Part 7

The brothers were as much astounded as if a kettle of hot water had fallen about their ears. They cried out and ran off, disappearing in a cloud of dust. The stick at length came back to its master, who entered the house, climbed up on the stove, and, calling his mother, told her all that had happened. Then he said—

“Wonderful cloth, let him who is hungry and thirsty find here all he wants.”

A whistling was heard, something came sparkling in the air, and they found before them a table spread as if for a king’s banquet. There were dishes, glasses, and goblets of hydromel and wine, and all the things were of gold or silver. The simpleton and his mother for a time admired the feast, and then, just as they were sitting down to it, the door opened and his father came in. He was thunderstruck when he saw the table, but, being invited to share the good things with them, quickly sat down and fell to. When they had finished the whistling noise was again heard, and all the things disappeared.

The shepherd went off to the Court to tell the king all about these wonderful things, and the king despatched an officer to the fool. When he came into the house he found the simpleton lying on the stove, and said to him—

“If you love your life, listen and obey the orders of the king. You are to send him by myself the wonderful cloth which provides feasts of itself, and for this you shall be honoured by the royal favour. If you do not comply, you shall remain in your present wretched condition, and shall, moreover, receive the punishment of a disobedient fellow. Do you understand me?”

“Oh yes,” said the lad, “I understand you;” and then he quietly said—

“Stick, which beats of itself, give those who deserve them some good blows.”

With the speed of lightning the stick left the fool’s hands. Three times it alighted on the officer’s body, and then he fled. The stick, however, was not content to let him off so easily, and it followed him, beating him all the time, and crying—

“Promises befool children. Don’t make them too rashly. To teach you better, take that, knave, and that.”

Beaten and bewildered, the officer returned to the king and told him all, and when his majesty heard that the lad had a stick which beat of its own accord, he longed so much for it that he quite forgot the cloth. So he sent off some of his soldiers to the lad with orders to bring the stick. The soldiers came to the hut and found the fool on the stove.

“Give us the cudgel,” said they. “The king will give you what you ask for it. If you will not give it to us we shall take it.”

Instead of making a reply, the lad put on his girdle, and said—

“Wonderful girdle, for my safety, and not for my pleasure, let me find myself on the water.”

There was a murmuring in the air, and a great change took place. A magnificent lake—long, wide, and deep—appeared in the middle of the plain, and in it swam fish with golden scales and eyes of pearls. In the middle of the lake, in a silver skiff, was a man whom the soldiers recognised as the fool. For a time they looked on in wonder, and then they set off to tell the king all about it. When the king heard of such a girdle he longed to have it. He took counsel with his officer, and then sent off a whole battalion of soldiers to take the fool prisoner.

This time they tried to catch him while he was asleep. Just as they were about to lay hands on him, however, the fool turned his hat, and said—

“Hat that shoots, to please me, strike those who trouble me.”

At that instant a hundred bullets whistled in the air. The place rang with the noise of guns, and the air was filled with smoke. Some of the soldiers fell dead on the ground, others ran off to hide themselves in the woods, and some went to tell the king.

The king was dreadfully angry to think that he could not get the better of the fool. He had desired to have the cloth, to have the stick, to have the girdle, but what were any of these things to the wonderful six-cornered hat which, of its own accord, fired and shot down its opponents as well as if it had been a battery of cannon!

Having considered for some time, he thought it would, perhaps, be best to try persuasion. So he sent to the lad’s mother, and said to her—

“Tell your son, the fool, that I and my lovely daughter salute him, and we beg of him to come to the palace and show us all the wonderful things we are told he possesses. If he is willing to make me a present of them I will give him half my kingdom, and will name him as my successor in the throne. My daughter also will take him for her husband.”

The mother ran off to her son, and persuaded him to accept the king’s invitation, and go to the palace with his wonderful treasures. The lad fastened on his girdle, put on his hat, hid the cloth in his bosom, took his stick in his hand, and set off to the Court. When he came there the king was engaged, but the lad was received very politely by his attendants. Music struck up as he came to the palace, the soldiers presented arms, and altogether the lad was received very much better than he could have expected. At length, when he was introduced into the hall in which was the king, the lad took off his hat and bowed.

“What,” said he, “O king, do you desire? I have come to lay at the foot of your throne the cloth, the girdle, the stick, and the hat. In return for these presents I only ask that your royal favour may light on the humblest of your subjects.”

“Tell me then, fool,” said the king, “how much money do you want for those things?”

“Money,” replied the lad, “a fool like me does not want money. The king promised my mother to give me half his kingdom, and his daughter in marriage. I only ask so much!”

The king’s officer signed to the soldiers to come in. They laid hands on the lad suddenly, dragged him out into the courtyard, and there, while the drums beat and the trumpets sounded, they killed him and buried him.

As the soldiers pierced him to the heart, some drops of blood sprang forth, and fell under the windows of the princess, who wept at the sight and shed tears on the reddened earth. Wonderful to tell! from these drops of blood there sprang up an apple-tree which grew till it reached the windows of the princess’s apartments. When the princess laid her hand on the boughs of the tree, an apple fell off into her bosom. The princess took it up and played with it.

The next day, when night came on, all were asleep in the palace save the guards, the king’s officer, and the princess. The guards were watching, as usual, with their arms in their hands. The princess was playing with the apple, and could not sleep. As for the king’s officer, soon after he lay down he was roused by a terrible noise. The cudgel appeared before him, and though he ran round and round his chamber, it pursued and beat him, crying—

“You good-for-nothing fellow! Don’t be so envious and unjust. Don’t return evil for good, and steal what belongs to others. Take that, and that, and that!”

The officer called aloud and cried for mercy, but the stick still laid on.

The princess, hearing some one groaning, began to weep, and then a wonderful thing happened. Some of her tears fell on the apple. It grew, changed its form, and, all of a sudden, there stood before her a fine young man, the very same as had been slain under her window.

“Fair princess,” said he, “I salute you. The treachery of the king’s officer caused my death, and your tears have recalled me to life again. Your father promised to give you to me for my wife: what do you say?”

“If it is my father’s wish,” replied the princess, “I consent,” and she gave him her hand.

The lad spoke some words and the doors opened of themselves. The six-cornered hat came and placed itself on his head, the girdle came and wound itself around his waist, the cloth hid itself in one of his pockets, and the avenging cudgel placed itself in his hands.

When this had taken place the king came running in. How astonished was he to see the fool alive, and there! The lad did not await for the king to give vent to his rage, but said—

“Wonderful girdle, for my safety, and not for my pleasure, let me find myself on the water.”

There was a murmuring in the air. A wonderful change took place. A large, wide, and deep lake appeared in the middle of the palace grounds. In the crystal waters played fish with golden scales and eyes of pearl. Afar off on the water were the fool and the princess. The king came to the side of the lake and beckoned the lad to him. He came, and with the princess knelt at the king’s feet, and told him how they two were in love with one another. The king gave them his blessing. The lake disappeared, and the three returned to the palace, when the king, calling his counsellors, told them all that had occurred. Then he named the fool as his successor on the throne, gave him his daughter, and threw his officer into prison.

In return, the lad gave the king the cloth, the stick, the girdle, and the hat, telling him how to use them, and teaching him the magic words. The next day the marriage took place, and, with his daughter, the king gave the lad half of his dominions, and in the evening there was a royal feast, so grand that the like was never before seen or heard of.

THE EVIL EYE.

I.

THERE was once upon a time a rich gentleman who lived in a fine house on the banks of the Vistula. All the windows in the house looked towards the river, none looked towards the wide sweep of country around. The path under the poplars which led up to the house was overgrown with grass and weeds, and showed plainly enough that none of the neighbours visited there, and that very little of the old hospitality was to be experienced there.

The gentleman who owned the house had lived there for seven years, and had come from some far-off place. The peasants knew little about him, and they avoided him with fear and trembling, for there were terrible tales about him.

The gentleman was born on the banks of the river Sau, and his parents had been rich. Misfortune, however, had pursued him from the cradle upwards. He had an evil eye, which scattered disease and death wherever its glances fell. If he by ill chance glanced over his herd, the cattle on which his eye fell died. Whatever he loved would surely die. His own parents, to complete the son’s sorrow, perished, and the man with the evil eye, as he came to be called in his birthplace, where the evil eye had caused so much mischief, sold everything he had, and set off to the banks of the Vistula, where he bought the fine house. He kept no folk about him save one old manservant, who had nursed him in his arms when he was a boy, and on whom the evil eye of his master had no effect.

The unlucky man seldom went out of his house, for he knew that his glance brought misfortune, disease, and death on what it lighted on. When he did go out in his carriage his old servant sat beside him, and told him when they were coming to a man, a village, or a town. Then the miserable man would either cover his eyes with his hands, or cast down his glances on the floor of his carriage, where he always had a bundle of pea-stalks at his feet.[1]

Footnote 1:

When the evil eye is directed to a bundle of pea-stalks it does no damage, but merely dries up the stalks.

So it was that he had all the windows of his fine house made to look over the Vistula. Twice had he by ill chance looked upon his farm-buildings, and they had been set on fire by his glance.

In spite of all his care the sailors cursed him, and pointed with fear to the wide windows of his beautiful house, out of which he scattered destruction amongst them, the stream rushing on fast in the channel, and bringing many a ship to ground opposite the White House, as the place was called.

One boatman determined to see the man. He jumped into his boat and set off to the house. When he arrived there he asked to see the master. The old servant, fearful of the consequences, led him into the room. His master was dining, and being put out that he should be interrupted at his meal, he frowned upon the stranger. Immediately a fever took the sailor, and he sank down on the floor at the door.

The old servant, at the command of his master, took the man to his boat, gave him some money, and rowed him back to the other side of the river. The poor sailor was ill for a long time, and when he regained his strength he gave such a terrible account of the White House, and of its master, as greatly increased the fear of his comrades. From that time, when they went down the river in their boats and came opposite to the White House, they would turn their eyes away, and pray heartily that they might be protected from the evil glance of the terrible man who lived there.

II.

Three years had passed, and the White House was still the dread of the neighbours and the terror of the sailors. No one came to see the much-feared man, and he lived solitary and miserable.

The next winter was very severe. The wolves, coming together, howled with hunger around the house, and the master sat by the hearth, on which burned a large fire, and sorrowfully turned over the leaves of a large book. The old servant had secured all the doors, and sat at the other side of the room warming himself, and busied in mending a fishing-net.

“Stanislas,” said his master, “have you caught any fish?”

“Not many, master, but as many as we two shall want.”

“That is true,” said his master. “Although so many years have passed, we are but two. O unlucky hour in which I was born! Here am I alone, and all men fly from me as if I were a monster,” and the tears fell in a torrent from his unfortunate eyes.

All of a sudden they heard a voice crying for help. The master started. It was a long time since he had heard a strange voice. The old servant rushed out, and his master followed him with the light in his hand.

Before the door stood a covered sledge, and by it was an old man who called for help.

As soon as the stranger saw the two men coming to him, he lifted his wife, who had fainted, out of the sledge, and the old servant helped the terrified daughter, a beautiful girl, to alight.

They put on more wood, and brought the fainted lady round, and the master of the house, pleased to be able to show hospitality, went and fetched some old wine in order to drink the strangers’ healths. The old servant laughed to himself as he marked his master’s joyful face. The strange guest, cheered by the wine, told how they had lost their way, how they had fallen in with a pack of hungry wolves, and how their fleet horse had carried them to the White House.

Towards night the luggage was taken out of the sledge, and the wearied travellers retired to rest in warm, comfortable chambers. All was still in the White House, save that the fire now and then sent forth a glimmering flame.

III.

It was within an hour of midnight, and the old servant was asleep by the fireside, when the door of his master’s bedchamber opened and the unhappy man trod lightly into the hall. The old servant, wondering whether he was dreaming, rubbed his eyes, and said—

“What, cannot my master sleep?”

“Be quiet, old friend!” said his master in a joyful voice. “I cannot sleep, and do not wish to sleep when I am so happy as I now am.”

And he sat down in a big arm-chair by the fireside, smiled, and commenced to weep.

“Weep, poor master, weep,” said Stanislas to himself. “Maybe you may weep your evil eyes away.”

“Would that God would give me what I now wish,” said his master, “and I would ask for nothing more in the world. Here have I lived thirty years like a hermit or a criminal, and yet I have never willingly hurt any one, and my soul is free from sin, but my eyes, my eyes!”

His countenance, which was so happy till now, became gloomy as usual; but soon a smile appeared on his face, as hope once more chased away sorrow.

“Dear friend!” said he, and Stanislas looked at him, “maybe I shall marry.”

“Heaven help us!” cried the old servant. “But where then is your future bride?”

The master rose from his chair, walked on tiptoe to the side-door, which led to the chambers where slept the travellers, and, pointing to the door, said—

“There.”

Stanislas nodded his head, as if he approved of his master’s choice, and cheerfully put some wood upon the fire. His master went back to his room in deep thought, and the old servant mumbled to himself—

“Heaven grant it! But pears don’t grow on willow-trees.”

And he was soon asleep.

IV.

On the following morning the traveller rose rested and refreshed, but he was not able to continue his journey in consequence of the illness of his wife.

The master of the house was pleased when he heard that the strangers must pass some more days in his house, and old Stanislas began almost to think that the pears might grow on the willows after all.

The stranger was not exactly a rich man, but he had enough, was deemed an honest man, and lived honourably. He was much pleased with his friendly host, and as he was one day talking to his wife, who had much improved in her health, he said—

“Margaret, it strikes me that our host is in love with our daughter Mary, and, from what I can see, I think she does not dislike him. I cannot but be pleased with it.”

“Oh,” said his wife, “you only imagine it.” But she was secretly pleased that her husband had no objection to what she had herself very much wished.

“The man is not poor, he has lived here a long time, he has proved himself a gentleman,” went on the husband, walking up and down the room, “and our daughter is old enough to be married and take on her the cares of a household.”

In the evening the husband, having partaken of the host’s good wine, stroked his grey moustache with satisfaction, and listened with joy when the master of the house asked for his daughter’s hand.

“My brother,” said he after a short pause, “I am pleased with you, and since you ask no dowry with my daughter, and you have enough to live upon, she shall be your wife.”

Three months later the terrible man took his wife home. The grass and weeds were cleared from the avenue of poplars, and many horses and carriages passed along it to and fro, as relations and friends of the beautiful bride came in troops to the wedding at the White House. In a few days, however, all was still again, and fresh grass and weeds began to grow in the avenue under the poplars.

V.

The winter was at hand, and the inmates of the White House only numbered one more—the mistress of the house.

Most of the servants whom the master had engaged ran away at once as soon as they heard he had an evil eye, and those who stayed a while, having been taken ill, soon left the house also.

The young, beautiful wife lay ill upon her rich bed. Near her was her husband, who, with averted eyes, pressed her cold hand.

The poor wife knew well how terrible was her husband’s glance. She knew that through it her suffering and sorrow were increased; but still, in her love for the sorrowing man, she asked him to look upon her once more.

“My Mary,” said the wretched man, with a deep sigh. “I shall never be happy with you so long as I have my eyes. Cut them out, then. Here is a sharp knife, and at your hand it will cause me no pain.”

The poor wife shuddered at this terrible proposal, and the wretched man sank from his chair to the floor, and commenced to weep bitterly.

“Of what use is this gift of Heaven to me?” cried he. “Of what use is it to me to possess the pleasures men have in sight, when my eyes scatter destruction and ruin around? You are ill, my Mary. Why, a tree itself would wither when I cast my glance upon it in an evil hour. Take courage, though. Upon our child these eyes shall never look. Him they shall never harm, and he shall not have reason to curse his father.”

A groan was the only answer of the sick wife.

The master called in a servant and left the room. All at once two different cries were heard from the two opposite sides of the White House.

From one side came the cry of a new-born child, from the other side, in the hall where the fire burned, came the cry of a man in pain. The one was the cry of an infant as it looked upon the light for the first time, the other was the cry of a man who had bid farewell to sight for ever.

VI.

Six years later there were windows in the White House from which one could obtain a fine view of the village and the surrounding country. The sailors had begun to make the House a resting-place on their way down the stream. The mistress was well and merry, and her great joy was a beautiful little daughter who led her blind father about.

The country-folk, who had fled in terror from the miserable man, now came up to him in friendship, when they saw him blind and taking a walk led by his little daughter. The former stillness departed. The servants filled the once empty halls of the White House.

Old Stanislas had on that terrible day buried his master’s eyes in the garden. One day he wondered what had become of them, and whether he could find them. So he dug for them. All of a sudden the eyes glared on him with a bright light. Hardly had the glance fallen on his face when he stumbled and, falling to the ground, died.

That was the first time the evil eyes had done him hurt, and it was the last time their power was exerted. They had done him no hurt while his master kept them, because, as he loved his servant, his heart had destroyed their power. Now they were in the earth they had acquired power for fresh evil, and killed the honest old man!

His blind master sorrowed long for him, and over his grave he placed a fine cross, near which the sailors often offered up a prayer when they landed at the White House.

THE SEVEN BROTHERS.

ONCE upon a time there lived an old man and an old woman, who had been married many years and had no children, and when they were yet old they prayed to God to give them a child who might help them in their work as they advanced in years. Their prayer was heard. When seven years had passed the old woman gave birth to seven sons, and they were all called Simeon. When the children were ten years old the old man and his wife died, and the sons began to till his ground.

It chanced that one day the Czar Ados came past, and, seeing them working in the fields, he was astonished to see such little fellows doing such work. He sent one of his nobles to ask whose children they were. So the noble came to them and asked who they were who worked so hard. The eldest Simeon told him that they were orphans and had no one to work for them. As for their names they were all called Simeon.

When the Czar got back to the palace he called together all his nobles and asked them their opinion, saying—

“My lords, there are seven orphans who have no kinsfolk. I will make them such men that they shall be grateful to me. Now, I want your advice as to what trade or art I shall have them taught.”

Then all answered—

“Gracious sire, since they are old enough and have ability, we think it would be best to ask each of them what trade or art he wishes to learn.”

The Czar was pleased with this advice, and asked the eldest Simeon—

“Tell me, friend, what trade or art would you like to learn? I will see that you are instructed in it.”

The lad answered—

“May it please your majesty, I wish to learn no art, but if you will order a smithy to be built in the middle of your court, I will smithy a column which shall reach to heaven.”

The Czar saw that this Simeon required no teaching, since he was such a smith, for he showed him very costly work, but he did not believe that he would be able to smithy a column that should reach to heaven. However, he ordered a place to be built in the middle of his yard, and the eldest Simeon set to work.