine, and drank some of it. ‘Thank you, adopted brother; you are very kind, but your drink is naught.’ Kurent was disgusted, went off again, and thought and thought how to cheat the man. Again he squeezed his stick, again red wine burst forth from it, but Kurent did not allow it to remain pure, but the rascal mixed hellebore with it, which Vilas and prophetesses pluck by moonlight to nourish themselves with. A second time he went in search of the man, and found him at the bottom of the earth, where the pure gold was flowing like a broad river. ‘What are you doing, my lord?’ asked Kurent. ‘I am getting myself a golden shirt, and I am tired and very thirsty; but there’s no water here, and it’s a long way to the world—seven years’ journey.’ ‘I am at your service,’ said Kurent; ‘here’s a cup of wine for you; better never saw the red sun.’ The man was deceived, took it, and drank it up. ‘Thank you, Kurent; you are good, and your drink is good, too.’ Kurent was going to pour him out a fresh cupful, but the man would not allow it, for his nature was still sober and sensible. Kurent was disgusted, and went off to see whether he could not devise something better. For the third time he squeezed his stick; wine burst out more strongly, but this time it did not remain pure nor without sin. The rascal applied an arrow, opened a vein and let some black blood flow into the wine. Again he went in search of the man, and found him on the high mountain at God’s table, where he was feasting on roast meat, which had not been roasted for him, but for God himself. ‘What are you doing, my lord?’ asked Kurent in amazement and joy, when he saw that the man was sinning abominably. ‘Here I am, sitting and eating roast meat; but take yourself off, for I am afraid of God, lest he should come up and smite me.’ ‘Never fear!’ was Kurent’s advice; ‘how do you like God’s roast meat?’ ‘It’s nice, but it’s heavy. I can scarcely swallow it.’ ‘I am at your service,’ said Kurent; ‘here is wine for you, the like of which isn’t on earth or in heaven, but only with me.’ The third time the man was deceived, but cruelly. ‘Thank you, Kurent,’ he said; ‘you are good, but your drink is better; draw me some more, as becomes a faithful servant.’ Kurent did so, and the man’s eye became dim and his mind became dim, and he thought no more of God, but remained at table. Suddenly God returned, and seeing the man dozing and eating roast meat at his table, became angry, and smote him down the mountain with his mighty hand, where he lay, half dead, for many years, all bruised and hurt. When he got well again his strength had diminished; he could neither step across the sea, nor go down to the bottom of the earth, nor uphill to the celestial table. Thus Kurent ruled the world and man, and mankind have been weak and dwarfed from that time forth.

The man contended with Kurent for the earth. Unable to decide their dispute by agreement, they seized each other, and struggled together up and down the earth for full seven years; but neither could Kurent overcome the man, nor the man Kurent. At that time they kicked the earth about and broke it up, so that it became such as it now is: where there was formerly nothing but wide plains, they dug out ravines with their heels, and piled up mountains and hills. When they were wearied with fighting, they both fell down like dead corpses, and lay for a hundred and a hundred years; and the mighty Dobrin hastened to the earth, bound both the man and Kurent, and ruled the world. But the two woke up, and, looking about them, observed Dobrin’s cords, and wondered who had thrown spider’s webs over them. Raising themselves, they broke their bonds as mere spiders’ webs, seized Dobrin, bound him with golden fetters, and handed him over to a fiery dragon, to plait the lady-dragon’s hair and wash her white hands. Then said Kurent to the man: ‘See, by quarrelling we got tired out, and fell asleep, and a good-for-nothing came to us and ruled the world. We have handed him over to the fiery dragon, but if we contend as before, a stronger than Dobrin will come to us, and will conquer both me and you, and we shall suffer like silly Dobrin. But let us give up disputing; you are a hero, and I think I am, too; the hills and abysses are our witnesses, when they crashed under our heels. Hear, therefore, and follow my advice. I have a garden, and in my garden is a mysterious plant, the hundred-leaved rose. By the root it is attached to the bottom of the earth, imprisoning a terrible creature—the living fire. In vain does the creature endeavour to release and free itself from its bonds, the roots. But woe to us, if you pull up the hundred-leaved rose out of the earth! The creature ‘living-fire’ would force its way through, and the earth, and all that is in it, would become nothing but a mighty desert where the water has dried up. Such is the root of the hundred-leaved rose. But don’t seize hold of its top, either. It is in your power to pull it off, it is neither too strong nor lofty, but it conceals within it wondrous powers—lightning and thunder. They would knock to pieces both you and the earth, and all that is beneath it and above it; the hundred-leaved rose would alone remain; but a hundred and a hundred of God’s years would elapse before a new earth grew up around it, and a living race was again produced. Such is the garden of the hundred-leaved rose. But it also possesses extraordinary petals. I have often sat a day at a time under them, and the petals would comfort me, and sing songs sweeter than even the slender throat of a Vila singing ever uttered. But from the petals there is no danger; pluck them, and next morning they will sprout forth handsomer than ever. But up to the present time I have not injured them, but have noticed in the night, how they fell and raised themselves again; and I easily understood how the stars and the moon go round, for all came up in the sky just like the petals of the hundred-leaved rose. Come, then; let us ask the wondrous plant, and then make peace together. The first petal is yours, the second mine, the third belongs to neither of us, and so on till we pluck all the petals: let him who pulls off the last petal be ruler on the earth, but not for ever, for that would be a disgrace to a hero, but for one of God’s hours, a hundred terrestrial years; and when the hour passes, let that one rule again to whom that luck does not fall the first time, whether it be I or you, so that we may arrange to succeed each other in a friendly manner without dispute and dangerous discord. But the beginning is difficult; let us have no suspicion, either I as to you, or you as to me, but let all be of goodwill, and without trickery; let us ask the hundred-leaved rose, with whom there is no unrighteousness.’ The man agreed to what Kurent said; one hero trusted the other. They went off to the garden, and asked the hundred-leaved rose. The man pulled a petal, Kurent pulled one, and the third petal remained unowned. ‘I am yours,’ ‘you are mine,’ ‘each is his own;’ ‘I am yours,’ ‘you are mine,’ ‘each is his own;’ so said both heroes, as they pulled the mysterious petals. But it was not the will of the hundred-leaved rose that one autocrat should rule the earth. There were still three petals, the first belonging to the man, the second to Kurent, and the third to neither, and this was the only one remaining on the hundred-leaved rose. Kurent and the man saw that it was not destined for either to rule or to humble himself; they parted in grief, and roamed through the wide world, each afraid of the other, so that they did not venture even to go to sleep at night. An hour of God, a hundred terrestrial years, elapsed, and then both heroes met again. For the second time they consulted the hundred-leaved rose, and it arranged it so, that Kurent was to humble himself, and the man, who pulled off the last petal, was to rule. The hero humbled himself to him, but the man did not know how to rule, but allowed himself to be deluded, and lay down on a plain to rest and sleep. Thus he lay for a whole hour of God, a hundred terrestrial years, and the wild beasts came up and made game of him: foxes littered in his ear, and predaceous kites nested in his thick hair. The man was a great simpleton, but also a mighty hero, as tall, as a plain, the end of which you cannot see, is long, and as shaggy as a wooded mountain. But the hour of God had elapsed, and Kurent came to the sleeper, and woke him up in no agreeable fashion. The man saw that he had slept through his term of rule, and that it was his, according to the agreement, to serve during an hour of God, a hundred terrestrial years. Kurent began to rule, but he didn’t go to sleep, but made use of his rule, and exercised his power to the full. He invited the man to dinner, and treated him in a courteous and friendly manner, that he might soon forget his servitude. Kurent kept this in view, and drew him a cup of wine straight from his own vineyard. The simpleton was tricked, and drank it up; but it tasted sour to him, so he grumbled: ‘Bad drink at a bad host’s!’ Kurent did not get angry at this, but drew him a second cup of old red wine: ‘Drink, and don’t find fault with what is God’s.’ The second time the man was tricked and drank it up. It did not taste sour to him, but he said: ‘Wondrous drink at a wondrous host’s!’ Kurent drew him a third cup, of wonderful wine, which the first plant, the first planted, yielded, of the first autumn in the first created year. The third time the man was tricked, but for ever. After drinking it up, he threw his arms round Kurent’s neck, and cried out: ‘Oh, good drink at a good host’s! Treat me with this wine, and rule both my body and soul, not only for one hour of God, but from henceforth for evermore.’ Kurent was delighted, and plied the man with sweet wine, and the man drank, and cried without ceasing, that he had no need of freedom so long as there was wine to be had with Kurent. Kurent laughed at him, seeing how the man’s powers had decayed through wine, and that nobody could any more contend with him for the sovereignty of the earth.

CROATIAN STORIES.

THE Croats are believed to take their name from their former abode in the ancient Chrobatia, north of the Carpathian Mountains, whose name retains the same root, CRB(or P)T. Among them we meet with a wonderful hero, ‘Marko’ (No. 52), the account of whose buzdovan, or mace, the southern representative of Thor’s hammer, may be compared with ‘Little Rolling-pea’s bulava (No. 22), and that of Ivan Popyalof’ (Ralston, p. 66). Marko appears to have been a very unprincipled hero, with very slight ideas of honesty and fair-play. He is represented as gaining his vast strength from a superhuman source—a Vila, of whom more anon. In No. 53, we are carried into cloudland, and meet with representatives of the Clashing Rocks’ (Symplegades), through which the good ship Argo had to pass before she could make her way into the Black Sea, and which, till their reappearance in this story, seem to have dropped altogether out of folklore. From this story, and also from several incidents in No. 52, we perceive that the Vilas of the South Slavonians are not denizens of the earth, the waters, or the woods, but of the clouds, and thus a journey has to be made into cloudland to find the daughter of their king.[18] No. 54 will remind us of Aladdin and his wonderful ring and lamp, although animals play a part in it unknown to the Oriental tale. No. 55 introduces us to the singular relations supposed to exist between human beings and wolves, and No. 56 exhibits a curious mixture of destiny and ingenuity.

There was once upon a time a mother who gave birth to Kraljevitch Marko. She reared him, and placed him in a position to become a hero. When Marko was growing up he was obliged to feed swine, but he was then weakly, and so dwarfish a lad that his comrades were able to beat him, and wanted him to be a sort of servant for them and tend their swine. But he was not willing to do this, so they beat him and lugged him by the hair, so that he was obliged to run away from them. He got away, and went into the fields, and there roamed about, thinking: ‘They would be beating me all day, now one, now another of them; but as it is, when I go to them in the evening, they will only beat me once.’ As he roamed about, he came up to a baby. He saw that it was a handsome one, and that it was lying in the sun. He made it a cool shade with branches, and went a little way off and sat down. As he thus sat, up came a Vila, and said to herself: ‘Gracious God! who has done this? Let him ask me for anything in the world; I will give it him.’ He heard this, approached, and said: ‘Sister, I have done this for you.’ ‘You have done it, little brother? Come! what do you ask of me in return, that I may reward you for being so good as to make a cool shade for my baby?’ ‘Ah, dear sister! what I should ask you, you could not give me.’ ‘Well, what is such a mighty matter? only tell me.’ He was thinking of this, that his comrades might not beat him at the pasture; therefore he said that he should wish that they should not beat him. She replied: ‘Well, if that is what you wish for, come and suck my breast.’ He obeyed her, went and sucked. When he had finished sucking, the Vila said to him: ‘Well, go now and heave yon stone, and try whether you can heave it up.’ The stone was twelve hundredweight. He went to heave it, but could not stir it from its place. Then the Vila said to him: ‘Come and suck again; when you have done sucking, go and heave it.’ He went to suck, and when he had finished, went to heave it, but only lifted it a little. Then he went again to suck, with such effect that he could already cast it a little way. He went to suck once more. Then he was already able to cast it to a great height and over hills, so that it was no more to be found. Once more she bade him come to suck. He sucked his fill, and then she said to him: ‘Go now whithersoever you will; no one will beat you any more—no, not your comrades.’ He went merrily to the herdsmen, and they called to him: ‘Where have you been that we are obliged to tend your swine?’ and rushed upon him to beat him. He only waited for them. When they came up to him, he seized one, knocked them down, and the one who was in his hands was quite squashed, with such force had he taken hold of him. The other shepherds, who saw what he did, ran to the home of those whom he had knocked down, saying: ‘Marko has knocked down your son, and so-and-so’s, and so-and-so’s.’ They all went to his mother: ‘What manner of son is this that you have reared up?—a brigand, who kills our children!’ She was terrified out of her wits, thinking what her son had done. She began to revile him: ‘Sonny, never did my eye see that you did anything; wherefore do you thus to me, that other people come to revile me because of your doings? Go! I shall be glad if my eye never sees you more. Why do you put me to shame?’ ‘Well, then, good! if so you say, I will go into the world.’ ‘Only go that I may never see you.’ ‘Well, then, good! go I will.’

He went. Now, he thought to himself: ‘What shall I do? I am a hero, but I have not what a hero requires.’ Then he went to a smith, at whose smithy were five-and-twenty smiths. ‘God help you, smith!’ ‘God help you, Kraljevitch Marko! why have you come to me?’ ‘I have come to you that you may forge me a sword weighing twelve hundredweight; then you shall also forge me a mace, if you make the sword well; but you must know that it must be stronger than your anvil. If it cuts it through, you shall receive payment; otherwise, not. Have you understood me?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Well, then make it now.’ All five-and-twenty smiths went immediately and forged the sword. When it was ready, Marko came. ‘Well, smith, have you got it ready?’ ‘Yes, Marko.’ ‘Now come, let me see.’ Marko struck, but the sword broke into two pieces, and not the anvil. ‘Ah! friend smith, you’ve not done it well; you get no pay.’ He went on to another smith. ‘God help you, smith!’ ‘God help you, Kraljevitch Marko! What work do you want done?’ ‘I have come to you to make me a sword weighing twelve hundredweight, and to make it stronger than your anvil, because, if it cuts through your anvil, you will receive payment; if not, you will get nothing. Have you understood me?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Then make it.’ Then up came the thirty smiths, worked at the sword, and worked until they had finished forging it. Marko came: ‘Well, smith, is the sword ready?’ ‘It is, Marko.’ ‘Show it me that I may see it.’ Marko took it, struck, cut through the anvil, and cut right into the block. ‘Well, smith, you’ve made it well. Now that you’ve made me a sword, make me also a sheath for the sword, and also a club, that is, a mace, weighing twelve hundredweight, then I will pay you all at once. But when I throw the mace, it must not break; if it breaks, then you get no payment.’ He made him a mace also, but did not make it well. When Marko threw it, he let it fall upon himself, and the mace broke. Then said Marko: ‘You have made me the sword well, but not the mace. Reach out your hand that I may pay you for the sword.’ The smith reached out his hand, and Marko cut it off with the sword, saying: ‘There’s your payment, smith, for the sword, that you may no more make such swords for any hero.’ Then he went to a third smith, with whom thirty-eight smiths were at work, and said: ‘God help you, smith!’ ‘God requite you, Marko! why have you come to me?’ ‘I have come to you to make me a club, that is, a mace, weighing twelve hundredweight; I tell you the truth, if I throw it up on high, and it breaks when it falls, you get no payment.’ All thirty-eight smiths worked till they forged it. Marko came: ‘Well, is the mace ready?’ ‘It is, Marko.’ ‘Show it, that I may see it.’ When he gave it him, he threw it so high into the air that it was three days and three nights in the sky. When it came down, Marko presented his back; it fell upon him, and cast him to the ground, and blood flowed from his nose and teeth, but the mace remained sound. But Marko sprang up quickly, and said to the smith: ‘Ah! dear smith! you’ve made it well for me; reach out your hand that I may pay you.’ He reached out his hand to him, and he cut his hand off with his sword. ‘Let this be your payment, smith, that you may no more make such staves for any hero.’

Then he went off to his mother and said to her: ‘Mother, you see in me a hero; if you revile me, I shall go about the world.’ Then his mother began to scold him: ‘Why are you like this? Why don’t you live like other people? You have oxen; go, then, on to the green hill and plough the fallows and pastures, and thereby support your old mother.’ Marko obeyed her, took the oxen, and went. But he didn’t go on to the green hill, to plough the fallows and pastures, but he went and ploughed the emperor’s highroads. When the Turks saw this, they went to Marko—three hundred Turks, all chosen warriors—and said to him: ‘Why, Marko, do you plough the emperor’s highroads? you have the fallows and pastures!’ Then at him, to cut him down. When Marko saw this, he hadn’t with him either his sword or his mace, so seized his plough and felled all three hundred Turks. Then said he: ‘Ah! gracious God! a wondrous hero!’ Then he took the Turks’ gold from them, left his plough, unyoked the oxen, and turned them loose on the green hill: ‘Go, little oxen, on to the green hill, and feed and graze from pine to pine, like the cuckoo; Marko has not managed to plough with you, and now never will he more.’ And home he went singing: ‘Here, mother, you have gold enough, live upon it, and I will go into the world, that your eye may see me no more.’

He took his mace and sword, went and came to an inn, where some Turks were drinking red wine and conversing. ‘We should be glad to make the acquaintance of Kraljevitch Marko and see him. We have heard that he is a celebrated hero. His brother Andro is in Stambol here. He is a hero, but they say that he is a still greater hero.’ ‘In whose service is Andro Kraljevitch?’ ‘In that of a pasha; he will soon come riding past here.’ ‘Good; I will wait for him.’ Up came Andro Kraljevitch, riding with the pasha. Marko called out to him: ‘Eh, adopted brother, Kraljevitch Andro!’ ‘Thanks, unknown hero, perhaps you are Kraljevitch Marko?’ ‘Quite true, I am Kraljevitch Marko.’ ‘Good; let us go into the inn to drink a cup of wine, that love and the fortune of heroes may thus unite us. Now we are not afraid of going into combat against any empire.’ So they went on the way to an inn. Kraljevitch Marko said: ‘Prithee, sing me a song, Andro.’ ‘Dear brother, I dare not. The Vila of the cloud would shoot me.’ ‘Don’t be afraid; I am here.’ Andro obeyed, and sang so that all the branches began to fall. All at once a spear flew against Andro and struck him down. Marko looked about to see whence it came, and espied a Vila in the cloud; he seized his mace and threw it at the Vila, so that it at once struck her to the ground. The Vila began to shriek: ‘Let me go, Marko! I will bring Andro back to life, and will give you a wondrous horse, so that you will be able to fly in the air.’ Marko agreed, and she took certain grasses, and brought Andro back to life. Marko obtained the wondrous horse, and both rode off to an inn and drank red wine. But in the inn there was a wicked harlot. She became enamoured of Andro, but he would not even look at her. She therefore put sweet honey into his wine, that he might drink the wine. Marko went out for a short time, and the wicked woman murdered Andro. But when Marko came in he seized the wicked woman, and spitted her on his sword: ‘Take that, wretch, for murdering my brother Andro.’

He went on into the world. He roamed hither and thither, and when he met with any hero, he tried the fortune of combat with him, as in his encounter with black Arapin. Arapin built a tower beside the level sea. When he had built it handsomely and raised it high, he said thus to it: ‘Handsomely, my tower, handsomely have I built thee, and high have I raised thee, for I have no father nor mother, no brother nor sister, nor even my beloved, to walk about in thee. But I have a love, the daughter of the emperor Soliman. I will write him the leaf of a white book, and send up to him by a black Tatar; for if he will not give her to me, let him meet me in single combat.’ He wrote the leaf of a white book and sent it by a black Tatar. When Soliman read over the leaf of the white book, he shed tears abundantly, and his empress Solimanitza came to him and questioned him: ‘Why do you weep, emperor Soliman? Ofttimes have letters come for you, and you have not shed abundant tears; what distress is tormenting you?’ He told her this, that black Arapin had written to him, that, if he did not give him his daughter, he must meet him in single combat; and how could he meet him in single combat? She advised him to write the leaf of a white book to Kraljevitch Marko to come, promising to give him three loads of money. He wrote the leaf of a white book and sent it by a black Tatar. When Kraljevitch Marko read over the leaf of the book, he began to laugh greatly: ‘Yes, i’ faith, emperor Soliman! what will your money do for me, if black Arapin severs my head from my shoulders?’ And he said not whether he would go or not go. The emperor Soliman was anxiously expecting the Tatar, who brought to him the words, that Marko neither said that he would come, nor that he would not come. Thereupon the emperor was sorrowful, for he had no such man who would deliver his daughter. There arrived a second letter from black Arapin, that he must give him his daughter; if he did not give her, he must meet him in single combat. As he read it, he shed abundant tears. Thereupon his only daughter came to him and asked him: ‘Why do you weep, emperor Soliman? Letters have ofttimes arrived for you, and you have not shed abundant tears.’ He replied to her: ‘Dear daughter! You see that black Arapin writes to me, that, if I do not give you to him, I must meet him in single combat; and how shall I, poor man that I am, meet him?’ ‘You know, dear father, that there is one hero, Kraljevitch Marko. Write to him, that you will give him nine loads of money, if he will come and meet him in single combat.’ The emperor Soliman wrote to Kraljevitch Marko the leaf of a white book, and sent it to him by a black Tatar. When he read over the leaf of the white book he laughed greatly: ‘I’ faith, emperor Soliman! what will your money be to me, if black Arapin severs my head from my shoulders?’ Thereupon he did not say whether he would come or not come. Sorrowful thereat, the emperor did not know what to do. Then came a third letter from black Arapin, that he was coming, and that he must prepare, would he, nould he, to give him his daughter, and that all inns and shops must be shut for fear of him. Thereupon the emperor Soliman shed abundant tears as he read it. His daughter came to him: ‘Why do you weep, emperor Soliman? Letters have ofttimes arrived for you, and you have not shed abundant tears. What distress is assailing you?’ ‘You see, dear daughter, that black Arapin writes to me, that if I don’t give you to him, I must meet him in single combat! But how shall I, poor man, meet him?’ ‘Write, dear father, to Kraljevitch Marko to come, and offer him twelve loads of money, and a shirt which is neither spun nor woven nor bleached, but made of nothing but pure gold, and a serpent that holds a tray in its mouth, and on the tray a golden casket, and in the casket a precious stone, by aid of which you can sup at midnight just as well as at mid-day.’ He wrote the leaf of a white book and sent it to Kraljevitch Marko by a black Tatar, and offered him all that his daughter told him. When Marko read the leaf of the white book, he laughed greatly, and said: ‘I’ faith, emperor Soliman! what will your money do for me, if black Arapin severs my head from my shoulders?’ And then, too, he did not say that he would come or not come. Thereupon came the leaf of a white book from black Arapin, that Arapin had now got ready three hundred heroes, all in silver armour, and all chosen warriors. Then said Kraljevitch Marko to his piebald horse: ‘Eh! piebald horse, my pearl! you know well that you must be faithful to me, for, if not, I shall cut off your feet at the knees, and that you must bear yourself valiantly.’ And the piebald horse replied that he must saddle and mount with speed to go soon, and that black Arapin was already near. Marko saddled and mounted him, and went to the city where the emperor Soliman reigned.

Now, when he had ascertained by which road Arapin’s men were coming, he presented himself to a young innkeeper, and said, knocking at the door: ‘Open, and bring some wine.’ But he excused himself, saying that he dared not draw any, for all inns and shops were obliged to be shut for fear of black Arapin. But the hero said to him: ‘You must bring some for me, or I shall cleave your head to the shoulders.’ The innkeeper saw that it could not be otherwise, and was obliged to bring him a cup of wine. Marko drank half, and gave half to his piebald horse. Then he brought two cups, one for Marko, and one for the horse. Meanwhile, Marko went into the garden to look about him. When he got there, he saw by the side of a brook a damsel in sorrow, and wondered what ailed her that she wept so piteously, saying: ‘Ah! my rivulet! I would rather abide in you, than lie behind black Arapin’s back.’ When Marko saw that it was Soliman’s daughter, he said: ‘What ails you, damsel, that you weep so piteously?’ She replied to him: ‘Go hence, unknown hero! As to what you ask me, you cannot aid me.’ ‘Now, only tell me; maybe I shall aid you.’ ‘Black Arapin will come, and will take me away from my father and mother; but I had a man, who could have set me free, but he will not. I offered him twelve loads of money, and a shirt, which is neither spun nor bleached, but is made of pure gold; and a serpent, that holds in its mouth a tray, and on the tray a golden casket, and in the casket a precious stone, by aid of which he could sup at midnight, as well as at mid-day; but he won’t. The sun has not seen him, neither has the moon thrown its light upon him, nor has he seen his mother more, nor has a bird sung to him.’ Marko answered her: ‘Don’t chatter, don’t chatter; but go and say that I have arrived. I am Marko; and let him dress and furnish you handsomely, and give you all that is requisite for Arapin, and all that he shall desire.’ Then she ran to her father, and told him all that Marko said. Meanwhile, while Marko was conversing with the damsel, Arapin arrived, saw an inn open, and a horse in front of it standing tethered at the entrance. He said: ‘Who is this, that is not afraid of my terror?’ And thereupon he said that he would soon teach him to be afraid of him. After this, he shouted an order to the bedelija; the bedelija (such is the [Turkish] name for a horse) would not stir. ‘Well, I’ll go thither; I won’t make quarrels; maybe I shall obtain possession of the damsel without any disturbance.’ And, in fact, thither he went, obtained possession of the damsel, and all that he needed was given him. Then he went again to the inn, and saw the horse again standing there. Again he was about to go to the innkeeper to slay him; but he shouted to the horse, the horse wouldn’t stir. Said Arapin: ‘Well, I won’t make quarrels, now that I have obtained the damsel without any quarrel.’ When Arapin proceeded on his way, Marko came out of the garden, and his piebald horse said to him: ‘Where have you been so long, that Arapin might easily have killed me?’ ‘Now don’t fear, my piebald; we shall soon kill him, please God, not he you.’ Then he called for one more cup of wine for himself, and one for his piebald. When they had finished drinking, they started on their way, and in pursuit of Arapin. Arapin had already told his chief officer to look round to see whether any dark fog came out behind them. He looked round, but saw nothing. But when he afterwards looked round a second time, he espied a dark fog, and said to Arapin: ‘Yes, my lord, a dark foul fog is coming behind us.’ Scarcely had he said this, when Marko attacked, and began to slaughter, his rearguard. Arapin said to him: ‘Don’t be silly, Marko; why are you playing the fool with us? I don’t know whether you are jesting, or playing the fool.’ ‘I am neither jesting nor playing the fool, but am in earnest.’ ‘Do, then, what you can; throw what you have.’ ‘I won’t; but throw you your mace.’ Marko’s piebald threw himself down, and Arapin’s mace went over Marko’s head. Then Marko threw his mace, and felled Arapin to the ground, and the piebald leapt to Arapin, and said to Marko: ‘Come, see that you cut off Arapin’s head.’ When the piebald leapt, Marko, too, struck with his sword, and cut off Arapin’s head, and the piebald quickly leapt backwards thirty paces. Then he left Arapin’s carcase on the ground, gave the head to the damsel, and said: ‘Kiss him, now that he is dead, though you wouldn’t when he was living.’ They went home, and the emperor caused a great entertainment to be prepared, and all Marko’s friends, and his father and mother, to be invited, and Marko obtained his promised reward.

So, too, he tried the fortune of combat with Musa Urbanusa.[19] He had three hearts. Marko fought with him for three nights and three white days without cessation, so that red foam already issued from Marko, while not even white foam came from Musa Urbanusa. Then Kraljevitch Marko shouted: ‘Eh! sister Vila!’ The Vila replied: ‘I cannot help you, because the baby has fallen asleep in my arms; but don’t you know your secret weapon?’ Then said Kraljevitch Marko: ‘Look, Musa Urbanusa, whether the sun is now rising or setting.’ Musa looked at the sun, and Marko drew his knife, and ripped Musa up. Musa seized hold of him so powerfully that he barely dug his way out from under Musa, whom he had ripped up. There he lay, and Marko pushed himself sideways, and when he had extricated himself, went to look what there was in this man that was so strong. He saw that Musa had three hearts, one was beating, the second was beginning to beat a little, and the third did not yet know aught about it. On the third he saw a snake lying, and the snake said to Marko: ‘Thank God that I didn’t know of it; you wouldn’t have done what you have done. But open your mouth, Marko, that I may enter into you, that you, too, may be as strong as he was.’ Marko became angry, and cut the snake to pieces, saying: ‘I don’t need such a foul creature as you are.’

Then he proceeded on his way, and went about till firearms were invented. He went up to a shepherd, who was shooting birds. Then Marko asked him: ‘What’s this that you are doing?’ ‘Eh! you see, I’m shooting birds; and I could shoot you, also.’ ‘And how would you kill me with this thing? Heroes have not killed me; could you do so?’ Then he reached his hand to him, and said: ‘Shoot into my hand here.’ He shot, and shot through his hand. Then said Marko: ‘It is not worth my while to live any longer in the world; now any cuckoo could slay me; I had rather quit it.’ He went into a cavern, and lives there still at the present day. Into this cavern a man was compelled to go, who was let down by a rope in a chest. When he arrived within, the Vila immediately stepped up to him, and said: ‘Christian soul, why come you here?’ He told her why and how. But Marko heard that somebody was conversing, and immediately asked the Vila who it was that had come in. She told him that a soul from that world had come to see what was in the cavern. Marko immediately said that he must come to him, that he might see how strong people in the world still were, and he must give him his hand. But she gave him a red-hot iron, and Marko took it, and squeezed it in his hands so that water spirted out of it, and said: ‘Ah, ah! I could still live in the world if no one would talk about me for three days.’ He also commissioned him to tell the lords that he should come there. He gave him a letter, too, and sealed it with his own hand, and allowed him to go up. He shook the rope, and got into the chest. Then they pulled him up, and he gave the letter to the lords; but, for fear of Marko’s coming, the lords did not make the letter public for people to know how Marko had gone into the cavern. The footprints of his horse are still recognised.

There was a mother, who was expecting. As she once upon a time came out of church from mass, her pains fell upon her. Whither should she go? She concealed herself under a bridge, and became the happy mother of a son. The three Royenitzes also came thither. They are hags, who determine by what death every child is to pass from this world. One said: ‘Let us kill him at once.’ The second said: ‘Not so; but when he grows up, then let us kill him, that his mother’s sorrow for him may be greater.’ But the third said: ‘Let us not do so; but if he does not take the daughter of the king of the Vilas to wife, then let us kill him.’ And so it was settled.

When he had grown up, he said to his mother: ‘Mamma, I should like to marry.’ ‘Ah, my son, you say that you would like to marry; but there is no one to be married to you.’ He asked her: ‘Why not?’ She told him: ‘Yes; the Suyenitzes have pronounced your fate, that if you do not take the daughter of the king of the Vilas to wife, they will put you to death.’ He then said: ‘Well, I’ll go in search of her; but first I’ll go to ask a certain old smith; maybe he’ll be able to tell me where she is.’ The smith said: ‘My son, it will be difficult for you to find out; but go to the mother of the moon; if she can’t tell you, I don’t know who will be better able to tell you than she.’ He also gave him three pairs of iron shoes, and sent him off to the mother of the moon. ‘Only, when you come to her, take her by the arm, then she will ask you at once what you want, and tell her without delay.’ He went off, and just as he was on the point of wearing out the shoes, he came to the moon’s mother, and took her by the arm. She asked him immediately what he wanted. He said: ‘I want to find the daughter of the king of the Vilas.’ She said: ‘Well, my son, I don’t know; but maybe my son knows. Wait till he comes home, and then you can ask him. But he mustn’t find you; he would tear you to pieces at once. When he comes home, he will notice that you are here. I will conceal you, and when he asks for the third time where the Christian soul is, then say to him: “Here I am!” and he won’t be able to do anything to you.’ The old woman hid him under a trough. The moon came home, and asked: ‘Mamma, you have a Christian soul here.’ And when he asked for the third time where the Christian soul was, he announced himself: ‘Here I am.’ And then he could do nothing to him, otherwise he would have crushed him to powder. He asked him what he wanted. He said: ‘I want to find the daughter of the king of the Vilas.’ The moon: ‘I don’t know, but if the sun’s mother doesn’t know, I don’t know who else does.’ And he showed him the way by which he must go.

He put on the second pair of shoes, and when he was just on the point of wearing them out, he came to the sun’s mother, and took her by the arm. She said to him at once: ‘What do you want?’ He said to her that, if she knew where the Vilas’ castles were, he wanted to obtain the daughter of the king of the Vilas. She then said to him: ‘Ah, my son, I don’t know; but if my son doesn’t know, I don’t know who else does. Wait a little till he comes home.’ She, too, concealed him under a trough, and he announced himself the third time that the sun asked: ‘Mother, you have a Christian soul here:’ saying, ‘Here I am.’ Neither could the sun do anything to him, but asked him what he wanted. He replied that he was in search of the Vilas’ castles, and the daughter of the king of the Vilas. Then the sun said to him: ‘Ah, I don’t know; but if the storm-mare (that is, the storm or wind) doesn’t know, then I don’t know who will know.’ Then he showed him the road, and said: ‘When you come to a meadow where the grass is up to your knees, there the storm-mare is. If you don’t find her there, wait for her; she will come to feed. Don’t go directly to her, but hide behind a tree or in a hole, and when she comes, take her at once by the bridle, otherwise it will not be good for you.’

He went off, and put on the third pair of shoes, then went and went, and arrived at the meadow. When he got there, the storm-mare was not there till dawn. He hid himself under a bridge, and when she came to the bridge to drink water, he seized her by the bridle, and she asked him what he wanted. He replied that he wanted to find the daughter of the king of the Vilas. She answered him: ‘Mount on my back.’ He mounted, and she then said to him: ‘But you mustn’t fall off.’ She reared; he almost fell off, but kept himself on with his foot. She reared a second time, and then, too, he almost fell off. A third time she reared, and then, too, he almost fell off, only he kept himself on with his knee. Then she said to him: ‘This will be harmful to me.’ She went off with him like a bird, and sped and sped up to two steps. When she came near them, the steps split in twain from the gust, but speedily closed again, and tore off a piece of the mare’s tail. Then the mare said to him: ‘You see how you harmed me when you almost fell off.’ Then they went on till they arrived at the Vilas’ castles. Then she said: ‘Don’t get drunk or forget, so as not to come to me.’ He said that he would come, and went off upwards. They received and entertained him, and he asked them at once to give him the king’s daughter. They promised that they would give her to him. Then they feasted, and ate and drank till darkness came on. And when evening arrived, he said that he must go out on his own account, and would return directly. He went off to the storm-mare. They had brought her a hundred quintals of hay. He concealed himself in the mare’s tail. They sought him, and couldn’t find him; but nevertheless they almost found him at dawn; but a cock began to crow, and then they could do nothing to him. Afterwards he went indoors, and they gave him again to eat and drink, and asked him where he had been. He replied: ‘I slept under a hedge; I fell down, and soon fell asleep on the spot.’ They gave the mare a hundred quintals of hay and several measures of oats. They enjoyed themselves the whole day till evening. He went out again and hid himself in the mare’s mane. They sought him all night long, but couldn’t find him; but at dawn an old witch told them that he was in the mane. They would almost have found him there, but the cocks began to crow, and they couldn’t kill him now. But afterwards they killed all the cocks in the whole village. He went again into the castle. They gave him what he wanted to eat and drink, and the mare, as usual, a hundred quintals of hay and several measures of oats, and said to him: ‘You must not go out anywhere in the evening; we will prepare everything for you that you require.’ When evening came, they were on friendly terms with him, but nevertheless dispersed. He went out, and went to the mare. Where did she bestow him? She hid him under her foot in her shoe, for she had a large foot. They went to seek him again. But during the day he took two eggs, and the mare hatched them by evening in her throat, and they had almost grown up by evening. When they sought him again, they couldn’t find him. At dawn they consulted the old witch. She told them that he was under the mare’s hoof. They wanted now to take him out, but the cockerels which the mare had hatched in her throat began to crow. They could do nothing to him, but they wrung the two cockerels’ necks. Now he said that they must give him the king’s daughter, that he might depart. But the king said that he wouldn’t give her to him, because he had not slept where he had prepared a bed for him. He declared that he had been drunk and had gone out, had fallen down, and gone to sleep on the spot. But the king would not believe him. Now he begged him to bring his daughter to him, that he might at any rate give her a kiss. But beforehand the mare instructed him that, when she came to kiss him, he was to seize her and pull her on to her (the mare), and they would escape with her. And he was also to take a brush with which horses are cleaned, a comb with which horses are combed, and a glass of water, and make good preparations for himself. But when the king granted his request that his daughter should come for him to kiss her, she stood on his foot in the stirrup, and as she stood to give the kiss, off started the mare, and made her way through the gate, and on and on she went. The king saw this, called for his horse, and after them. They were already far on their way. All of a sudden the mare said: ‘Look round to see whether anyone is coming behind us.’ He looked round and said: ‘There is; he is all but catching you by the tail.’ The mare said: ‘Throw the brush!’ He threw the brush, and a forest placed itself behind them, so that he could scarcely make his way through; the poor king could scarcely get through for thorn bushes. And they had meanwhile got a long way forward. The king, however, forced his way through, and again after them with speed, till he was again on the point of catching them. Then the mare said: ‘Look round to see whether anyone is coming behind us.’ He looked round and saw that he was already near, and the mare was all but caught by the tail, and said: ‘He is near, and you are all but caught by the tail.’ The mare said: ‘Throw the comb.’ He threw it, and a great chain of mountains, one after the other, placed itself there; and on they went further, so that they had already gone a great space, and the king with difficulty made his way over the mountains, and again after them, so that he was again on the point of overtaking them. The mare told him to look round to see whether anyone was coming behind them. He said that there was, and that she was all but caught by the tail. The mare said: ‘Throw the glass with water.’ He threw it, and a great flood of water arose, so that the king could with difficulty get across. And they had already got a long way on. No sooner had the king got out of the water, when on he went with speed, with speed, again after them, and was already on the point of overtaking them, when the mare was already near the steps, and the steps opened from the gust of wind, and the mare sped through, and they closed again, and the king couldn’t proceed further through the steps, and shouted loudly: ‘Son-in-law, don’t go any further; I cannot do so. Let not my daughter complain that I have given her nothing.’ Then he somehow threw his girdle over the steps, for he had nought else to give her save that girdle. And the girdle was such that whatsoever its owner wanted, he obtained. Then the king returned, and they remained happy. He thanked the storm-mare courteously, and went home with speed, for he bade the girdle place them at his house. They prepared a grand banquet, for they had plenty, and I was at the banquet and feasted.

LIV.—THE WONDER-WORKING LOCK.

There was once upon a time a woman who had one son. This son maintained himself and his mother; he fed their one cow, and brought wood and carried it to the town for sale, and with the money bought bread to support his mother and himself. On one occasion he carried sticks to market, and bought bread and went homewards. As he went homewards with the bread, he went through a wood, came up to some shepherds, and saw that they were going to kill a puppy, and said to them: ‘Don’t kill it; the poor animal has done you no wrong; give it rather to me.’ The shepherds said to him: ‘What will you give us? Give us that loaf.’ He gave them the loaf, took the dog, and carried it home. When he got home, his mother asked him: ‘Have you brought any bread?’ ‘No, but I have bought a puppy with the bread.’ She then said: ‘Wherewith shall we support it, when we’ve nothing to eat ourselves?’ ‘Well, I’ll go gather sticks, sell them, and buy bread.’ He went a second time to gather sticks, took them and sold them, then bought bread, went through the wood, and saw where the shepherds were killing a kitten, and said to them: ‘Don’t kill the animal; it has done you no harm; rather give it to me?’ They said to him: ‘What will you give us?’ He said: ‘What should I give you, when I’ve got nothing?’ The shepherds said: ‘That loaf of bread.’ He gave it them and carried the kitten home. The old woman was again anxiously expecting bread. When he got home his mother said to him: ‘Do you bring me any bread?’ ‘No, but I’ve bought a kitten with the bread.’ The old woman then said: ‘You’ve nothing to eat yourself, much less the cat.’ He then said: ‘It, too, will be serviceable. I’ll go gather sticks, sell them, and buy bread.’ He went a third time, gathered and sold sticks, bought bread, and went homewards. Going through the wood, he saw the shepherds killing a snake, and said: ‘Don’t kill the snake, it has done you no harm; why should you kill it?’ He begged for it, too, because he compassionated it; it was beautifully marked, and he fancied it. Then said the shepherds: ‘What will you give us not to kill it?’ He said: ‘This little loaf of bread.’ He gave it them, and they gave him the snake. He went home with the snake, and the snake said to him: ‘Now feed me; when I grow up you shall carry me home.’ When he got home his mother said to him: ‘Why haven’t you brought some bread? Why have you brought this?’ He said: ‘It, too, will be of service.’ Then he went a fourth time to gather sticks, took them to market, sold them, bought four loaves of bread, and brought them home. Then they all ate their fill—the dog, the cat, the snake, his mother, and himself. He maintained the whole set of animals. The snake grew big; he now carried it home. It said to him: ‘Do you hear? my mother will offer you gold and silver, but don’t take any, but let her give you the lock which hangs behind the door. Whenever you want anything whatever, only knock on the lock; twelve young men will come, who will ask you: “What are your commands?” Only say what you wish for, and you will have it immediately.’ When he carried it home, its parents asked him what he wanted for bringing their daughter home. He said according to his instructions: ‘Nothing but that lock, which hangs behind the door.’ They said to him: ‘We can’t give you that; and what good would you do yourself with the lock? Let us rather give you a quantity of money, as much as you can carry.’ He then said: ‘I don’t wish for your money; only give me the lock.’ When they long refused to give it him, he was about to depart. But they saw that he ought not to go away without payment, so gave him the lock. Now, when he had obtained the lock, and had gone a little distance from the house, he knocked on the lock, and immediately out came twelve young men, who asked him: ‘What are your commands?’ ‘Only that you place me at home at once.’ He immediately stood in front of his cottage, and when his mother saw him, she rejoiced: ‘Oh, my son! you have come home; how miserable I have been because you were not at home!’ ‘Well, mamma, don’t talk! we shall now live better than we have done hitherto; I have brought you such a thing, that we shall live with ease.’ Then he gently knocked on the lock, and up darted the twelve young men: ‘What are your commands?’ ‘Food and drink for me, my mother, the dog and the cat.’ And so it was. This pleased the old woman, and she loved her son still more.

Now it came into his head that he should like to get married, and he said to his mother: ‘Mamma, go you to our king, and ask him to give me his daughter to wife.’ His mother jeered him: ‘What is this nonsense that you are talking?’ ‘Well, go you to the king and tell him!’ The old woman did not venture to go at once; but at last go she did, and told the king that her son wished to marry his daughter. The king said to her: ‘Good! provided he performs for me what I shall command him; if he breaks up these hills by to-morrow morning, as far as my eyes can see, so that the best wheat shall grow, and I shall eat a cake from it to-morrow, then it is good; if that shall not be done, he will lose his head.’ She went home weeping: ‘My son, you have done an evil thing; the king has said to you, you must break up all these hills by to-morrow morning, as far as the king’s eyes can see, so that the best wheat shall grow there, and the king shall eat a cake from it to-morrow; and if that be not done, you will lose your head.’ ‘Well, mamma, if that’s all he said, then she will be mine.’ ‘Ah! my sonny! how can this be? You cannot do it.’ ‘Don’t talk, mamma, but let us go to sleep; you will see whether all will be ready to-morrow or no.’ They took their supper, and his mother went off to sleep. Then he knocked on the lock, and out sprang the twelve young men. ‘What are your commands?’ ‘I ask that these hills be broken up, as far as the king’s eyes can see, and the best wheat must grow there.’ It was done. In the morning the old woman went to the king with the cake. The king rose up and saw that it was really accomplished, and the old woman was waiting with the cake. The king came out, and she said to him: ‘Good-morning; I have brought it.’ Then the king said: ‘Good! he has done this; now tell him that by to-morrow he must clear all the woods, as far as he can see, and the best vineyards must be there, and he’ (the king) ‘must eat grapes and drink new wine to-morrow; and if he does not do this, he will lose his head.’ She went again weeping home, and told her son all that the king had said to her. But he only smiled and said: ‘Well, well, only go to sleep, you will see whether all will be ready to-morrow or no.’ When they had supped, the old woman went off to sleep, and he knocked on the lock, and the twelve young men sprang out: ‘What are your commands?’ ‘I command that these woods be all cleared, and that they produce the best grapes.’ This, too, was done. In the morning the king rose up and saw that the change was really effected. The old woman, too, was really waiting for him with grapes and new wine. The king said to her: ‘Well, good! tell your son that he must accomplish one thing more, and then he will win my daughter. If he shall have as much cattle, and such a castle as I have, he will win my daughter; if not, he will lose his head.’ The old woman went home again, and told him what the king said. Then he knocked on the lock, and immediately out sprang the twelve young men: ‘What are your commands?’ He ordered that by the morrow a better castle must be built than the king had ever seen, and that he must have more cattle than the king, and there must be a covered way from his castle to the king’s, and that a better garden must be formed, and in it all kinds of trees, and all sorts of birds to sing in it. This, too, came to pass. On the morrow he caused his six best horses to be harnessed, and went to fetch the king’s daughter, to go to the wedding. Then the king said that there should be wedding festivities for five years. They were married, and the wedding festivities took place. Entrance was free to everyone. The festivities had already lasted three years, when the king’s resources were exhausted. Then said the young man: ‘Now I will entertain for three years.’ The king of the sea came, too, to the festivities, and fancied the king’s daughter, whom the other had married. Once upon a time he saw how he knocked upon the lock, and that which he wanted immediately presented itself. When they went to sleep, the king of the sea stole the lock, and knocked upon it; up sprang the twelve young men: ‘What are your commands?’ ‘That this castle and this lady be placed on the black sea.’ It was done. In the morning the young man and his mother were terrified out of their wits, because they were lying in a simple cottage. But he knew at once that he had lost the lock. Then he went to the king and prayed him to take charge of his mother, that he might go to look for his castle. Well, he went to look for it, with his dog and cat. He approached that sea, saw his castle, and said: ‘Cat and dog, do you see our castle? But how shall we get into it?’ They went to the sea and sat down. He was weary, and fell asleep as he sat. Then said the dog and the cat: ‘Let us go for the lock.’ The dog said: ‘You can’t swim; sit on my back; I will carry you.’ They went and came up to the wall. Then said the dog: ‘I can’t climb up a wall.’ The cat said to him: ‘You hang on somehow behind me.’ And thus they arrived at the corridor. Now said the cat: ‘You, dog, stay outside; I’ll go in by myself.’ The king of the sea had just such a cat. The cat went to the door and mewed: ‘Miau.’ Then said the king of the sea: ‘Let the cat in.’ Then the cat went in and took the lock so neatly that the king of the sea didn’t see it; he then went to the door and mewed: ‘Miau.’ Then said the king of the sea: ‘Let the cat out.’ The cat went out, and the dog asked it: ‘Have you got it?’ ‘I have; only go.’ They went over the wall and into the sea; and when they were already not far from their master, the dog wanted to have hold of the lock, to carry it up to his master, and said to the cat: ‘Give me the lock; if you don’t, I will throw you into the sea.’ Then they squabbled, and the lock fell into the sea, and a fish swallowed it; but the cat seized the fish, and said: ‘If you don’t give up the lock I will kill you.’ The fish said: ‘Don’t kill me; I’ll give you the lock,’ and immediately brought the lock up. They went to their master, and carried up the lock. When their master awoke and rose up, he said: ‘In what condition have you come?’ They said: ‘Our master, we have brought the lock.’ ‘Where is it?’ ‘Here.’ Then he took it and knocked upon it, and out sprang the twelve young men: ‘What are your commands?’ ‘I command that my castle be placed where it was, as well as that king and my wife.’ It was done. Then he went into the castle, and she immediately ran to him and they kissed each other. But he caused the king of the sea to be impaled on a spit in the midst of the sea. Thus he obtained his castle back again, and lived happily with his wife, but the king of the sea was destroyed.

LV.—THE SHE-WOLF.

There was an enchanted mill, so that no one could stay there, because a she-wolf always haunted it. A soldier went once into the mill to sleep. He made a fire in the parlour, went up into the garret above, bored a hole with an auger in the floor, and peeped down into the parlour. A she-wolf came in and looked about the mill to see whether she could find anything to eat. She found nothing, and then went to the fire, and said: ‘Skin down! skin down! skin down!’ She raised herself upon her hind-legs, and her skin fell down. She took the skin, and hung it on a peg, and out of the wolf came a damsel. The damsel went to the fire, and fell asleep there. He came down from the garret, took the skin, nailed it fast to the mill-wheel, then came into the mill, shouted over her, and said: ‘Good-morning, damsel! how do you do?’ She began to scream: ‘Skin on me! skin on me! skin on me!’ But the skin could not come down, for it was fast nailed. The pair married, and had two children. As soon as the elder son got to know that his mother was a wolf, he said to her: ‘Mamma! mamma! I have heard that you are a wolf.’ His mother replied: ‘What nonsense you are talking! How can you say that I am a wolf?’ The father of the two children went one day into the field to plough, and his son said: ‘Papa, let me, too, go with you.’ His father said: ‘Come.’ When they had come to the field, the son asked his father: ‘Papa, is it true that our mother is a wolf?’ His father said: ‘It is.’ The son inquired: ‘And where is her skin?’ His father said: ‘There it is, on the mill-wheel.’ No sooner had the son got home, than he said at once to his mother: ‘Mamma! mamma! you are a wolf! I know where your skin is.’ His mother asked him: ‘Where is my skin?’ He said: ‘There, on the mill-wheel.’ His mother said to him: ‘Thank you, sonny, for rescuing me.’ Then she went away, and was never heard of more.

A certain man had two children—one a boy, and the other a girl. This man required his children to relate to him every morning what they had dreamed. Indeed, the girl related her dream, whatever she had dreamed, every morning, but the boy did not, for he dreamed every night what eventually happened to him; he dreamed that he killed a king, took to wife a count’s daughter, and became king in the kingdom in which he killed the king. Exasperated at this, his father thought the reason why he did not tell his dream was because he was afraid, and drove him out along a road, and beat him so that he cried piteously. A count was driving past, and heard the child crying. He ordered his servant to go to the man, and tell him not to beat the child, but say how much he should give him to take it away himself. The man said, in reply, that he need only take it away from before his eyes. He immediately took it, and delivered it to the count, and the count took it away home. The count had one daughter, who took a great affection for the boy. It was also a custom with the count that the children were obliged to relate what they dreamed. But he would not reveal his dream to the count, and say what he had dreamed; and he had dreamed the very same dream that he had dreamed at his father’s. Then the count became very angry, and caused a vault to be built in his garden, inside which he was to be thrown, and it was to be constructed of such masonry that nobody should be able to give him anything to eat, and that no light should by possibility enter it. But the count’s daughter, who was very sorry for the boy, went out to the masons, and promised them a purse of money, only to construct it in such a manner that she would be able to give him food at night. This the masons did, in return for the good money. He was seven years inside, and unable to sit or lie.

Now came a time when king sent a staff to the count, and said he would attack him with an army, if he did not tell him on which side the staff opened. Now the damsel came at night, and brought the lad food, saying: ‘Now, I have brought you food for the last time, because a king has sent us a staff, and my father must open it; if he does not open it, he will attack us with an army. We must perish under the open sky, but you in this vault.’ He replied that she was not to frighten herself, ‘but go, lie down, and soon jump up and say to your father: “My dear papa, I have dreamt of good luck for us.” He will say: “What?” Reply to him: “I dreamt that I should tell you that, if you will open the staff, you need only fill a tub with water, and put the staff in it; the staff will turn with that side up on which it opens.”’ Even so it came to pass. Her father did so, sealed up the staff on that side, and sent it to the king. The king wrote back to him: ‘You have certainly done it, but not with your own stupid head. But you have one hard by your house, of whom you know not; he has done this for you.’ Then he wrote a letter again to the count, and said: ‘I shall send you three horses all alike, and you must tell me how many years old each is.’ And all alike they were. One was one year old, the second two, and the third three years old. Then the damsel took him food, and said to him: ‘Now I am bringing you food for the last time; you will have to die here, and we in the open air, for the king has sent us three horses exactly alike, and we must tell him how old each is.’ He replied that she must go and lie down, and say that she had dreamt thus: that he must prepare three heaps of oats of three different years, and let the horses go to the oats, and they would go of themselves each to his own heap; the one which was one year old would go to the one-year-old oats, the second to the second, and the third to the third heap. She told him this. And it came to pass just as she told him. Then he wrote in reply to the king, and the king to him: ‘Certainly, you have done this, but not with your own stupid head; but you have another who does it for you, of whom you are not aware. But I shall send you one thing more. I shall send you, on a given day, at the hour when you will be at dinner, a war-mace, weighing three hundredweight; it will strike the spoon out of your mouth. You must throw it back to me just as I threw it to you.’ Indeed, this, too, came to pass. The mace flew in, knocked his spoon out of his hands, and flew off with speed into the cellar, inside which it stuck so fast that a score of soldiers couldn’t move, much less throw, it. Now the count assembled, and invited all people, but no one was able to do it. She took him food again, and said to him: ‘You have set us free twice, but certainly the third time you will not be able to do so, and now you will die here, and all of us in the open air.’ He then asked her what sort of work it was that had to be done. She told him, and he answered: ‘Go home and lie down, then get up and say that you have dreamt that no one else but I can do it, so I tell you; but the count will not believe you, yet will think, since you have twice dreamed with success, that possibly now, too, it may be true.’ And so it came to pass. The count caused him to be dug out. He saw how weak he was, and said: ‘I am stronger than he, but I can’t throw it; how, then, can he throw it?’ He then said: ‘Go to a certain king; he has nine hundred cows, and has them all registered when each was calved. Buy for me one cow, which is neither more nor less than nine years old, and whatever he says you are to pay for it, pay. If you pay one kreutzer less, I shall be two hundredweight lighter.’ Well, he went thither, and inquired whether he had such a cow. The king answered that he had. Then he asked the price. The king replied: ‘Nine thousand pieces of silver.’ He paid them, drove it home, and had it slaughtered immediately. The young man then said that he must be three months by himself in a house, without anybody being allowed to go in to him. Now he took at once two pounds of beef, but did not eat the flesh, but only the soup. This lasted for three months. Well, the cook told the count that he would not eat the flesh, in order to serve his own interests. Then the count went himself to him, and asked him why he would not eat the flesh. He replied that something must be brought him to eat. Now he took a piece, threw it upon the wall, and said to the count: ‘You see the flesh has fallen down, and the soup has stuck to the wall; and so it is with me: the soup abides with me, and the flesh goes down from me.’ Then he went out to look at the mace. He was already able to move it. Then he went in for three months to eat. Then he was able, with his left hand, to throw it two hundred fathoms high into the air. He went in once more to eat for three months. Now he was exceedingly strong, and told the count to write freely to the king, that on such and such a day, at such and such an hour, the mace would arrive, and knock the spoon out of his mouth at dinner. In fact, so it was. He threw it a hundred and twenty-five hours walk into the other kingdom. Now the king saw that he had done this also. Then he wrote to him: ‘Certainly you have done all that I told you, but not with your own stupid head, but he has done it for you, whom you caused to be walled up in a vault. But you must send him here to me, that I may see him.’ But he wanted to slay him. Now, the count was unwilling to let him go, but, nevertheless, he was obliged to do so. ‘But do you know what, count? Cause all your people to be summoned hither, and we will select as many as ever we can that resemble me.’ There were only nine such, and he was himself the tenth. Now he told him to have exactly similar uniforms made for them all, so that, at any rate, no one would know one to be different from another, and to provide similar horses for all, and then he would go thither. Even so it came to pass. Then the ten went. But before they arrived at the town, he said to them: ‘Indeed, you don’t know why we are going thither; we are going to be put to death; but I tell you not to be in any wise afraid. This king will give you the word of command when we enter: “Milutin (such was the boy’s name), dismount!” Then you must all dismount so that no one is behindhand, but all alike, and at once. Then he will say: “Milutin, go into the house!”—all go into the house. “Milutin, shut the door!”—all off to shut it. “Milutin, take your seat at table!”—all do it at once. “Milutin, go to bed!”—all off to bed at once.’ Even so it was. Thus the king could in no wise recognise him, and did not venture to slaughter them, but ordered his servant to conceal himself under a bed, and listen which spoke most wisely, and put a mark upon him. Now they all lay down, and began to converse as to what would come out of this. Milutin then said: ‘Doubtless, till now he has not recognised me, and will ride after me, and will overtake us; but never mind that, only kneel down and pray to God. Then notice well: if I first emit fire out of my mouth, kill yourselves; but if he emits it first, have no fear whatever; this signifies to you that human flesh will seethe in human blood.’ The man under the bed heard this speech, and cut off a piece from the heel of his boot. Morning arrived, and Milutin told them that each must look well at his clothes: maybe there would be some mark on someone’s uniform. But all at once he observed that just his boot-heel had been cut off, and said: ‘All give me your boots, that I may cut off each of the heels just as I have mine cut off.’ Now the king came to summon them: ‘Milutin, come to breakfast!’ and they all went at once. And the king saw that they all had a similar mark, and, therefore, did not know which to put to death. Then he reprimanded the servant. Now said the king: ‘Milutin, go home!’ and they all went homeward at once. But erelong the king recognised Milutin by his horse—for he had the horse from the count—and overtook him. They immediately knelt down, as he had previously bidden them, and he began first to fight on horseback, but nothing came of it. Then they both dismounted from their horses, and fought thus, each leaping against the other so that the earth quaked under them. Thus they fought terribly for some time. But all at once they observed that the king emitted fire out of his mouth, and then Milutin afterwards. Then the king spat pure fire out of his mouth at Milutin, and Milutin also spat fire. The two fought on in this frightful manner; but suddenly Milutin overcame the king, threw him down, cut off his head, and carried it home to the count. Now all was merriment, and Milutin married the count’s daughter, took possession of the realm of the king whom he had slain, and there was a grand festival. That’s the end.

ILLYRIAN-SLOVENISH STORIES.

I AM afraid that our delightful friend Oliver Goldsmith has pre-occupied the British mind with a certain amount of prejudice against the region,

But if the said rude and inhospitable person had been addressed in a tongue ‘understanded of the people,’ his reception of the ‘Traveller’ might possibly have been very different. Be that as it may, the folklore tales of the Styrian and Carinthian Slavonians are full of interest, and in them we certainly find the fullest account of the Vilas, and even a Vila marriage with a human being, which ends in an unfortunate separation, like those in Irish legends between mermaids and men. No. 57 gives us a singular variant of ‘Cinderella,’ in which the circumstances are different down to the conclusion, which is similar to that of the Bulgarian version, No. 37. No. 58 carries us completely into wonderland, where several old acquaintances will meet us in new dresses and relations. In No. 59 we have a singular legend of a white snake, an animal connected with which there are also superstitions in the Scotch Highlands.

The backwardness of the Slovenes is mainly due to the ferocity with which Protestantism was stamped out by Ferdinand II., who, as well as his father, Ferdinand I., wrote his name in blood in the annals of Bohemia. (See Morfill’s ‘Slavonic Literature,’ pp. 176, 177.)

As regards the language, the dual is as fully developed as in Lusatian.

A wicked woman married a poor man, who had already a little daughter named Maritza. Afterwards God gave her a daughter of her own, whom she loved and cherished more than her own eyes. On her stepdaughter, who was a good and very handsome child, she could scarcely bear to cast a look; therefore she drove her about, teased and tormented her, in order as soon as possible to make an end of her; she threw her the poorest remnants of food and everything, just as she would have done to a dog. Indeed, she would have given her a snake’s tail to eat, if she had had one at hand; and instead of a bed, she sent her to sleep in an old trough.

When her so-called mother saw that the girl, in spite of all this, was good and patient, and grew handsomer than her daughter, she thought and thought how to find a pretext to get rid of the orphan out of the house, and devised one.

One day she sent her daughter and stepdaughter to wash wool; to her own daughter she gave white wool, to her stepdaughter black, and said to her with sharp threats: ‘If you don’t wash the black wool as white as my daughter will hers, don’t come home any more, or else I shall beat you out of the house.’ The poor stepdaughter wept piteously, entreated her, and said that it was impossible for her to do this. But all in vain. Seeing that there was no mercy for her, she tied up the wool and went weeping after her half-sister. When they came to the water, they undid their bundles, and began to wash, when a beautiful fair damsel from somewhere joined and saluted them: ‘Good luck, friends! do you want any help?’ The stepmother’s daughter said with a scornful laugh: ‘I want no help; my wool will soon be white; but our stepdaughter’s yonder will not be so in a hurry.’ Thereupon the strange damsel stepped up to the sorrowful Maritza, saying: ‘Come! let us see whether that wool will allow itself to be washed white.’ Both began immediately to rinse and wash, and in a jiffy the black wool became as white as fresh-fallen snow. When they had finished washing, her fair friend vanished nobody knew whither. The stepmother, seeing the white wool, was amazed and angry, because she had no excuse for driving her stepdaughter away.

Some time after this came sharp cold and snow. The wicked stepmother was continually thinking how best to persecute her unfortunate stepdaughter, and now ordered her: ‘Take a basket and go off to the mountain; there gather me ripe strawberries for the new year. If you don’t bring me them, it will be better for you to stay on the mountain.’ The orphan Maritza wept piteously, entreated her and said: ‘How shall poor I procure ripe strawberries in sharp winter cold?’ But all in vain. She was obliged to take the basket and go.

As she was going all in tears over the mountain she met twelve young men, whom she saluted courteously. They received the salutation in a friendly manner, and asked her: ‘Whither are you wading, dear girl, in the snow thus in tears?’ She told them the whole story prettily. The young men said to her: ‘We will help you if you will tell us which month of the whole year is the best?’ Maritza said in reply: ‘They are all good, but the month of March is the best, for it brings us most hope.’ They were pleased with her answer, and said: ‘Go into the first glen on the sunny side; there you will get as many strawberries as you wish.’ And indeed she brought her stepmother a basketful of most excellent strawberries for the new year, and told her that the young men whom she had met on the mountain had shown them to her.

Some days later, when the weather had become milder, the mother said to her own daughter: ‘Go now into the mountain for strawberries; maybe you will find those young men, and they will give you similar good fortune, for they have shown themselves so wonderfully kind to our greasy stepdaughter.’ The daughter dressed herself grandly, took the basket, and skipped off merrily on to the mountain. When she got there, she did actually meet the twelve young men, to whom she said haughtily: ‘Show me where the strawberry-plants grow, as you showed our stepdaughter.’ The young men said: ‘Good! provided you guess which month is the best of the whole year.’ She answered quickly: ‘They are all bad, and the month of March is the worst.’ But at that speech the whole mountain clouded over in a jiffy, and a storm beat upon her so that she scarcely panted home alive. The young men were the twelve months.

Meanwhile the goodness and beauty of the ill-used stepdaughter was noised about in the district, and a young, rich and honourable lord arranged with her stepmother to come on such and such a day with his retinue to betroth the stepdaughter to be his wife. The stepmother, jealous of the orphan, did not tell her a single word of this, but thought to thrust her own daughter surreptitiously into this good fortune.

When the appointed evening came the infamous stepmother packed her stepdaughter off in good time to the trough to sleep, then cleared up the house, prepared supper, dressed out her daughter to the best of her ability, and placed her at table with some knitting in her hands. Thereupon up came the betrothal party; the stepmother welcomed them, conducted them into the house, and said to them: ‘There is my dear stepdaughter.’ But what good was it? For in the house they had a cock, who began with all his might, and without intermission, to crow: ‘Kukuriku, pretty Maritza in trough! kukuriku, pretty Maritza in trough!’ and so forth. When the betrothal party understood and comprehended the cock’s crowing, they insisted that the real stepdaughter must come out of the trough, and when they saw her, they could not sufficiently express their admiration at her beauty and grace, and took her away with them that very evening, and the wicked stepmother and her daughter remained put to shame before all people. Maritza was happy with her husband and with all her house to a great age and an easy death, for a Vila and all the months were her friends.

Once upon a time there was a lord on the Danube who had a fisherman to catch fish for him. This lord was preparing a great banquet, and ordered his fisherman to catch three hundredweight of fish in three days. On the first day the fisherman went early in the morning to catch the fish. But he could not obtain any. The second day he went again very early in the morning. He made the round of the water, but again took none. The third day came. The fisherman went to catch fish, and went on till mid-day, but could not net any. In the afternoon he determined to go home by the waterside, and carried himself as if he were very much out of sorts. Suddenly up sailed a striped boat. In the boat sat a gentleman clad in green. He questioned the fisherman saying: ‘Man, why are you so sorrowful here by the water?’ The fisherman said: ‘How should I not be sorrowful? My lord ordered me to catch three hundredweight of fish in three days; to-day is the last day, and I have not obtained any.’ Then said the gentleman: ‘Promise me that which you don’t know that you have, and you shall to-day catch plenty.’ The fisherman thought to himself: ‘What I don’t know that I have, I shall easily do without, if I do promise him.’ And the gentleman at the same time added: ‘And I will wait twenty years. In twenty years you will be able to fulfil your promise.’ ‘Agreed,’ said the fisherman. He cast his nets and drew them out full of fish. He cast them a second time, and it was just the same. He cast them once more. The gentleman said to him: ‘Only send home for them to come with a waggon and four horses.’ They came with four horses. They packed the fish in, so that they scarcely drew them with the four horses. But before they went home the gentleman asked the fisherman: ‘But do you know what you have promised me?’ The fisherman said: ‘My lord, I do not. What I don’t know that I have, I have promised you, be it what it may.’ The gentleman smiled, and said: ‘You don’t know that your wife will be the mother of a son, and this son you have promised to me. When twenty years have elapsed, you must just bring him here.’ Then the fisherman took the fish home. On the one hand he was glad, on the other very downcast. When he brought them home his lord began to grumble, saying: ‘You’re a thorough fool! Why did a messenger come to me to say that you could not obtain any? Now you have brought me such a quantity that I hardly know where to stow them.’ The fisherman excused himself, and related to his lord the whole series of occurrences from beginning to end. Afterwards he put a question to his lord: ‘God only knows how it will be now, since I have done such an evil thing, that I have promised him my son.’ His lord said: ‘What of that? Twenty years is a long time. By then all may be changed.’

It came to pass. The fisherman’s wife became the mother of a boy. He grew up right handsome. When he became a little older they sent him to school. At school he learnt so well, that at sixteen he had learnt enough to be ordained a priest. But his father and mother said: ‘Not a priest, for he is promised. Let us rather place him for four years more in the black school.’ When he had completed the course of the black school, he came back to the Danube, with all before him in the future, as if he were about to succeed, and behind in the past, because he had already been successful. Then said he to his father: ‘Father, now it is time for us to go.’ The father: ‘To go? whither?’ The son: ‘Whither you promised me.’ The father: ‘Who promised you any whither?’ The son: ‘What? don’t you know to whom you promised me twenty years ago? Let us go to that piece of water, where you then went to catch fish.’ The father became very sorrowful. The son then said: ‘Don’t be afraid. Only quickly coat over arm and follow me. Only you must do what I instruct you to do. If you obey me, no harm will happen to you and me.’ On the way he also instructed his father as follows: ‘When we come to that piece of water, the striped boat will sail up just as when you caught the fish. In it will sit the gentleman in green to whom you promised me. The gentleman will push the boat to the shore in shallow water. I shall step on it with one foot, and stand on dry land with the other. Then say: “My son, I commend you to God the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost. May these three always be with you!” When you have uttered these holy words I shall spring into the boat.’ Everything happened exactly as the son told his father and instructed him on the way. The striped boat sailed up on the water. In it was the gentleman dressed in green. The son stepped with one foot on the boat, and stood with the other on dry land. His father commended him to God the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. The son sprang on board the boat, and the gentleman pushed it from the shore. All at once all sank, the boat, the gentleman, and the son. The father was terribly frightened, and cried out at the top of his voice: ‘Jesus, Maria! my son has gone down to hell!’ He then crept home very sorrowful.

His son passed through the water into a town which is called Perdonkorten.[20] In this town all the population was enchanted. He walked and walked about the town, but nowhere was there anybody. Hunger took possession of him, but he could get nothing to eat. He bethought himself of going to catch some fish. He went to the water, caught some, lit a fire, cooked them, and ate his fill. He then went into the shade, laid himself down, and fell asleep. He dreamt that he was told to go to pass the night in a lordly castle, to seat himself at table, to light a taper on each side of him, and wait. He did according as he had dreamt. The clock struck midnight, when suddenly the door opened outside of itself. A huge snake glided into the house. It came up opposite the young man, and besought him: ‘Kiss me.’ He cursed it, and said: ‘Take thyself off from me, Satan! Thou hast no power over me.’ The snake retired through the door. Thereupon day broke. The young man walked and walked again about the town. He saw here and there carriages ready harnessed, but no human being. In the afternoon he went again to the water to catch fish. When he had eaten his fill, he went into the shade. He lay down, and soon fell asleep. Erelong he dreamt what would have happened, if he had kissed the snake. He woke up, and thought: ‘This evening I will go back, and will kiss it if it comes.’ In fact, he went again into the same house, seated himself at table, lit two tapers, and waited. The clock struck twelve. The door opened. Through it glided a very much larger snake, with two heads. It came up the room opposite him, and besought him again: ‘Kiss me!’ Terror seized him, for it was much more horrible than the one he had seen the preceding night. Therefore he cursed it again: ‘Take thyself off from me, Satan! Thou hast no power over me.’ The snake again quitted the house. Afterwards day broke. He went again into the town, caught fish, and ate his fill. When he had eaten, he went into the shade, lay down, and fell asleep. Ere long he dreamt again: ‘Thou wouldst, nevertheless, have only done rightly if thou hadst kissed the snake.’ He woke up, and said: ‘This evening I will kiss it, even if it appears still more terrible.’ In the evening he went into the same house. He seated himself at table, lit two tapers, and waited. When the tower clock struck twelve, the door opened. A terrible snake glided in. It had three heads, and was still larger than the one he saw the preceding evening. It came puffing opposite him. It began to twine round him, and beseech him: ‘Kiss me!’ He pressed his lips to it, and kissed it.

As soon as he had kissed it, the snake turned into a beautiful maiden, as beautiful as a damsel could be. The snake was the enchanted daughter of the lord of the castle. After the kiss, all belonging to the castle, and the whole town, were disenchanted. Erelong the father and mother of the disenchanted daughter came into the room. They welcomed him with the greatest joy. The father said to him: ‘Friend, I give you my kingdom and my daughter, if she pleases you.’ He replied: ‘Let us wait a bit, that we may make a little acquaintance with each other.’ Thereupon they prepared a grand supper. They supped, and did not go to bed till late. In the morning they got up. The young man and the damsel went a walk in the town. The whole town rejoiced over him, and pointed at him, saying: ‘That is our deliverer.’

Now the young man was content with all. Only he still felt sorry, when he bethought himself: ‘Here am I in such good fortune, while my father on the Danube is thinking that I have fallen into the abyss of hell. If I could only just go to my father on the Danube, to tell him of my luck, I should then be completely content.’ Thereupon the damsel said to him: ‘I have something such that you could easily go to your father, if you would but be sure to come back.’ He said: ‘You know that I shall come. Nowhere have I had such good fortune as here.’ Now they agreed that she would wait for him seven years, if he did not return before. The damsel gave him a certain ring, and said: ‘Here is this ring, look through it, and think to yourself that you would like to be with your father by the Danube, and you will find yourself there. When you wish to come back to me, look again through the ring, and think to yourself that you would like to be with me, and you will find yourself here with me. But you must not show it to anybody, lest you lose it. If you lose it, it will be very difficult for you ever to come to us.’ The young man looked through the ring, thought to himself that he would like to be with his father by the Danube, and in a moment there he was. His father and mother were very, very glad to see him safe and sound once more. They asked him all manner of questions. He related to them how he had darted through the water into an enchanted city, and what had been his hap afterwards. The whole household jumped for joy at hearing how fortunate he had been. Especially rejoiced was his mother, who walked continually on tiptoe for joy. Afterwards his father took him to his lord, for whom he still caught fish. There, again, the whole household rejoiced greatly over him. The lord had two daughters. Erelong he said to him: ‘Stay with us. I will give you a portion of my kingdom and one daughter, if it pleases you.’ He thought to himself: ‘There there awaits me a whole kingdom, and a larger one than this. The lady, too, there, is handsomer than this one.’ Nevertheless he said within himself: ‘Suppose I stay here a day or two. I shall easily go back before the time is out. Seven years don’t pass so quickly.’

It came to pass that he went a walk one day with the two daughters. On the road the silly fellow showed them the ring, and told them how he had come back into that country. They thought to themselves: ‘Behold! if we could but take that ring from him, then he would be glad to stay with us.’ They went a little farther on, and one of them said: ‘Let us sit down a bit here in the shade.’ They sat down on the grass under a tree. They had not sat there long when one of them said to him: ‘Listen! listen! What have you got in your hair?’ He: ‘I don’t know that I’ve anything.’ She: ‘You have something; you have indeed. Let me look at your head.’ Now she began to examine and stroke his head till he fell fast asleep. The other, on seeing this, put her hand quickly into his pocket, and took out his ring. They rose up, and prolonged their walk. They walked and walked about the country, when he put his hand into his pocket, and found that the ring was no longer there. He said: ‘I’ve lost my ring. What shall I do now?’ They said: ‘Let us go back. We will look for it. Maybe we shall find it.’ They went back to the self-same place where they had been sitting. They helped him to look for it carefully. They looked for it in vain, for one of them had got it in her own pocket.

After this, he remained five years more in that house. When the fifth year had elapsed, he said: ‘This won’t do. If I remain here, I shall never get to Perdonkorten. Now go I must. There will be two years for me, eventually, to get there.’ Once upon a time he was benighted. He went through thickets, where there was no living soul. He espied a light on another hill. He said: ‘Thither I must go. There will be people there.’ He went thither. There was nobody at home but a woman. He asked whether they would take him in for the night. The woman said to him: ‘I would willingly take you in for the night, but I do not advise you to stay here. My three brothers are three thieves. When night is over, they will come home, and will soon put you to death.’ He said: ‘Never fear! Only bring me a pint of wine, that I may drink and wait for them here at the table.’ When night was over, up came the three brothers home. He sat in the house at the table, and busied himself with the wine. They asked him: ‘Who are you?’ He replied: ‘I don’t know who I am. I’m a poor fellow who roams hither and thither in the world, wheresoever I must.’ They said: ‘But to what family do you belong?’ He said: ‘That also I don’t know. All through I am knocking about in the world. Nowhere am I at home.’ They said: ‘What is your name? How do you write yourself?’ He had gone through the course of study at the black school; therefore he knew how they wrote their names, and that they had lost a brother. He therefore told them their surname, and the name of their lost brother. They said: ‘You are indeed our own brother, whom we lost many years ago.’ He said: ‘It is easy to see that I am.’ They asked him: ‘But are you willing to take up our business?’ He said: ‘Why not, if your business is honest, and one can easily get one’s living from it?’ They said: ‘From our handicraft a living is got right easily. At home we do nothing at all, and have always plenty to eat and plenty to drink.’ He inquired: ‘What have you gained to-day?’ They replied: ‘To-day we have gained more than we ever gained before. We have obtained shoes: whoever puts them on will fly two hundred miles in half an hour. We have obtained a mantle: whoever wraps himself in it, nobody sees him. We have obtained a hat: whoever puts it on his head, and throws it before him, hills open themselves to him, so that he follows it whithersoever he will.’ He: ‘But is this true?’ They: ‘It is.’ He: ‘Now, then, let’s try this dress on me. We’ll see how it will fit me.’ He put on the shoes, wrapped himself in the mantle, clapped the hat on his head, and stepped a little way from them. He asked them: ‘But don’t you really see me?’ They said: ‘Nobody sees you.’ Then he gave a jump, so that the earth quaked. They hurried after him, as it were, in the dark; but he escaped them, for nobody saw him.

He then flew to the place where the sun rises. He thought to himself: ‘The sun gives light in all regions; he will therefore know the way to Perdonkorten.’ When he came to the sun’s house, he asked the servant: ‘Is my lord the sun at home?’ The servant: ‘He is not; he is gone to give light on the earth. He will come home in the evening. You must wait for him if you want to speak with him. Only I tell you that when he comes home, there will be such a heat, that you will curl up like a rasher of bacon, if you don’t hide yourself.’ The traveller: ‘If it is so, I will bury myself in the ground. When the sun comes home, come and call me.’ He went, and did bury himself deep in the ground. When the sun came home and flew down, the servant came to call him. ‘Now, then, my lord the sun is at home.’ He got up and went to the sun. When he came into the house the sun asked him: ‘What have you got to say?’ He said: ‘I have come to ask you the road to the city of Perdonkorten. You enlighten all lands; surely you know the way thither.’ The sun: ‘I don’t know the way thither. It must be somewhere among hills and narrow dales, where I never go. The moon gives light more in hollow places; you must go where she rises.’

He went. He leaped, and was at once at the place where the moon rises. Neither was she at home. He asked her lady’s maid: ‘Whither has my lady moon gone that she is not at home?’ The maid: ‘She is gone to give light on the earth.’ He: ‘I will wait, then.’ The maid: ‘It is dangerous to wait. When she flies faintly shining home, such a frost will be caused that you will stiffen like an icicle.’ He: ‘I’ll bury myself therefore in the ashes. When she returns home, come and call me.’ Towards morning the moon came freezing home. He shivered in the ashes, but didn’t stiffen. When the moon had put herself to rights, her maid went to call him, and said: ‘Now come; the moon is at home.’ He rose out of the ashes, shivered a little, and went to the moon. When he entered the house, the moon asked him: ‘What do you want? What have you got to say?’ He said: ‘Nothing wrong, my lady moon—nothing wrong. I have come to ask you the road to the city of Perdonkorten. You throw light into all dark holes; therefore, you surely know which way to go thither.’ The moon: ‘I don’t know that. It must be among such hills that I never get there. If you wish to learn it, you must go where the wind rises. He flies over all abysses, therefore he will surely be able to indicate you the way thither.’

In a jiffy he was there. The wind was just then at home. He asked him: ‘My lord the wind, do you know the way to the city of Perdonkorten?’ The wind: ‘Of course I do. Anyhow, I’m going thither to-morrow morning at three. The king’s daughter there is betrothed, and I am going to blow for them at the wedding, that it may not be too warm. But I shall go through such abysses and such rocks, that I don’t know whether you will be able to follow me.’ The traveller: ‘My lord the wind, never fear. No rock will stop me. I have such a hat, that if I throw it, the ground opens and I go after it whithersoever I will.’ The wind: ‘Well, then, let us go.’ They went at three. They came to a terrible rock. The wind roared, and made his way by a hole through the terrible rock. He could not follow him. Therefore he took off his hat and threw it against the rock. The rock opened. The wind glided on in front and he followed quickly behind.

When it was half-past four in the morning, they had made their way to the city of Perdonkorten. The wind went to blow at the wedding that it mightn’t be too warm for them. He went into the church, seated himself on a bench, and waited for the wedding-party. At eleven music was heard, and fifty couples of wedding guests came into the church. One was more handsomely dressed than the rest. His reverence the chaplain proceeded to say mass for them. After mass he began to take the marriage service. He was sitting on a bench, but nobody saw him, because he had that mantle on. Suddenly he rose from the bench, and gave a thump on the chaplain’s books, so that they fell with a bang on the floor. The chaplain said: ‘One of you two must have such a sin upon him, that you are unfit to receive this sacrament.’ Now the bride began to relate how someone had once come to deliver them. With this person a mutual engagement had been made that she would wait for him seven years, etc. The chaplain: ‘How much time has elapsed?’ She: ‘Five years and a half.’ The chaplain: ‘Now you two must wait a year and a half more. If in that time nothing is heard of him, then you may marry.’ The chaplain, moreover, asked her: ‘Which would you rather have, this one or that other?’ The lady: ‘I should prefer the other, should he come. But I know that I shall never see him again.’

He heard these words, and they pleased him. Now they went home from the church. He who had thumped the books walked amidst the wedding-party, but nobody saw him, because he had the mantle on. The damsel’s father thought it hard thus to send the wedding guests away home, therefore he gave them several cups of wine. The guests drank the wine, and he went up and down in the house, but nobody saw him. When all the wedding guests had taken themselves off home, he doffed his mantle, hung it on a peg, and they recognised him as their deliverer. The beautiful damsel met him in the middle of the house. She threw her arms round his neck, and said: ‘Behold! to-day I should have been married to another husband, if God had not protected me.’

Hereupon they soon prepared a marriage with this new bridegroom. They went to the wedding. The wedding passed off successfully. They got ready a right handsome wedding-feast for them. They had plenty of everything—plenty to drink, and plenty to eat. Moreover, they gave me wine to drink out of a sieve, and bread to eat out of a glass, and one on the back with a shovel. After that I took myself off.

Once upon a time snakes multiplied so prodigiously in the district of Osojani (Ossiach), that every place swarmed with them. The peasants in that district were in evil case. The snakes crept into the parlours, the churches, the dairies, and the beds. People had not even quiet at table, for the hungry snakes made their way into the dish. But the greatest terror was caused by a frightfully large white snake, which was several times seen attacking the cattle at Ososcica (GÖrlitz Alpe). The peasants did not know how to help themselves; they instituted processions, and went on pilgrimages, that God might please to remove that terrible scourge from them. But neither did that help them.

When the poor people were in the greatest distress, and knew not how to act to rid themselves of this plague, one day an unknown man came into the district, who promised to put an end to every one of the snakes, provided they could assure him that they had seen no great white snake. ‘We have not seen one at all,’ was the reply of some of the number that had collected round the stranger.

Then he caused a great pile to be constructed round a tall fir, and when he had climbed to the top of the fir, he ordered them to set the whole pile on fire on all sides, and afterwards to run quickly aside.

When the flame had risen on all sides against the tall fir, the unknown man took a bone pipe out of his pocket, and began to blow it so powerfully that everybody’s ears tingled. Quickly up rushed and crowded from all quarters a vast number of snakes, lizards, and salamanders to the pile, and, driven by some strange force, all sprang into the fire and perished there. But all at once a mightier and shriller hiss was heard from Ososcica, so that all present were seized with fear and dread. The man on the fir, at hearing it, trembled with terror: ‘Woe is me! there is no help for me!’ so said he. ‘I have heard a white snake hiss; why did you thus mislead me? But be so compassionate as not to forget every year to give alms to the poor on my behalf.’

Scarcely had the poor man uttered these words, when a terrible snake wound its way up with a great noise, like a furious torrent, over the sharp rocks, and plunged into the lake, so that the foam flew up. It soon swam to the other side of the lake, and, all exasperated, rushed to the burning pile, reared itself up against the fir, and pushed the poor man into the fire. The snake itself struggled and hissed terribly in the fire, but the strong fire soon overpowered it.

Thus perished, along with the whole lizard race, the monstrous snake which had done so much harm to the cattle. The peasants were again able without fear to carry on their occupations, and the shepherds at Ososcica to pasture their cattle without anxiety. The grateful people have not up to the present time forgotten the promise of their ancestors, and every year on that self-same day distribute gifts of corn to the poor.

One warm summer day a tall and handsome young man of Veprim was going over the hill Uczka, and found by the path on the grass a beautiful maiden, dressed in white, with a sun-kerchief, and was astounded on beholding the beauty of her countenance. Not wishing to awaken her, he tore off a large branch, and fixed it quietly in the ground, to form a shade for her. Erelong she woke up, saw the branch which had been planted, herself in the shade, and the young man standing by her. She asked him: ‘Are you, young man, the person who set up this shade for me?’ He replied: ‘I am; for your appearance pleased me, and I was afraid that the sun would scorch you.’ She said to him further: ‘What do you want for this kindness?’ The young man replied merrily: ‘Allow me to behold your most beautiful countenance, and to take you to wife.’ ‘Good! I am content to take you for my husband,’ said she; ‘but you must know that I am a Vila. But you must never utter my name; if you speak my name Vila, I must quit you at once.’ He promised that he would not, conducted her home, told his parents all that had happened, and how it had happened, only did not tell them that his bride was a Vila. She pleased them, and they willingly consented to the match. Erelong they were wedded. The two lived for some years in cheerful happiness; domestic prosperity continued in every shape and form, and she bore him a little daughter, beautiful as an angel.

Some years afterwards the young man one summer morning heard it thundering quite early. He got up, went to the window, saw that a terrible storm was brewing, and said to his wife: ‘Wife, it is a pity and a great misfortune that we haven’t cut our wheat; the hail will beat it all down.’ She said to him: ‘Never fear; it won’t beat ours down.’ After saying this she rose and went in front of the door. When she came back a terrible hailstorm began to fall. Her husband said reproachfully: ‘I told you we should lose all our wheat.’ She laughed at him, and said in reply: ‘Go to the threshing-floor; you’ll see that it hasn’t beaten it down for us.’ When the hail ceased, the husband did go to the threshing-floor, and there saw all the wheat nicely put together in sheaves, and, on returning, called out in utter astonishment: ‘Ah, she is a Vila! she is a Vila!’ But that moment she vanished. Her husband remained sad and sorrowful with his little daughter without his Vila wife.

The Vila mother still came back from time to time, visible only to her little daughter, helping her in all needs, as the most careful mother, until she grew up to a marriageable age. When the Vila’s daughter came to the proper time of life, she married and was the ancestress of the present family of Polharski.—So the story.

Elliot Stock, Paternoster Row, London.

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