CZECH FOLK TALES
CZECH FOLK TALES
SELECTED AND TRANSLATED BY DR. JOSEF BAUDIŠ, M.R.I.A.
LECTURER IN COMPARATIVE PHILOLOGY AT THE PRAGUE UNIVERSITY
The present collection has been selected from the following sources:—
Josef Kubín, Povídky kladské, i., ii. (in “Národopisný věstník českoslovanský”).
V. Vondrák, Několik pohádek z Dubu u Vodňan (S. Bohemia), in “Český Lid,” xiii.
V. Tille, Povídky sebrané na Valašsku (S. Moravia). “Národopisný sborník českoslovanský,” Svazek vii. Prague, 1901.
Elpl, Řada pohádek a pověstí nasbíraných v Líšni u Brna (Moravia).
B. M. Kulda, Moravské národní pohádky a pověsti, i. (Prague, 1874). From Moravia.
The first two stories (“Twelve Months,” “Víťazko”) have been retold by the novelist Božena Němcová (from the Slovak).
My translation could not be, of course, a literal one, because many phrases in the original might seem strange to the English reader’s ear.
Finally, I wish to express my thanks to Miss Eleanor Hull and Mr. Robin Flower for revising my English.
JOSEF BAUDIŠ.
London, October 1917.
The first two illustrations are copies of pictures by Josef Mánes; the others have been drawn by Mr. E. Staňek, who in some cases has adapted drawings by Mikuláš Aleš.
The present collection is intended to exemplify the spirit of the Czech race. It may perhaps be objected that folk-tale themes are part of a common stock belonging to all European races, and even to many primitive peoples: but though this is perfectly true, it is also no less certain that the spirit of the nation manifests itself in the manner of their telling. The selection has been made from all sorts of folk tales, artistic and primitive alike; and yet two things are common to all of them: the moral tendency and a sense of humour. By this I do not mean morality in the vulgar sense of retribution for evil, or of filial devotion, or the sentimental insistence upon “every one living happily ever afterwards,” and above all upon Jack marrying his Molly. I mean that higher sort of morality which was the mainspring of Protestantism. It is often supposed that Protestantism is very unfavourable to the development and preservation of folk tales; but those of Bohemia are certainly an exception to this rule. The Czech nation was the first to adopt the Protestant faith, and even to-day is still Protestant at heart, though the Habsburgs forced it back into the Catholic fold.
The Czechs, then, have preserved their love for folk tales, adapting them to the higher morality and to the national sentiment, and discarding many of their supernatural features, or where the supernatural was allowed to remain for a moment, reverting very soon to the strict limits of probability. It is the very same method which, for example, Mr. Wells employs in some of his novels. That the Slav nations have a certain tendency to lay stress upon the ethical side in their folk tales has already been pointed out by the Czech poet Erben, whose tales have been translated into English in Wratislaw’s Collection.
As for their humour, the Czechs have a natural tendency to satire. The best works in Old Czech literature are satires, and in modern times one of the most brilliant of Czech politicians, Karel Havliček, was also the greatest Czech satirist. This spirit may also be seen in the present collection; but in every case the story-teller, instead of assuming the attitude of the morality preacher or of indulging in theatrical invective against the wickedness of the times, rests content with a good-humoured gibe at the folly of the world, at the frailty of his fellow-men, and, it may be, at his own.
These two traits are inherent in the nature of the Czech people; and those who know their love of such tales and of the literature which has grown out of them, can realize their search for a haven of refuge from the cruel present and their fond dream-pictures of a land where all was good, where at last everything was bound to end well, where truth and justice at last had conquered. Alas! to the victims of Habsburg rule and Austrian bayonets the bare possibility seemed utterly excluded. And yet why should they not dream of such a land? Amo quia absurdum! But at the very moment their humorous ego could not suppress a sneer. Yes, even in that wonderland which their fancy painted are foolish kings, ever prone to break their word: even there people are bad and stupid! But our tale says that the bad were vanquished and the foolish put to shame: let, then, the tale be told! And even as he tells it, his heart nurses the inward hope that the foreign tyrants who oppress him may one day be vanquished and annihilated.
That such were the wishes of the Czech people, the Great War has shown. They have proved by their deeds their love of freedom; and to-day Czechs are fighting bravely in every Allied army and in their own national units formed in Russia. May their Austrian oppressors be brought to the ground, and may Bohemia regain the freedom for which she has longed for three centuries!
Once upon a time there lived a mother who had two daughters. One was her own child, the other her stepdaughter. She was very fond of her own daughter, but she would not so much as look at her stepdaughter. The only reason was that Maruša, the stepdaughter, was prettier than her own daughter, Holena. The gentle-hearted Maruša did not know how beautiful she was, and so she could never make out why her mother was so cross with her whenever she looked at her. She had to do all the housework, tidying up the cottage, cooking, washing, and sewing, and then she had to take the hay to the cow and look after her. She did all this work alone, while Holena spent the time adorning herself and lazing about. But Maruša liked work, for she was a patient girl, and when her mother scolded and rated her, she bore it like a lamb. It was no good, however, for they grew crueller and crueller every day, only because Maruša was growing prettier and Holena uglier every day.
At last the mother thought: “Why should I keep a pretty stepdaughter in my house? When the lads come courting here, they will fall in love with Maruša and they won’t look at Holena.”
From that moment the stepmother and her daughter were constantly scheming how to get rid of poor Maruša. They starved her and they beat her. But she bore it all, and in spite of all she kept on growing prettier every day. They invented torments that the cruellest of men would never have thought of.
One day—it was in the middle of January—Holena felt a longing for the scent of violets.
“Go, Maruša, and get me some violets from the forest; I want to wear them at my waist and to smell them,” she said to her sister.
“Great heavens! sister. What a strange notion! Who ever heard of violets growing under the snow?” said poor Maruša.
“You wretched tatterdemalion! how dare you argue when I tell you to do something? Off you go at once, and if you don’t bring me violets from the forest I’ll kill you!” said Holena threateningly.
The stepmother caught hold of Maruša, turned her out of the door, and slammed it to after her. She went into the forest weeping bitterly. The snow lay deep, and there wasn’t a human footprint to be seen. Maruša wandered about for a long time, tortured by hunger and trembling with cold. She begged God to take her from the world.
At last she saw a light in the distance. She went towards the glow, and came at last to the top of a mountain. A big fire was burning there, and round the fire were twelve stones with twelve men sitting on them. Three of them had snow-white beards, three were not so old, and three were still younger. The three youngest were the handsomest of them all. They were not speaking, but all sitting silent. These twelve men were the twelve months. Great January sat highest of all; his hair and beard were as white as snow, and in his hand he held a club.
Maruša was frightened. She stood still for a time in terror, but, growing bolder, she went up to them and said: “Please, kind sirs, let me warm my hands at your fire. I am trembling with the cold.”
Great January nodded, and asked her: “Why have you come here, my dear little girl? What are you looking for?”
“I am looking for violets,” answered Maruša.
“This is no time to be looking for violets, for everything is covered with snow,” answered Great January.
“Yes, I know; but my sister Holena and my stepmother said that I must bring them some violets from the forest. If I don’t bring them, they’ll kill me. Tell me, fathers, please tell me where I can find them.”
Great January stood up and went to one of the younger months—it was March—and, giving him the club, he said: “Brother, take the high seat.”
March took the high seat upon the stone and waved the club over the fire. The fire blazed up, the snow began to melt, the trees began to bud, and the ground under the young beech-trees was at once covered with grass and the crimson daisy buds began to peep through the grass. It was springtime. Under the bushes the violets were blooming among their little leaves, and before Maruša had time to think, so many of them had sprung up that they looked like a blue cloth spread out on the ground.
“Pick them quickly, Maruša!” commanded March.
Maruša picked them joyfully till she had a big bunch. Then she thanked the months with all her heart and scampered merrily home.
Holena and the stepmother wondered when they saw Maruša bringing the violets. They opened the door to her, and the scent of violets filled all the cottage.
“Where did you get them?” asked Holena sulkily.
“They are growing under the bushes in a forest on the high mountains.”
Holena put them in her waistband. She let her mother smell them, but she did not say to her sister: “Smell them.”
Another day she was lolling near the stove, and now she longed for some strawberries. So she called to her sister and said: “Go, Maruša, and get me some strawberries from the forest.”
“Alas! dear sister, where could I find any strawberries? Who ever heard of strawberries growing under the snow?” said Maruša.
“You wretched little tatterdemalion, how dare you argue when I tell you to do a thing? Go at once and get me the strawberries, or I’ll kill you!”
The stepmother caught hold of Maruša and pushed her out of the door and shut it after her. Maruša went to the forest weeping bitterly. The snow was lying deep, and there wasn’t a human footprint to be seen anywhere. She wandered about for a long time, tortured by hunger and trembling with cold. At last she saw the light she had seen the other day. Overjoyed, she went towards it. She came to the great fire with the twelve months sitting round it.
“Please, kind sirs, let me warm my hands at the fire. I am trembling with cold.”
Great January nodded, and asked her: “Why have you come again, and what are you looking for here?”
“I am looking for strawberries.”
“But it is winter now, and strawberries don’t grow on the snow,” said January.
“Yes, I know,” said Maruša sadly; “but my sister Holena and my stepmother bade me bring them some strawberries, and if I don’t bring them, they will kill me. Tell me, fathers, tell me, please, where I can find them.”
Great January arose. He went over to the month sitting opposite to him—it was June—and handed the club to him, saying: “Brother, take the high seat.”
June took the high seat upon the stone and swung the club over the fire. The fire shot up, and its heat melted the snow in a moment. The ground was all green, the trees were covered with leaves, the birds began to sing, and the forest was filled with all kinds of flowers. It was summer. The ground under the bushes was covered with white starlets, the starry blossoms were turning into strawberries every minute. They ripened at once, and before Maruša had time to think, there were so many of them that it looked as though blood had been sprinkled on the ground.
“Pick them at once, Maruša!” commanded June.
Maruša picked them joyfully till she had filled her apron full. Then she thanked the months with all her heart and scampered merrily home. Holena and the stepmother wondered when they saw Maruša bringing the strawberries. Her apron was full of them. They ran to open the door for her, and the scent of the strawberries filled the whole cottage.
“Where did you pick them?” asked Holena sulkily.
“There are plenty of them growing under the young beech-trees in the forest on the high mountains.”
Holena took the strawberries, and went on eating them till she could eat no more. So did the stepmother too, but they didn’t say to Maruša: “Here is one for you.”
When Holena had enjoyed the strawberries, she grew greedy for other dainties, and so on the third day she longed for some red apples.
“Maruša, go into the forest and get me some red apples,” she said to her sister.
“Alas! sister dear, how am I to get apples for you in winter?” protested Maruša.
“You wretched little tatterdemalion, how dare you argue when I tell you to do a thing? Go to the forest at once, and if you don’t bring me the apples I will kill you!” threatened Holena.
The stepmother caught hold of Maruša and pushed her out of the door and shut it after her. Maruša went to the forest weeping bitterly. The snow was lying deep; there wasn’t a human footprint to be seen anywhere. But she didn’t wander about this time. She ran straight to the top of the mountain where the big fire was burning. The twelve months were sitting round the fire; yes, there they certainly were, and Great January was sitting on the high seat.
“Please, kind sirs, let me warm my hands at the fire. I am trembling with cold.”
Great January nodded, and asked her: “Why have you come here, and what are you looking for?”
“I am looking for red apples.”
“It is winter now, and red apples don’t grow in winter,” answered January.
“Yes, I know,” said Maruša sadly; “but my sister and my stepmother, too, bade me bring them some red apples from the forest. If I don’t bring them, they will kill me. Tell me, father, tell me, please, where I could find them.”
Great January rose up. He went over to one of the older months—it was September. He handed the club to him and said: “Brother, take the high seat.”
Month September took the high seat upon the stone and swung the club over the fire. The fire began to burn with a red flame, the snow began to melt. But the trees were not covered with leaves; the leaves were wavering down one after the other, and the cold wind was driving them to and fro over the yellowing ground. This time Maruša did not see so many flowers. Only red pinks were blooming on the hillside, and meadow saffrons were flowering in the valley. High fern and thick ivy were growing under the young beech-trees. But Maruša was only looking for red apples, and at last she saw an apple-tree with red apples hanging high among its branches.
“Shake the tree at once, Maruša!” commanded the month.
Right gladly Maruša shook the tree, and one apple fell down. She shook it a second time, and another apple fell down.
“Now, Maruša, run home quickly!” shouted the month.
Maruša obeyed at once. She picked up the apples, thanked the months with all her heart, and ran merrily home.
Holena and the stepmother wondered when they saw Maruša bringing the apples. They ran to open the door for her, and she gave them two apples.
“Where did you get them?” asked Holena.
“There are plenty of them in the forest on the high mountain.”
“And why didn’t you bring more? Or did you eat them on the way home?” said Holena harshly.
“Alas! sister dear, I didn’t eat a single one. But when I had shaken the tree once, one apple fell down, and when I shook it a second time, another apple fell down, and they wouldn’t let me shake it again. They shouted to me to go straight home,” protested Maruša.
Holena began to curse her: “May you be struck to death by lightning!” and she was going to beat her.
Maruša began to cry bitterly, and she prayed to God to take her to Himself, or she would be killed by her wicked sister and her stepmother. She ran away into the kitchen.
Greedy Holena stopped cursing and began to eat the apple. It tasted so delicious that she told her mother she had never tasted anything so nice in all her life. The stepmother liked it too. When they had finished, they wanted some more.
“Mother, give me my fur coat. I’ll go to the forest myself. That ragged little wretch would eat them all up again on her way home. I’ll find the place all right, and I’ll shake them all down, however they shout at me.”
Her mother tried to dissuade her, but it was no good. She took her fur coat, wrapped a cloth round her head, and off she went to the forest. Her mother stood on the threshold, watching to see how Holena would manage to walk in the wintry weather.