Snowflake
Slavonic story. Contes Populaires Slaves, traduits par Louis Leger. Paris: Leroux, Editeur.
Once upon a time there lived a peasant called Ivan, and he had a wife whose name was Marie. They would have been quite happy except for one thing: they had no children to play with, and as they were now old people they did not find that watching the children of their neighbours at all made up to them for having one of their own.
One winter, which nobody living will ever forget, the snow lay so deep that it came up to the knees of even the tallest man. When it had all fallen, and the sun was shining again, the children ran out into the street to play, and the old man and his wife sat at their window and gazed at them. The children first made a sort of little terrace, and stamped it hard and firm, and then they began to make a snow woman. Ivan and Marie watched them, the while thinking about many things.
Suddenly Ivan’s face brightened, and, looking at his wife, he said, ‘Wife, why shouldn’t we make a snow woman too?’
‘Why not?’ replied Marie, who happened to be in a very good temper; ‘it might amuse us a little. But there is no use making a woman. Let us make a little snow child, and pretend it is a living one.’
‘Yes, let us do that,’ said Ivan, and he took down his cap and went into the garden with his old wife.
Then the two set to work with all their might to make a doll out of the snow. They shaped a little body and two little hands and two little feet. On top of all they placed a ball of snow, out of which the head was to be.
‘What in the world are you doing?’ asked a passer-by.
‘Can’t you guess?’ returned Ivan.
‘Making a snow-child,’ replied Marie.
They had finished the nose and the chin. Two holes were left for the eyes, and Ivan carefully shaped out the mouth. No sooner had he done so than he felt a warm breath upon his cheek. He started back in surprise and looked – and behold! the eyes of the child met his, and its lips, which were as red as raspberries, smiled at him!
‘What is it?’ cried Ivan, crossing himself. ‘Am I mad, or is the thing bewitched?’
The snow-child bent its head as if it had been really alive. It moved its little arms and its little legs in the snow that lay about it just as the living children did theirs.
‘Ah! Ivan, Ivan,’ exclaimed Marie, trembling with joy, ‘heaven has sent us a child at last!’ And she threw herself upon Snowflake (for that was the snow-child’s name) and covered her with kisses. And the loose snow fell away from Snowflake as an egg shell does from an egg, and it was a little girl whom Marie held in her arms.
‘Oh! my darling Snowflake!’ cried the old woman, and led her into the cottage.
And Snowflake grew fast; each hour as well as each day made a difference, and every day she became more and more beautiful. The old couple hardly knew how to contain themselves for joy, and thought of nothing else. The cottage was always full of village children, for they amused Snowflake, and there was nothing in the world they would not have done to amuse her. She was their doll, and they were continually inventing new dresses for her, and teaching her songs or playing with her. Nobody knew how clever she was! She noticed everything, and could learn a lesson in a moment. Anyone would have taken her for thirteen at least! And, besides all that, she was so good and obedient; and so pretty, too! Her skin was as white as snow, her eyes as blue as forget-me-nots, and her hair was long and golden. Only her cheeks had no colour in them, but were as fair as her forehead.
So the winter went on, till at last the spring sun mounted higher in the heavens and began to warm the earth. The grass grew green in the fields, and high in the air the larks were heard singing. The village girls met and danced in a ring, singing, ‘Beautiful spring, how came you here? How came you here? Did you come on a plough, or was it a harrow?’ Only Snowflake sat quite still by the window of the cottage.
‘What is the matter, dear child?’ asked Marie. ‘Why are you so sad? Are you ill? or have they treated you unkindly?’
‘No,’ replied Snowflake, ‘it is nothing, mother; no one has hurt me; I am well.’
The spring sun had chased away the last snow from its hiding place under the hedges; the fields were full of flowers; nightingales sang in the trees, and all the world was gay. But the gayer grew the birds and the flowers the sadder became Snowflake. She hid herself from her playmates, and curled herself up where the shadows were deepest, like a lily amongst its leaves. Her only pleasure was to lie amid the green willows near some sparkling stream. At the dawn and at twilight only she seemed happy. When a great storm broke, and the earth was white with hail, she became bright and joyous as the Snowflake of old; but when the clouds passed, and the hail melted beneath the sun, Snowflake would burst into tears and weep as a sister would weep over her brother.
The spring passed, and it was the eve of St. John, or Midsummer Day. This was the greatest holiday of the year, when the young girls met in the woods to dance and play. They went to fetch Snowflake, and said to Marie: ‘Let her come and dance with us.’
But Marie was afraid; she could not tell why, only she could not bear the child to go. Snowflake did not wish to go either, but they had no excuse ready. So Marie kissed the girl and said: ‘Go, my Snowflake, and be happy with your friends, and you, dear children, be careful of her. You know she is the light of my eyes to me.’
‘Oh, we will take care of her,’ cried the girls gaily, and they ran off to the woods. There they wore wreaths, gathered nosegays, and sang songs some sad, some merry. And whatever they did Snowflake did too.
When the sun set they lit a fire of dry grass, and placed themselves in a row, Snowflake being the last of all. ‘Now, watch us,’ they said, ‘and run just as we do.’
And they all began to sing and to jump one after another across the fire.
Suddenly, close behind them, they heard a sigh, then a groan. ‘Ah!’ They turned hastily and looked at each other. There was nothing. They looked again. Where was Snowflake? She has hidden herself for fun, they thought, and searched for her everywhere. ‘Snowflake! Snowflake!’ But there was no answer. ‘Where can she be? Oh, she must have gone home.’ They returned to the village, but there was no Snowflake.
For days after that they sought her high and low. They examined every bush and every hedge, but there was no Snowflake. And long after everyone else had given up hope Ivan and Marie would wander through the woods crying ‘Snowflake, my dove, come back, come back!’ And sometimes they thought they heard a call, but it was never the voice of Snowflake.
And what had become of her? Had a fierce wild beast seized her and dragged her into his lair in the forest? Had some bird carried her off across the wide blue sea?
No, no beast had touched her, no bird had borne her away. With the first breath of flame that swept over her when she ran with her friends Snowflake had melted away, and a little soft haze floating upwards was all that remained of her.
I Know What I Have Learned
From the Danish
There was once a man who had three daughters, and they were all married to trolls, who lived underground. One day the man thought that he would pay them a visit, and his wife gave him some dry bread to eat by the way. After he had walked some distance he grew both tired and hungry, so he sat down on the east side of a mound and began to eat his dry bread. The mound then opened, and his youngest daughter came out of it, and said, ‘Why, father! why are you not coming in to see me?’
‘Oh,’ said he, ‘if I had known that you lived here, and had seen any entrance, I would have come in.’
Then he entered the mound along with her.
The troll came home soon after this, and his wife told him that her father was come, and asked him to go and buy some beef to make broth with.
‘We can get it easier than that!’ said the troll.
He fixed an iron spike into one of the beams of the roof, and ran his head against this till he had knocked several large pieces off his head. He was just as well as ever after doing this, and they got their broth without further trouble.
The troll then gave the old man a sackful of money, and laden with this he betook himself homewards. When he came near his home he remembered that he had a cow about to calve, so he laid down the money on the ground, ran home as fast as he could, and asked his wife whether the cow had calved yet.
‘What kind of a hurry is this to come home in?’ said she. ‘No, the cow has not calved yet.’
‘Then you must come out and help me in with a sackful of money,’ said the man.
‘A sackful of money?’ cried his wife.
‘Yes, a sackful of money,’ said he. ‘Is that so very wonderful?’
His wife did not believe very much what he told her, but she humoured him, and went out with him.
When they came to the spot where he had left it there was no money there; a thief had come along and stolen it. His wife then grew angry and scolded him heartily.
‘Well, well!’ said he, ‘hang the money! I know what I have learned.’
‘What have you learned?’ said she.
‘Ah! I know that,’ said the man.
After some time had passed the man had a mind to visit his second eldest daughter. His wife again gave him some dry bread to eat, and when he grew tired and hungry he sat down on the east side of a mound and began to eat it. As he sat there his daughter came up out of the mound, and invited him to come inside, which he did very willingly.
Soon after this the troll came home. It was dark by that time, and his wife bade him go and buy some candles.
‘Oh, we shall soon get a light,’ said the troll. With that he dipped his fingers into the fire, and they then gave light without being burned in the least.
The old man got two sacks of money here, and plodded away homewards with these. When he was very nearly home he again thought of the cow that was with calf, so he laid down the money, ran home, and asked his wife whether the cow had calved yet.
‘Whatever is the matter with you?’ said she. ‘You come hurrying as if the whole house was about to fall. You may set your mind at rest: the cow has not calved yet.’
The man now asked her to come and help him home with the two sacks of money. She did not believe him very much, but he continued to assure her that it was quite true, till at last she gave in and went with him. When they came to the spot there had again been a thief there and taken the money. It was no wonder that the woman was angry about this, but the man only said, ‘Ah, if you only knew what I have learned.’
A third time the man set out – to visit his eldest daughter. When he came to a mound he sat down on the east side of it and ate the dry bread which his wife had given him to take with him. The daughter then came out of the mound and invited her father to come inside.
In a little the troll came home, and his wife asked him to go and buy some fish.
‘We can get them much more easily than that,’ said the troll. ‘Give me your dough trough and your ladle.’
They seated themselves in the trough, and rowed out on the lake which was beside the mound. When they had got out a little way the troll said to his wife, ‘Are my eyes green?’
‘No, not yet,’ said she.
He rowed on a little further and asked again, ‘Are my eyes not green yet?’
‘Yes,’ said his wife, ‘they are green now.’
Then the troll sprang into the water and ladled up so many fish that in a short time the trough could hold no more. They then rowed home again, and had a good meal off the fish.
The old man now got three sacks full of money, and set off home with them. When he was almost home the cow again came into his head, and he laid down the money. This time, however, he took his wooden shoes and laid them above the money, thinking that no one would take it after that. Then he ran home and asked his wife whether the cow had calved. It had not, and she scolded him again for behaving in this way, but in the end he persuaded her to go with him to help him with the three sacks of money.
When they came to the spot they found only the wooden shoes, for a thief had come along in the meantime and taken all the money. The woman was very angry, and broke out upon her husband; but he took it all very quietly, and only said, ‘Hang the money! I know what I have learned.’
‘What have you learned I should like to know?’ said his wife.
‘You will see that yet,’ said the man.
One day his wife took a fancy for broth, and said to him, ‘Oh, go to the village, and buy a piece of beef to make broth.’
‘There’s no need of that,’ said he; ‘we can get it an easier way.’ With that he drove a spike into a beam, and ran his head against it, and in consequence had to lie in bed for a long time afterwards.
After he had recovered from this his wife asked him one day to go and buy candles, as they had none.
‘No,’ he said, ‘there’s no need for that;’ and he stuck his hand into the fire. This also made him take to bed for a good while.
When he had got better again his wife one day wanted fish, and asked him to go and buy some. The man, however, wished again to show what he had learned, so he asked her to come along with him and bring her dough trough and a ladle. They both seated themselves in this, and rowed upon the lake. When they had got out a little way the man said, ‘Are my eyes green?’
‘No,’ said his wife; ‘why should they be?’
They rowed a little further out, and he asked again, ‘Are my eyes not green yet?’
‘What nonsense is this?’ said she; ‘why should they be green?’
‘Oh, my dear,’ said he, ‘can’t you just say that they are green?’
‘Very well,’ said she, ‘they are green.’
As soon as he heard this he sprang out into the water with the ladle for the fishes, but he just got leave to stay there with them!
The Cunning Shoemaker
Sicilianische Mahrchen
Once upon a time there lived a shoemaker who could get no work to do, and was so poor that he and his wife nearly died of hunger. At last he said to her, ‘It is no use waiting on here – I can find nothing; so I shall go down to Mascalucia, and perhaps there I shall be more lucky.’
So down he went to Mascalucia, and walked through the streets crying, ‘Who wants some shoes?’ And very soon a window was pushed up, and a woman’s head was thrust out of it.
‘Here are a pair for you to patch,’ she said. And he sat down on her doorstep and set about patching them.
‘How much do I owe you?’ she asked when they were done.
‘A shilling.’
‘Here is eighteen pence, and good luck to you.’ And he went his way. He turned into the next street and set up his cry again, and it was not long before another window was pushed up and another head appeared.
‘Here are some shoes for you to patch.’
And the shoemaker sat down on the doorstep and patched them.
‘How much do I owe you?’ asked the woman when the shoes were finished.
‘A florin.’
‘Here is a crown piece, and good luck to you.’ And she shut the window.
‘Well,’ thought the shoemaker, ‘I have done finely. But I will not go back to my wife just yet, as, if I only go on at this rate, I shall soon have enough money to buy a donkey.’
Having made up his mind what was best to do, he stayed in the town a few days longer till he had four gold pieces safe in his purse. Then he went to the market and for two of them he bought a good strong donkey, and, mounting on its back, he rode home to Catania. But as he entered a thick wood he saw in the distance a band of robbers who were coming quickly towards him.
‘I am lost,’ thought he; ‘they are sure to take from me all the money that I have earned, and I shall be as poor as ever I was. What can I do?’ However, being a clever little man and full of spirit, he did not lose heart, but, taking five florins, he fastened them out of sight under the donkey’s thick mane. Then he rode on.
Directly the robber came up to him they seized him exactly as he had foretold and took away all his money.
‘Oh, dear friends!’ he cried, wringing his hands, ‘I am only a poor shoemaker, and have nothing but this donkey left in the world.’
As he spoke the donkey gave himself a shake, and down fell the five florins.
‘Where did that come from?’ asked the robbers.
‘Ah,’ replied the shoemaker, ‘you have guessed my secret. The donkey is a golden donkey, and supplies me with all my money.’
‘Sell him to us,’ said the robbers. ‘We will give you any price you like.’
The shoemaker at first declared that nothing would induce him to sell him, but at last he agreed to hand him over to the robbers for fifty gold pieces. ‘But listen to what I tell you,’ said he. ‘You must each take it in turn to own him for a night and a day, or else you will all be fighting over the money.’
With these words they parted, the robbers driving the donkey to their cave in the forest and the shoemaker returning home, very pleased with the success of his trick. He just stopped on the way to pick up a good dinner, and the next day spent most of his gains in buying a small vineyard.
Meanwhile the robbers had arrived at the cave where they lived, and the captain, calling them all round him, announced that it as his right to have the donkey for the first night. His companions agreed, and then he told his wife to put a mattress in the stable. She asked if he had gone out of his mind, but he answered crossly, ‘What is that to you? Do as you are bid, and to-morrow I will bring you some treasures.’
Very early the captain awoke and searched the stable, but could find nothing, and guessed that Master Joseph had been making fun of them. ‘Well,’ he said to himself, ‘if I have been taken in, the others shall not come off any better.’
So, when one of his men arrived and asked him eagerly how much money he had got, he answered gaily, ‘Oh, comrade, if you only knew! But I shall say nothing about it till everyone has had his turn!’
One after another they all took the donkey, but no money was forthcoming for anybody. At length, when all the band had been tricked, they held a council, and resolved to march to the shoemaker’s house and punish him well for his cunning. Just as before, the shoemaker saw them a long way off, and began to think how he could outwit them again. When he had hit upon a plan he called his wife, and said to her, ‘Take a bladder and fill it with blood, and bind it round your neck. When the robbers come and demand the money they gave me for the donkey I shall shout to you and tell you to get it quickly. You must argue with me, and decline to obey me, and then I shall plunge my knife into the bladder, and you must fall to the ground as if you were dead. There you must lie till I play on my guitar; then get up and begin to dance.’
The wife made haste to do as she was bid, and there was no time to lose, for the robbers were drawing very near the house. They entered with a great noise, and overwhelmed the shoemaker with reproaches for having deceived them about the donkey.
‘The poor beast must have lost its power owing to the change of masters,’ said he; ‘but we will not quarrel about it. You shall have back the fifty gold pieces that you gave for him. ‘Aite,’ he cried to his wife, ‘go quickly to the chest upstairs, and bring down the money for these gentlemen.’
‘Wait a little,’ answered she; ‘I must first bake this fish. It will be spoilt if I leave it now.’
‘Go this instant, as you are bid,’ shouted the shoemaker, stamping as if he was in a great passion; but, as she did not stir, he drew his knife, and stabbed her in the neck. The blood spurted out freely, and she fell to the ground as if she was dead.
‘What have you done?’ asked the robbers, looking at him in dismay. ‘The poor woman was doing nothing.’
‘Perhaps I was hasty, but it is easily set right,’ replied the shoemaker, taking down his guitar and beginning to play. Hardly had he struck the first notes than his wife sat up; then got on her feet and danced.
The robbers stared with open mouths, and at last they said, ‘Master Joseph, you may keep the fifty gold pieces. But tell us what you will take for your guitar, for you must sell it to us?’
‘Oh, that is impossible!’ replied the shoemaker, ‘for every time I have a quarrel with my wife I just strike her dead, and so give vent to my anger. This has become such a habit with me that I don’t think I could break myself of it; and, of course, if I got rid of the guitar I could never bring her back to life again.’
However, the robbers would not listen to him, and at last he consented to take forty gold pieces for the guitar.
Then they all returned to their cave in the forest, delighted with their new purchase, and longing for a chance of trying its powers. But the captain declared that the first trial belonged to him, and after that the others might have their turn.
That evening he called to his wife and said, ‘What have you got for supper?’
‘Macaroni,’ answered she.
‘Why have you not boiled a fish?’ he cried, and stabber in the neck so that she fell dead. The captain, who was not in the least angry, seized the guitar and began to play; but, let him play as loud as he would, the dead woman never stirred. ‘Oh, lying shoemaker! Oh, abominable knave! Twice has he got the better of me. But I will pay him out!’
So he raged and swore, but it did him no good. The fact remained that he had killed his wife and could not bring her back again.
The next morning came one of the robbers to fetch the guitar, and to hear what had happened.
‘Well, how have you got on?’
‘Oh, splendidly! I stabbed my wife, and then began to play, and now she is as well as ever.’
‘Did you really? Then this evening I will try for myself.’
Of course the same thing happened over again, till all the wives had been killed secretly, and when there were no more left they whispered to each other the dreadful tale, and swore to be avenged on the shoemaker.
The band lost no time in setting out for his house, and, as before, the shoemaker saw them coming from afar. He called to his wife, who was washing in the kitchen: ‘Listen, Aita: when the robbers come and ask for me say I have gone to the vineyard. Then tell the dog to call me, and chase him from the house.’
When he had given these directions he ran out of the back door and hid behind a barrel. A few minutes later the robbers arrived, and called loudly for the shoemaker.
‘Alas! good gentlemen, he is up in the vineyard, but I will send the dog after him at once. Here! now quickly to the vineyard, and tell your master some gentlemen are here who wish to speak to him. Go as fast as you can.’ And she opened the door and let the dog out.
‘You can really trust the dog to call your husband?’ asked the robbers.
‘Dear me, yes! He understands everything, and will always carry any message I give him.’
By-and-bye the shoemaker came in and said, ‘Good morning, gentlemen; the dog tells me you wish to speak to me.’
‘Yes, we do,’ replied the robber; ‘we have come to speak to you about that guitar. It is your fault that we have murdered all our wives; and, though we played as you told us, none of them ever came back to life.’
‘You could not have played properly,’ said the shoemaker. ‘It was your own fault.’
‘Well, we will forget all about it,’ answered the robbers, ‘if you will only sell us your dog.’
‘Oh, that is impossible! I should never get on without him.’
But the robbers offered him forty gold pieces, and at last he agreed to let them have the dog.
So they departed, taking the dog with them, and when they got back to their cave the captain declared that it was his right to have the first trial.
He then called his daughter, and said to her, ‘I am going to the inn; if anybody wants me, loose the dog, and send him to call me.’
About an hour after some one arrived on business, and the girl untied the dog and said, ‘Go to the inn and call my father!’ The dog bounded off, but ran straight to the shoemaker.
When the robber got home and found no dog he thought ‘He must have gone back to his old master,’ and, though night had already fallen, he went off after him.
‘Master Joseph, is the dog here?’ asked he.
‘Ah! yes, the poor beast is so fond of me! You must give him time to get accustomed to new ways.’
So the captain brought the dog back, and the following morning handed him over to another of the band, just saying that the animal really could do what the shoemaker had said.
The second robber carefully kept his own counsel, and fetched the dog secretly back from the shoemaker, and so on through the whole band. At length, when everybody had suffered, they met and told the whole story, and next day they all marched off in fury to the man who had made game of them. After reproaching him with having deceived them, they tied him up in a sack, and told him they were going to throw him into the sea. The shoemaker lay quite still, and let them do as they would.
They went on till they came to a church, and the robbers said, ‘The sun is hot and the sack is heavy; let us leave it here and go in and rest.’ So they put the sack down by the roadside, and went into the church.
Now, on a hill near by there was a swineherd looking after a great herd of pigs and whistling merrily.
When Master Joseph heard him he cried out as loud as he could, ‘I won’t; I won’t, I say.’
‘What won’t you do?’ asked the swineherd.
‘Oh,’ replied the shoemaker. ‘They want me to marry the king’s daughter, and I won’t do it.’
‘How lucky you are!’ sighed the swineherd. ‘Now, if it were only me!’
‘Oh, if that’s all!’ replied the cunning shoemaker, ‘get you into this sack, and let me out.’
Then the swineherd opened the sack and took the place of the shoemaker, who went gaily off, driving the pigs before him.
When the robbers were rested they came out of the church, took up the sack, and carried it to the sea, where they threw it in, and it sank directly. As they came back they met the shoemaker, and stared at him with open mouths.
‘Oh, if you only knew how many pigs live in the sea,’ he cried. ‘And the deeper you go the more there are. I have just brought up these, and mean to return for some more.’
‘There are still some left there?’
‘Oh, more than I could count,’ replied the shoemaker. ‘I will show you what you must do.’ Then he led the robbers back to the shore. ‘Now,’ said he, ‘you must each of you tie a stone to your necks, so that you may be sure to go deep enough, for I found the pigs that you saw very deep down indeed.’
Then the robbers all tied stones round their necks, and jumped in, and were drowned, and Master Joseph drove his pigs home, and was a rich man to the end of his days.