Chapter 2

Then Oh rode off on the horse, and the horse carried him higher than the trees of the forest, but lower than the clouds of the sky. At last they sank down among the woods and came to Oh's hut, and Oh went into his hut and left his horse outside on the steppe. "This son of a dog shall not escape from my hands so quickly a second time," said he to his wife. At dawn Oh took the horse by the bridle and led it away to the river to water it. But no sooner did the horse get to the river and bend down its head to drink than it turned into a perch and began swimming away. Oh, without more ado, turned himself into a pike and pursued the perch. But just as the pike was almost up with it, the perch gave a sudden twist and stuck out its spiky fins and turned its tail toward the pike, so that the pike could not lay hold of it. So when the pike came up to it, it said, "Perch! perch! turn thy head toward me, I want to have a chat with thee!"--"I can hear thee very well as I am, dear cousin, if thou art inclined to chat," said the perch. So off they set again, and again the pike overtook the perch. "Perch! perch! turn thy head round toward me, I want to have a chat with thee!" Then the perch stuck out its bristly fins again and said, "If thou dost wish to have a chat, dear cousin, I can hear thee just as well as I am." So the pike kept on pursuing the perch, but it was of no use. At last the perch swam ashore, and there was a Tsarivna[5] whittling an ash twig. The perch changed itself into a gold ring set with garnets, and the Tsarivna saw it and fished up the ring out of the water. Full of joy she took it home, and said to her father, "Look, dear papa! what a nice ring I have found!" The Tsar kissed her, but the Tsarivna did not know which finger it would suit best, it was so lovely.

[5] Russian _Tsarevna_, _i.e._ a Tsar's daughter.

About the same time they told the Tsar that a certain merchant had come to the palace. It was Oh, who had changed himself into a merchant. The Tsar went out to him and said, "What dost thou want, old man?"--"I was sailing on the sea in my ship," said Oh, "and carrying to the Tsar of my own land a precious garnet ring, and this ring I dropped into the water. Has any of thy servants perchance found this precious ring?"--"No, but my daughter has," said the Tsar. So they called the damsel, and Oh began to beg her to give it back to him, "for I may not live in this world if I bring not the ring," said he. But it was of no avail, she would not give it up.

Then the Tsar himself spoke to her. "Nay, but, darling daughter, give it up, lest misfortune befall this man because of us; give it up, I say!" Then Oh begged and prayed her yet more, and said, "Take what thou wilt of me, only give me back the ring."--"Nay, then," said the Tsarivna, "it shall be neither mine nor thine," and with that she tossed the ring upon the ground, and it turned into a heap of millet-seed and scattered all about the floor. Then Oh, without more ado, changed into a cock, and began pecking up all the seed. He pecked and pecked till he had pecked it all up. Yet there was one single little grain of millet which rolled right beneath the feet of the Tsarivna, and that he did not see. When he had done pecking he got upon the window-sill, opened his wings, and flew right away.

But the one remaining grain of millet-seed turned into a most beauteous youth, a youth so beauteous that when the Tsarivna beheld him she fell in love with him on the spot, and begged the Tsar and Tsaritsa right piteously to let her have him as her husband. "With no other shall I ever be happy," said she; "my happiness is in him alone!" For a long time the Tsar wrinkled his brows at the thought of giving his daughter to a simple youth; but at last he gave them his blessing, and they crowned them with bridal wreaths, and all the world was bidden to the wedding-feast. And I too was there, and drank beer and mead, and what my mouth could not hold ran down over my beard, and my heart rejoiced within me.

THE STORY OF THE WIND

Once upon a time there dwelt two brethren in one village, and one brother was very, very rich, and the other brother was very, very poor. The rich man had wealth of all sorts, but all that the poor man had was a heap of children.

One day, at harvest-time, the poor man left his wife and went to reap and thresh out his little plot of wheat, but the Wind came and swept all his corn away down to the very last grain. The poor man was exceeding wrath thereat, and said, "Come what will, I'll go seek the Wind, and I'll tell him with what pains and trouble I had got my corn to grow and ripen, and then he, forsooth! must needs come and blow it all away."

So the man went home and made ready to go, and as he was making ready his wife said to him, "Whither away, husband?"--"I am going to seek the Wind," said he; "what dost thou say to that?"--"I should say, do no such thing," replied his wife. "Thou knowest the saying, 'If thou dost want to find the Wind, seek him on the open steppe. He can go ten different ways to thy one.' Think of that, dear husband, and go not at all."--"I mean to go," replied the man, "though I never return home again." Then he took leave of his wife and children, and went straight out into the wide world to seek the Wind on the open steppe.

He went on farther and farther till he saw before him a forest, and on the borders of that forest stood a hut on hens' legs. The man went into this hut and was filled with astonishment, for there lay on the floor a huge, huge old man, as grey as milk. He lay there stretched at full length, his head on the seat of honour,[6] with an arm and leg in each of the four corners, and all his hair standing on end. It was no other than the Wind himself. The man stared at this awful Ancient with terror, for never in his life had he seen anything like it. "God help thee, old father!" cried he.--"Good health to thee, good man!" said the ancient giant, as he lay on the floor of the hut. Then he asked him in the most friendly manner, "Whence hath God brought thee hither, good man?"--"I am wandering through the wide world in search of the Wind," said the man. "If I find him, I will turn back; if I don't find him, I shall go on and on till I do."--"What dost thou want with the Wind?" asked the old giant lying on the floor. "Or what wrong hath he done thee, that thou shouldst seek him out so doggedly?"--"What wrong hath he done me?" replied the wayfarer. "Hearken now, O Ancient, and I will tell thee! I went straight from my wife into the field and reaped my little plot of corn; but when I began to thresh it out, the Wind came and caught and scattered every bit of it in a twinkling, so that there was not a single little grain of it left. So now thou dost see, old man, what I have to thank him for. Tell me, in God's name, why such things be? My little plot of corn was my all-in-all, and in the sweat of my brow did I reap and thresh it; but the Wind came and blew it all away, so that not a trace of it is to be found in the wide world. Then I thought to myself, 'Why should he do this?' And I said to my wife, 'I'll go seek the Wind, and say to him, "Another time, visit not the poor man who hath but a little corn, and blow it not away, for bitterly doth he rue it!"'"--"Good, my son!" said the giant who lay on the floor. "I shall know better in future; in future I will not blow away the poor man's corn. But, good man, there is no need for thee to seek the Wind in the open steppe, for I myself am the Wind."--"Then if thou art the Wind," said the man, "give me back my corn."--"Nay," said the giant; "thou canst not make the dead come back from the grave. Yet, inasmuch as I have done thee a mischief, I will now give thee this sack, good man, and do thou take it home with thee. And whenever thou wantest a meal say, 'Sack, sack, give me to eat and drink!' and immediately thou shalt have thy fill both of meat and drink, so now thou wilt have wherewithal to comfort thy wife and children."

[6] _Pokute_, the place of honour in a Ruthenian peasant's hut, at the right-hand side of the entrance.

Then the man was full of gratitude. "I thank thee, O Wind!" said he, "for thy courtesy in giving me such a sack as will give me my fill of meat and drink without the trouble of working for it."--"For a lazy loon, 'twere a double boon," said the Wind. "Go home, then, but look now, enter no tavern by the way; I shall know it if thou dost."--"No," said the man, "I will not." And then he took leave of the Wind and went his way.

He had not gone very far when he passed by a tavern, and he felt a burning desire to find out whether the Wind had spoken the truth in the matter of the sack. "How can a man pass a tavern without going into it?" thought he; "I'll go in, come what may. The Wind won't know, because he can't see." So he went into the tavern and hung up his sack upon a peg. The Jew who kept the tavern immediately said to him, "What dost thou want, good man?"--"What is that to thee, thou dog?" said the man.--"You are all alike," sneered the Jew, "take what you can, and pay for nothing."--"Dost think I want to buy anything from thee?" shrieked the man; then, turning angrily to the sack, he cried, "Sack, sack, give me to eat and drink!" Immediately the table was covered with all sorts of meats and liquors. Then all the Jews in the tavern crowded round full of amazement, and asked all manner of questions. "Why, what is this, good man?" said they; "never have we seen anything like this before!"--"Ask no questions, ye accursed Jews!" cried the man, "but sit down to eat, for there is enough for all." So the Jews and the Jewesses set to and ate until they were full up to the ears; and they drank the man's health in pitchers of wine of every sort, and said, "Drink, good man, and spare not, and when thou hast drunk thy fill thou shalt lodge with us this night. We'll make ready a bed for thee. None shall vex thee. Come now, eat and drink whatever thy soul desires." So the Jews flattered him with devilish cunning, and almost forced the wine-jars to his lips.

The simple fellow did not perceive their malice and cunning, and he got so drunk that he could not move from the place, but went to sleep where he was. Then the Jews changed his sack for another, which they hung up on a peg, and then they woke him. "Dost hear, fellow!" cried they; "get up, it is time to go home. Dost thou not see the morning light?" The man sat up and scratched the back of his head, for he was loath to go. But what was he to do? So he shouldered the sack that was hanging on the peg, and went off home.

When he got to his house, he cried, "Open the door, wife!" Then his wife opened the door, and he went in and hung his sack on the peg and said, "Sit down at the table, dear wife, and you children sit down there too. Now, thank God! we shall have enough to eat and drink, and to spare." The wife looked at her husband and smiled. She thought he was mad, but down she sat, and her children sat down all round her, and she waited to see what her husband would do next. Then the man said, "Sack, sack, give to us meat and drink!" But the sack was silent. Then he said again, "Sack, sack, give my children something to eat!" And still the sack was silent. Then the man fell into a violent rage. "Thou didst give me something at the tavern," cried he; "and now I may call in vain. Thou givest nothing, and thou hearest nothing"--and, leaping from his seat, he took up a club and began beating the sack till he had knocked a hole in the wall, and beaten the sack to bits. Then he set off to seek the Wind again. But his wife stayed at home and put everything to rights again, railing and scolding at her husband as a madman.

But the man went to the Wind and said, "Hail to thee, O Wind!"--"Good health to thee, O man!" replied the Wind. Then the Wind asked, "Wherefore hast thou come hither, O man? Did I not give thee a sack? What more dost thou want?"--"A pretty sack indeed!" replied the man; "that sack of thine has been the cause of much mischief to me and mine."--"What mischief has it done thee?"--"Why, look now, old father, I'll tell thee what it has done. It wouldn't give me anything to eat and drink, so I began beating it, and beat the wall in. Now what shall I do to repair my crazy hut? Give me something, old father."--But the Wind replied, "Nay, O man, thou must do without. Fools are neither sown nor reaped, but grow of their own accord--hast thou not been into a tavern?"--"I have not," said the man.--"Thou hast not? Why wilt thou lie?"--"Well, and suppose I did lie?" said the man; "if thou suffer harm through thine own fault, hold thy tongue about it, that's what I say. Yet it is all the fault of thy sack that this evil has come upon me. If it had only given me to eat and to drink, I should not have come to thee again." At this the Wind scratched his head a bit, but then he said, "Well then, thou man! there's a little ram for thee, and whenever thou dost want money say to it, 'Little ram, little ram, scatter money!' and it will scatter money as much as thou wilt. Only bear this in mind: go not into a tavern, for if thou dost, I shall know all about it; and if thou comest to me a third time, thou shalt have cause to remember it for ever."--"Good," said the man, "I won't go."--Then he took the little ram, thanked the Wind, and went on his way.

So the man went along leading the little ram by a string, and they came to a tavern, that very same tavern where he had been before, and again a strong desire came upon the man to go in. So he stood by the door and began thinking whether he should go in or not, and whether he had any need to find out the truth about the little ram. "Well, well," said he at last, "I'll go in, only this time I won't get drunk. I'll drink just a glass or so, and then I'll go home." So into the tavern he went, dragging the little ram after him, for he was afraid to let it go.

Now, when the Jews who were inside there saw the little ram, they began shrieking and said, "What art thou thinking of, O man! that thou bringest that little ram into the room? Are there no barns outside where thou mayst put it up?"--"Hold your tongues, ye accursed wretches!" replied the man; "what has it got to do with you? It is not the sort of ram that fellows like you deal in. And if you don't believe me, spread a cloth on the floor and you shall see something, I warrant you."--Then he said, "Little ram, little ram, scatter money!" and the little ram scattered so much money that it seemed to grow, and the Jews screeched like demons.--"O man, man!" cried they, "such a ram as that we have never seen in all our days. Sell it to us! We will give thee such a lot of money for it."--"You may pick up all that money, ye accursed ones," cried the man, "but I don't mean to sell my ram."

Then the Jews picked up the money, but they laid before him a table covered with all the dishes that a man's heart may desire, and they begged him to sit down and make merry, and said with true Jewish cunning, "Though thou mayst get a little lively, don't get drunk, for thou knowest how drink plays the fool with a man's wits."--The man marvelled at the straightforwardness of the Jews in warning him against the drink, and, forgetting everything else, sat down at table and began drinking pot after pot of mead, and talking with the Jews, and his little ram went clean out of his head. But the Jews made him drunk, and laid him in the bed, and changed rams with him; his they took away, and put in its place one of their own exactly like it.

When the man had slept off his carouse, he arose and went away, taking the ram with him, after bidding the Jews farewell. When he got to his hut he found his wife in the doorway, and the moment she saw him coming, she went into the hut and cried to her children, "Come, children! make haste, make haste! for daddy is coming, and brings a little ram along with him; get up, and look sharp about it! An evil year of waiting has been the lot of wretched me, but he has come home at last."

The husband arrived at the door and said, "Open the door, little wife; open, I say!"--The wife replied, "Thou art not a great nobleman, so open the door thyself. Why dost thou get so drunk that thou dost not know how to open a door? It's an evil time that I spend with thee. Here we are with all these little children, and yet thou dost go away and drink."--Then the wife opened the door, and the husband walked into the hut and said, "Good health to thee, dear wife!"--But the wife cried, "Why dost thou bring that ram inside the hut, can't it stay outside the walls?"--"Wife, wife!" said the man, "speak, but don't screech. Now we shall have all manner of good things, and the children will have a fine time of it."--"What!" said the wife, "what good can we get from that wretched ram? Where shall we get the money to find food for it? Why, we've nothing to eat ourselves, and thou dost saddle us with a ram besides. Stuff and nonsense! I say."--"Silence, wife," replied the husband; "that ram is not like other rams, I tell thee."--"What sort is it, then?" asked his wife.--"Don't ask questions, but spread a cloth on the floor and keep thine eyes open."--"Why spread a cloth?" asked the wife.--"Why?" shrieked the man in a rage; "do what I tell thee, and hold thy tongue."--But the wife said, "Alas, alas! I have an evil time of it. Thou dost nothing at all but go away and drink, and then thou comest home and dost talk nonsense, and bringest sacks and rams with thee, and knockest down our little hut."--At this the husband could control his rage no longer, but shrieked at the ram, "Little ram, little ram, scatter money!"--But the ram only stood there and stared at him. Then he cried again, "Little ram, little ram, scatter money!"--But the ram stood there stock-still and did nothing. Then the man in his anger caught up a piece of wood and struck the ram on the head, but the poor ram only uttered a feeble baa! and fell to the earth dead.

The man was now very much offended and said, "I'll go to the Wind again, and I'll tell him what a fool he has made of me." Then he took up his hat and went, leaving everything behind him. And the poor wife put everything to rights, and reproached and railed at her husband.

So the man came to the Wind for the third time and said, "Wilt thou tell me, please, if thou art really the Wind or no?"--"What's the matter with thee?" asked the Wind.--"I'll tell thee what's the matter," said the man; "why hast thou laughed at and mocked me and made such a fool of me?"--"I laugh at _thee_!" thundered the old father as he lay there on the floor and turned round on the other ear; "why didst thou not hold fast what I gave thee? Why didst thou not listen to me when I told thee not to go into the tavern, eh?"--"What tavern dost thou mean?" asked the man proudly; "as for the sack and the ram thou didst give me, they only did me a mischief; give me something else."--"What's the use of giving thee anything?" said the Wind; "thou wilt only take it to the tavern. Out of the drum, my twelve henchmen!" cried the Wind, "and just give this accursed drunkard a good lesson that he may keep his throat dry and listen a little more to old people!"--Immediately twelve henchmen leaped out of his drum and began giving the man a sound thrashing. Then the man saw that it was no joke and begged for mercy. "Dear old father Wind," cried he, "be merciful, and let me get off alive. I'll not come to thee again though I should have to wait till the Judgment Day, and I'll do all thy behests."--"Into the drum, my henchmen!" cried the Wind.--"And now, O man!" said the Wind, "thou mayst have this drum with the twelve henchmen, and go to those accursed Jews, and if they will not give thee back thy sack and thy ram, thou wilt know what to say."

So the man thanked the Wind for his good advice, and went on his way. He came to the inn, and when the Jews saw that he brought nothing with him they said, "Hearken, O man! don't come here, for we have no brandy."--"What do I want with your brandy?" cried the man in a rage.--"Then for what hast thou come hither?"--"I have come for my own."--"Thy own," said the Jews; "what dost thou mean?"--"What do I mean?" roared the man; "why, my sack and my ram, which you must give up to me."--"What ram? What sack?" said the Jews; "why, thou didst take them away from here thyself."--"Yes, but you changed them," said the man.--"What dost thou mean by changed?" whined the Jews; "we will go before the magistrate, and thou shalt hear from us about this."--"You will have an evil time of it if you go before the magistrate," said the man; "but at any rate, give me back my own." And he sat down upon a bench. Then the Jews caught him by the shoulders to cast him out and cried, "Be off, thou rascal! Does any one know where this man comes from? No doubt he is an evil-doer." The man could not stand this, so he cried, "Out of the drum, my henchmen! and give the accursed Jews a sound drubbing, that they may know better than to take in honest folk!" and immediately the twelve henchmen leaped out of the drum and began thwacking the Jews finely.--"Oh, oh!" roared the Jews; "oh, dear, darling, good man, we'll give thee whatever thou dost want, only leave off beating us! Let us live a bit longer in the world, and we will give thee back everything."--"Good!" said the man, "and another time you'll know better than to deceive people." Then he cried, "Into the drum, my henchmen!" and the henchmen disappeared, leaving the Jews more dead than alive. Then they gave the man his sack and his ram, and he went home, but it was a long, long time before the Jews forgot those henchmen.

So the man went home, and his wife and children saw him coming from afar. "Daddy is coming home now with a sack and a ram!" said she; "what shall we do? We shall have a bad time of it, we shall have nothing left at all. God defend us poor wretches! Go and hide everything, children." So the children hastened away, but the husband came to the door and said, "Open the door!"--"Open the door thyself," replied the wife.--Again the husband bade her open the door, but she paid no heed to him. The man was astonished. This was carrying a joke too far, so he cried to his henchmen, "Henchmen, henchmen! out of the drum, and teach my wife to respect her husband!" Then the henchmen leaped out of the drum, laid the good wife by the heels, and began to give her a sound drubbing. "Oh, my dear, darling husband!" shrieked the wife, "never to the end of my days will I be sulky with thee again. I'll do whatever thou tellest me, only leave off beating me."--"Then I have taught thee sense, eh?" said the man.--"Oh, yes, yes, good husband!" cried she. Then the man said: "Henchmen, henchmen! into the drum!" and the henchmen leaped into it again, leaving the poor wife more dead than alive.

Then the husband said to her, "Wife, spread a cloth upon the floor." The wife scudded about as nimbly as a fly, and spread a cloth out on the floor without a word. Then the husband said, "Little ram, little ram, scatter money!" And the little ram scattered money till there were piles and piles of it. "Pick it up, my children," said the man, "and thou too, wife, take what thou wilt!"--And they didn't wait to be asked twice. Then the man hung up his sack on a peg and said, "Sack, sack, meat and drink!" Then he caught hold of it and shook it, and immediately the table was as full as it could hold with all manner of victuals and drink. "Sit down, my children, and thou too, dear wife, and eat thy fill. Thank God, we shall now have no lack of food, and shall not have to work for it either."