Fairy Tales of the Slav Peasants and Herdsmen
house. The poor girl went weeping up the mountain, across the deep
snow upon which lay no human footprint, and on towards the fire round
which were the twelve months. Motionless sat they, and on the highest
stone was the great Setchene.
"Men of God, may I warm myself at your fire? The winter cold chills
me," said she, drawing near.
The great Setchene raised his head.
"Why com'st thou here? What dost thou seek?" asked he.
"I am come to look for red apples," replied Marouckla.
"But this is winter, and not the season for red apples," observed the
great Setchene.
"I know," answered the girl, "but my sister and stepmother sent me to
fetch red apples from the mountain; if I return without them they will
kill me."
Thereupon the great Setchene arose and went over to one of the elderly
months, to whom he handed the wand, saying:
"Brother Zare (September), do thou take the highest place."
Zare moved to the highest stone and waved his wand over the fire.
There was a flare of red flames, the snow disappeared, but the fading
leaves which trembled on the trees were sent by a cold north-east wind
in yellow masses to the glade. Only a few flowers of autumn were
visible, such as the fleabane and red gillyflower, autumn colchicums
in the ravine, and under the beeches bracken and tufts of northern
heather. At first Marouckla looked in vain for red apples. Then she
espied a tree which grew at a great height, and from the branches of
this hung the bright red fruit. Zare ordered her to gather some
quickly. The girl was delighted and shook the tree. First one apple
fell, then another.
"That is enough," said Zare, "hurry home."
Thanking the months, she returned joyfully. Helen marvelled and the
stepmother wondered at seeing the fruit.
"Where did you gather them?" asked the step-sister.
"There are more on the mountain top," answered Marouckla.
"Then why did you not bring more?" said Helen angrily; "you must have
eaten them on your way back, you wicked girl."
"No, dear sister, I have not even tasted them," said Marouckla. "I
shook the tree twice; one apple fell each time. I was not allowed to
shake it again, but was told to return home."
"May Perum smite you with his thunderbolt," said Helen, striking her.
Marouckla prayed to die rather than suffer such ill-treatment. Weeping
bitterly, she took refuge in the kitchen. Helen and her mother found
the apples more delicious than any they had ever tasted, and when they
had eaten both longed for more.
"Listen, mother," said Helen. "Give me my cloak; I will fetch some
more apples myself, or else that good-for-nothing wretch will eat them
all on the way. I shall be able to find the mountain and the tree. The
shepherds may cry 'Stop,' but I shall not leave go till I have shaken
down all the apples."
In spite of her mother's advice she put on her pelisse, covered her
head with a warm hood, and took the road to the mountain. The mother
stood and watched her till she was lost in the distance.
Snow covered everything, not a human footprint was to be seen on its
surface. Helen lost herself and wandered hither and thither. After a
while she saw a light above her, and following in its direction
reached the mountain top. There was the flaming fire, the twelve
blocks of stone, and the twelve months. At first she was frightened
and hesitated; then she came nearer and warmed her hands. She did not
ask permission, nor did she speak one polite word.
"What has brought thee here? What dost thou seek?" said the great
Setchene severely.
"I am not obliged to tell you, old greybeard; what business is it of
yours?" she replied disdainfully, turning her back on the fire and
going towards the forest.
The great Setchene frowned, and waved his wand over his head.
Instantly the sky became covered with clouds, the fire went down, snow
fell in large flakes, an icy wind howled round the mountain. Amid the
fury of the storm Helen added curses against her step-sister. The
pelisse failed to warm her benumbed limbs. The mother kept on waiting
for her; she looked from the window, she watched from the doorstep,
but her daughter came not. The hours passed slowly, but Helen did not
return.
"Can it be that the apples have charmed her from her home?" thought
the mother. Then she clad herself in hood and pelisse and went in
search of her daughter. Snow fell in huge masses; it covered all
things, it lay untouched by human footsteps. For long she wandered
hither and thither; the icy north-east wind whistled in the mountain,
but no voice answered her cries.
Day after day Marouckla worked and prayed, and waited; but neither
stepmother nor sister returned, they had been frozen to death on the
mountain. The inheritance of a small house, a field, and a cow fell to
Marouckla. In course of time an honest farmer came to share them with
her, and their lives were happy and peaceful.
THE SUN OR THE THREE GOLDEN HAIRS OF THE OLD MAN VSEVEDE
THE SUN; OR, THE THREE GOLDEN HAIRS OF THE OLD MAN VSEVEDE
Can this be a true story? It is said that once there was a king who
was exceedingly fond of hunting the wild beasts in his forests. One
day he followed a stag so far and so long that he lost his way. Alone
and overtaken by night, he was glad to find himself near a small
thatched cottage in which lived a charcoal-burner.
"Will you kindly show me the way to the high-road? You shall be
handsomely rewarded."
"I would willingly," said the charcoal-burner, "but God is going to
send my wife a little child, and I cannot leave her alone. Will you
pass the night under our roof? There is a truss of sweet hay in the
loft where you may rest, and to-morrow morning I will be your guide."
The king accepted the invitation and went to bed in the loft. Shortly
after a son was born to the charcoal-burner's wife. But the king could
not sleep. At midnight he heard noises in the house, and looking
through a crack in the flooring he saw the charcoal-burner asleep, his
wife almost in a faint, and by the side of the newly-born babe three
old women dressed in white, each holding a lighted taper in her hand,
and all talking together. Now these were the three Soudiche or Fates,
you must know.
The first said, "On this boy I bestow the gift of confronting great
dangers."
The second said, "I bestow the power of happily escaping all these
dangers, and of living to a good old age."
The third said, "I bestow upon him for wife the princess born at the
selfsame hour as he, and daughter of the very king sleeping above in
the loft."
At these words the lights went out and silence reigned around.
Now the king was greatly troubled, and wondered exceedingly; he felt
as if he had received a sword-thrust in the chest. He lay awake all
night thinking how to prevent the words of the Fates from coming true.
With the first glimmer of morning light the baby began to cry. The
charcoal-burner, on going over to it, found that his wife was dead.
"Poor little orphan," he said sadly, "what will become of thee without
a mother's care?"
"Confide this child to me," said the king, "I will look after it. He
shall be well provided for. You shall be given a sum of money large
enough to keep you without having to burn charcoal."
The poor man gladly agreed, and the king went away promising to send
some one for the child. The queen and courtiers thought it would be an
agreeable surprise for the king to hear that a charming little
princess had been born on the night he was away. But instead of being
pleased he frowned, and calling one of his servants, said to him, "Go
to the charcoal-burner's cottage in the forest, and give the man this
purse in exchange for a new-born infant. On your way back drown the
child. See well that he is drowned, for if he should in any way
escape, you yourself shall suffer in his place."
The servant was given the child in a basket, and on reaching the
centre of a narrow bridge that stretched across a wide and deep river,
he threw both basket and baby into the water.
"A prosperous journey to you, Mr. Son-in-Law," said the king, on
hearing the servant's story: for he fully believed the child was
drowned. But it was far from being the case; the little one was
floating happily along in its basket cradle, and slumbering as sweetly
as if his mother had sung him to sleep. Now it happened that a
fisherman, who was mending his nets before his cottage door, saw the
basket floating down the river. He jumped at once into his boat,
picked it up, and ran to tell his wife the good news.
"Look," said he, "you have always longed for a son; here is a
beautiful little boy the river has sent us."
The woman was delighted, and took the infant and loved it as her own
child. They named him _Plavacek_ (the floater), because he had come to
them floating on the water.
The river flowed on. Years passed away. The little baby grew into a
handsome youth; in all the villages round there were none to compare
with him. Now it happened that one summer day the king was riding
unattended. And the heat being very great he reined in his horse
before the fisherman's door to ask for a drink of water. Plavacek
brought the water. The king looked at him attentively, then turning to
the fisherman, said, "That is a good-looking lad; is he your son?"
"He is and he isn't," replied the fisherman. "I found him, when he was
quite a tiny baby, floating down the stream in a basket. So we adopted
him and brought him up as our own son."
The king turned as pale as death, for he guessed that he was the same
child he had ordered to be drowned. Then recovering himself he got
down from his horse and said: "I want a trusty messenger to take a
letter to the palace, could you send him with it?"
"With pleasure! Your majesty may be sure of its safe delivery."
Thereupon the king wrote to the queen as follows--
"The man who brings you this letter is the most dangerous of all
my enemies. Have his head cut off at once; no delay, no pity, he
must be executed before my return. Such is my will and
pleasure."
This he carefully folded and sealed with the royal seal.
Plavacek took the letter and set off immediately. But the forest
through which he had to pass was so large, and the trees so thick,
that he missed the path and was overtaken by the darkness before the
journey was nearly over. In the midst of his trouble he met an old
woman who said, "Where are you going, Plavacek? Where are you going?"
"I am the bearer of a letter from the king to the queen, but have
missed the path to the palace. Could you, good mother, put me on the
right road?"
"Impossible to-day, my child; it is getting dark, and you would not
have time to get there. Stay with me to-night. You will not be with
strangers, for I am your godmother."
Plavacek agreed. Thereupon they entered a pretty little cottage that
seemed suddenly to sink into the earth. Now while he slept the old
woman changed his letter for another, which ran thus:--
"Immediately upon the receipt of this letter introduce the
bearer to the princess our daughter. I have chosen this young
man for my son-in-law, and it is my wish they should be married
before my return to the palace. Such is my pleasure."
The letter was duly delivered, and when the queen had read it, she
ordered everything to be prepared for the wedding. Both she and her
daughter greatly enjoyed Plavacek's society, and nothing disturbed the
happiness of the newly married pair.
Within a few days the king returned, and on hearing what had taken
place was very angry with the queen.
"But you expressly bade me have the wedding before your return. Come,
read your letter again, here it is," said she.