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The Wood Maiden Fairy tale by Parker Fillmore

Betushka was a little girl. Her mother was a poor widow with nothing but a tumble-down cottage and two little nanny-goats. But poor as they were Betushka was always cheerful. From spring till autumn she pastured the goats in the birch wood. Every morning when she left home her mother gave her a little basket with a slice of bread and a spindle.

“See that you bring home a full spindle,” her mother always said.

Betushka had no distaff, so she wound the flax around her head. Then she took the little basket and went romping and singing behind the goats to the birch wood. When they got there she sat down under a tree and pulled the fibers of the flax from her head with her left hand, and with her right hand let down the spindle so that it went humming along the ground. All the while she sang until the woods echoed and the little goats nibbled away at the leaves and grass.

When the sun showed midday, she put the spindle aside, called the goats and gave them a mouthful of bread so that they wouldn’t stray, and ran off into the woods to hunt berries or any other wild fruit that was in season. Then when she had finished her bread and fruit, she jumped up, folded her arms, and danced and sang.

The sun smiled at her through the green of the trees and the little goats, resting on the grass, thought: “What a merry little shepherdess we have!”

After her dance she went back to her spinning and worked industriously. In the evening when she got home her mother never had to scold her because the spindle was empty.

One day at noon just after she had eaten and, as usual, was going to dance, there suddenly stood before her a most beautiful maiden. She was dressed in white gauze that was fine as a spider’s web. Long golden hair fell down to her waist and on her head she wore a wreath of woodland flowers.

Betushka was speechless with surprise and alarm.

The maiden smiled at her and said in a sweet voice:

“Betushka, do you like to dance?”

Her manner was so gracious that Betushka no longer felt afraid, and answered:

“Oh, I could dance all day long!”

“Come, then, let us dance together,” said the maiden. “I’ll teach you.”

With that she tucked up her skirt, put her arm about Betushka’s waist, and they began to dance. At once such enchanting music sounded over their heads that Betushka’s heart went one-two with the dancing. The musicians sat on the branches of the birch trees. They were clad in little frock coats, black and gray and many-colored. It was a carefully chosen orchestra that had gathered at the bidding of the beautiful maiden: larks, nightingales, finches, linnets, thrushes, blackbirds, and showy mocking-birds.

Betushka’s cheeks burned, her eyes shone. She forgot her spinning, she forgot her goats. All she could do was gaze at her partner who was moving with such grace and lightness that the grass didn’t seem to bend under her slender feet.

They danced from noon till sundown and yet Betushka wasn’t the least bit tired. Then they stopped dancing, the music ceased, and the maiden disappeared as suddenly as she had come.

Betushka looked around. The sun was sinking behind the wood. She put her hands to the unspun flax on her head and remembered the spindle that was lying unfilled on the grass. She took down the flax and laid it with the spindle in the little basket. Then she called the goats and started home.

She reproached herself bitterly that she had allowed the beautiful maiden to beguile her and she told herself that another time she would not listen to her. She was so quiet that the little goats, missing her merry song, looked around to see whether it was really their own little shepherdess who was following them. Her mother, too, wondered why she didn’t sing and questioned her.

“Are you sick, Betushka?”

“No, dear mother, I’m not sick, but I’ve been singing too much and my throat is dry.”

She knew that her mother did not reel the yarn at once, so she hid the spindle and the unspun flax, hoping to make up tomorrow what she had not done today. She did not tell her mother one word about the beautiful maiden.

The next day she felt cheerful again and as she drove the goats to pasture she sang merrily. At the birch wood she sat down to her spinning, singing all the while, for with a song on the lips work falls from the hands more easily.

Noonday came. Betushka gave a bit of bread to each of the goats and ran off to the woods for her berries. Then she ate her luncheon.

“Ah, my little goats,” she sighed, as she brushed up the crumbs for the birds, “I mustn’t dance today.”

“Why mustn’t you dance today?” a sweet voice asked, and there stood the beautiful maiden as though she had fallen from the clouds.

Betushka was worse frightened than before and she closed her eyes tight. When the maiden repeated her question, Betushka answered timidly:

“Forgive me, beautiful lady, for not dancing with you. If I dance with you I cannot spin my stint and then my mother will scold me. Today before the sun sets I must make up for what I lost yesterday.”

“Come, child, and dance,” the maiden said. “Before the sun sets we’ll find some way of getting that spinning done!”

She tucked up her skirt, put her arm about Betushka, the musicians in the treetops struck up, and off they whirled. The maiden danced more beautifully than ever. Betushka couldn’t take her eyes from her. She forgot her goats, she forgot her spinning. All she wanted to do was to dance on forever.

At sundown the maiden paused and the music stopped. Then Betushka, clasping her hands to her head, where the unspun flax was twined, burst into tears. The beautiful maiden took the flax from her head, wound it round the stem of a slender birch, grasped the spindle, and began to spin. The spindle hummed along the ground and filled in no time. Before the sun sank behind the woods all the flax was spun, even that which was left over from the day before. The maiden handed Betushka the full spindle and said:

“Remember my words:

“Reel and grumble not!
Reel and grumble not!”

When she said this, she vanished as if the earth had swallowed her.

Betushka was very happy now and she thought to herself on her way home: “Since she is so good and kind, I’ll dance with her again if she asks me. Oh, how I hope she does!”

She sang her merry little song as usual and the goats trotted cheerfully along.

She found her mother vexed with her, for she had wanted to reel yesterday’s yarn and had discovered that the spindle was not full.

“What were you doing yesterday,” she scolded, “that you didn’t spin your stint?”

Betushka hung her head. “Forgive me, mother. I danced too long.” Then she showed her mother today’s spindle and said: “See, today I more than made up for yesterday.”

Her mother said no more but went to milk the goats and Betushka put away the spindle. She wanted to tell her mother her adventure, but she thought to herself: “No, I’ll wait. If the beautiful lady comes again, I’ll ask her who she is and then I’ll tell mother.” So she said nothing.

On the third morning she drove the goats as usual to the birch wood. The goats went to pasture and Betushka, sitting down under a tree, began to spin and sing. When the sun pointed to noon, she laid her spindle on the grass, gave the goats a mouthful of bread, gathered some strawberries, ate her luncheon, and then, giving the crumbs to the birds, she said cheerily:

“Today, my little goats, I will dance for you!”

She jumped up, folded her arms, and was about to see whether she could move as gracefully as the beautiful maiden, when the maiden herself stood before her.

“Let us dance together,” she said. She smiled at Betushka, put her arm about her, and as the music above their heads began to play, they whirled round and round with flying feet. Again Betushka forgot the spindle and the goats. Again she saw nothing but the beautiful maiden whose body was lithe as a willow shoot. Again she heard nothing but the enchanting music to which her feet danced of themselves.

They danced from noon till sundown. Then the maiden paused and the music ceased. Betushka looked around. The sun was already set behind the woods. She clasped her hands to her head and looking down at the unfilled spindle she burst into tears.

“Oh, what will my mother say?” she cried.

“Give me your little basket,” the maiden said, “and I will put something in it that will more than make up for today’s stint.”

Betushka handed her the basket and the maiden took it and vanished. In a moment she was back. She returned the basket and said:

“Look not inside until you’re home!
Look not inside until you’re home!”

As she said these words she was gone as if a wind had blown her away.

Betushka wanted awfully to peep inside but she was afraid to. The basket was so light that she wondered whether there was anything at all in it. Was the lovely lady only fooling her? Halfway home she peeped in to see.

Imagine her feelings when she found the basket was full of birch leaves! Then indeed did Betushka burst into tears and reproach herself for being so simple. In her vexation she threw out a handful of leaves and was going to empty the basket when she thought to herself:

“No, I’ll keep what’s left as litter for the goats.”

She was almost afraid to go home. She was so quiet that again the little goats wondered what ailed their shepherdess.

Her mother was waiting for her in great excitement.

“For heaven’s sake, Betushka, what kind of a spool did you bring home yesterday?”

“Why?” Betushka faltered.

“When you went away this morning I started to reel that yarn. I reeled and reeled and the spool remained full. One skein, two skeins, three skeins, and still the spool was full. ‘What evil spirit has spun that?’ I cried out impatiently, and instantly the yarn disappeared from the spindle as if blown away. Tell me, what does it mean?”

So Betushka confessed and told her mother all she knew about the beautiful maiden.

“Oh,” cried her mother in amazement, “that was a wood maiden! At noon and midnight the wood maidens dance. It is well you are not a little boy or she might have danced you to death! But they are often kind to little girls and sometimes make them rich presents. Why didn’t you tell me? If I hadn’t grumbled, I could have had yarn enough to fill the house!”

Betushka thought of the little basket and wondered if there might be something under the leaves. She took out the spindle and unspun flax and looked in once more.

“Mother!” she cried. “Come here and see!”

Her mother looked and clapped her hands. The birch leaves were all turned to gold!

Betushka reproached herself bitterly: “She told me not to look inside until I got home, but I didn’t obey.”

“It’s lucky you didn’t empty the whole basket,” her mother said.

The next morning she herself went to look for the handful of leaves that Betushka had thrown away. She found them still lying in the road but they were only birch leaves.

But the riches which Betushka brought home were enough. Her mother bought a farm with fields and cattle. Betushka had pretty clothes and no longer had to pasture goats.

But no matter what she did, no matter how cheerful and happy she was, still nothing ever again gave her quite so much pleasure as the dance with the wood maiden. She often went to the birch wood in the hope of seeing the maiden again. But she never did.

 

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Vitazko the Victorious Fairy tale by Parker Fillmore

There was once a mother who had an only son. “He shall be a hero,” she said, “and his name shall be Vitazko, the Victorious.”

She suckled him for twice seven years and then, to try his strength, she led him out to the forest and bade him pull up a fir-tree by the roots.

When the boy was not strong enough to do this, she took him home and suckled him for another seven years. Then when she had suckled him for thrice seven years, she led him out to the forest again and ordered him to pull up a beech-tree by its roots.

The youth laid hold on the tree and with one mighty pull uprooted it.

“Now, my son, you are strong enough,” the mother said. “Now you are worthy of your name Vitazko. Forget not the mother who has suckled you for thrice seven years but, now that you are grown, take care of her.”

“I will, my mother,” Vitazko promised. “Only tell me what you want me to do.”

“First,” the mother said, “go out into the world and find me a splendid dwelling where I may live in peace and plenty.”

Taking in his hand the uprooted beech-tree as a club and armed only with it, Vitazko set forth. He followed the wind here and there and the other place and it led him at last to a fine castle.

This castle was inhabited by dragons. Vitazko pounded on the castle gates but the dragons refused to admit him. Thereupon the young hero battered down the gates, pursued the dragons from room to room of the castle, and slaughtered them all.

When he had thrown the last of them over the wall, he took possession of the castle. He found nine spacious chambers and a tenth one the door of which was closed.

Vitazko opened the door and in the room he found a dragon. This dragon was a prisoner. Three iron hoops were fastened about his body and these were chained to the wall.

“Oho!” Vitazko cried. “Another dragon! What are you doing here?”

“Me?” the dragon said. “I’m not doing anything but just sitting here. My brothers imprisoned me. Unchain me, Vitazko! If you do, I will reward you richly.”

“I will not!” Vitazko said. “A fine scamp you must be if your own brothers had to chain you up! No! You stay where you are!”

“With that Vitazko slammed the door in the dragon’s face and left him.

Then he went for his mother and brought her to the castle.

“Here, my mother,” he said, “is the dwelling I have won for you.”

He took her through the nine spacious chambers and showed her everything. At the tenth door he said:

“This door is not to be opened. All the castle belongs to you except this room only. See to it that this door is never opened. If it is opened, an evil fate will overtake you.”

Then Vitazko took his beechen club and went out hunting.

He was hardly gone before his mother sat down before the tenth door and said to herself over and over:

“I wonder what can be in that room that Vitazko doesn’t want me to open the door.”

At last when she could restrain her curiosity no longer, she opened the door.

“Mercy on us!” she said when she saw the dragon. “Who are you? And what are you doing here?”

“Me?” the dragon said. “I’m only a poor harmless dragon. They call me Sharkan. My brothers chained me here. They would have freed me long ago but Vitazko killed them. Unchain me, dear lady, and I will reward you richly.”

He begged her and cajoled her until she was half minded to do as he asked.

“You are very beautiful,” Sharkan said. “If only I were free I would make you my wife.”

“Ah, but what would Vitazko say to that?” the woman asked.

“Vitazko?” repeated Sharkan. “Do you fear your own son? A dutiful son he is, to give you the castle and then forbid you to enter this room! If you were to marry me, we should soon get rid of this Vitazko and then live here together in peace and merriment.”

The woman listened to these cajoling words until she was completely won over.

“But how, dear Sharkan, shall I unchain you?”

He told her to go to the cellar and from a certain cask to draw him a goblet of wine. Instantly he drank the wine, bang! the first iron hoop burst asunder. He drank a second goblet, and the second iron hoop fell from him. He drank a third goblet and, lo! he was free.

Then in dismay at what she had done, the woman cried:

“Ah me, what will Vitazko say when he comes home!”

“I have thought out a plan,” Sharkan said. “Listen: when he comes home pretend you’re sick and refuse to eat. When he begs you to eat something, tell him that nothing can tempt you but a suckling from the Earth Sow. He will at once go out and hunt the Earth Sow and when he touches one of her sucklings, the Sow will tear him to pieces.”

Sharkan remained in hiding in the tenth chamber and presently Vitazko returned from the hunt with a young buck across his shoulders. He found his mother on the bed, moaning and groaning as if in great pain.

“What is it, dear mother?” he asked. “Are you sick?”

“Aye, my son, I’m sick. Leave me and I’ll die alone!”

Vitazko in alarm rubbed her hands and begged her to eat of the venison he had brought home.

“Nay, my son,” she said, “venison tempts me not. Nothing can tempt my waning appetite but a suckling from the Earth Sow.”

“Then, my mother, you shall have a suckling from the Earth Sow!” Vitazko cried, and instantly he rushed out in quest of the Earth Sow and her litter.

With his beech-tree in his hand he ranged back and forth through the forest hunting the Earth Sow. He came at last to a tower in which an old wise woman lived. Her name was Nedyelka and because she was good as well as wise people called her St. Nedyelka.

“Where are you going, Vitazko?” she said, when she saw the young hero.

“I’m hunting for the Earth Sow,” he told her. “My mother is sick and nothing will tempt her but a suckling from the Earth Sow’s litter.”

Nedyelka looked at the young man kindly.

“That, my son, is a difficult task you have set yourself. However, I will help you provided you do exactly as I say.”

Vitazko promised and the old woman gave him a long pointed spit.

“Take this,” she said. “Now go to my stable. There you will find my horse, Tatosh. Mount him and he will carry you on the wind to where the Earth Sow lies half buried in her wallow and surrounded by her litter. Reach over and prick one of the sucklings with this spit and then sit very still without moving. The suckling will squeal and instantly the Sow will spring up and in a fury race madly around the world and back in a moment of time. Sit perfectly still and she won’t see either you or Tatosh. Then she’ll tell the litter that if one of them squeals again and disturbs her, she will tear it to pieces. With that she’ll settle back in the wallow and go to sleep. Then do you pick up the same little suckling on your spit and carry it off. This time it will be afraid to squeal. The Sow will not be disturbed and Tatosh, my horse, will bear you safely away.”

Vitazko did exactly as Nedyelka ordered. He mounted Tatosh and the magic steed carried him swiftly on the wind to where the Earth Sow lay sleeping in her wallow.

With his spit, Vitazko pricked one of the sucklings until it squealed in terror. The Earth Sow jumped up and in fury raced madly around the world and back in a moment of time. Tatosh stood where he was and Vitazko sat on his back without moving. The Earth Sow saw neither of them.

“If one of you squeals again and disturbs me,” the Earth Sow said to the litter, “I’ll wake up and tear you to pieces!”

With that she settled back in the mud and fell asleep.

Vitazko again reached over and now he picked up the same little suckling on the end of his spit. This time it made no sound. Instantly Tatosh, the magic steed, rose on the wind and flew straight home to Nedyelka.

“How did things go?” the old woman asked.

“Just as you said they would,” Vitazko told her. “See, here is the suckling.”

“Good, my son. Take it home to your mother.”

So Vitazko returned the spit and led Tatosh back to his stall. Then he threw the suckling over his beech-tree, thanked old St. Nedyelka, bade her good-day, and with a happy heart went home.

At the castle the mother was making merry with the dragon. Suddenly in the distance they saw Vitazko coming.

“Here he comes!” the mother cried. “Oh dear, what shall I do?”

“Don’t be afraid,” Sharkan advised. “We’ll send him off on another quest and this time he’ll surely not come back. Pretend you’re sick again and tell him you’re so weak that even the suckling of the Earth Sow doesn’t tempt your appetite. Tell him nothing will help you but the Water of Life and the Water of Death and if he really loves you he must get you some of both. Then he’ll go off hunting the Water of Life and the Water of Death and that will be the end of him.”

Sharkan hid himself in the tenth chamber and Vitazko, when he entered the castle, found his mother alone.

“It’s no use, my son,” she moaned. “I can’t eat the suckling. Nothing will help me now but the Water of Life and the Water of Death. Of course you don’t love me well enough to get me some of both.”

“I do! I do!” poor Vitazko cried. “There’s nothing I won’t get for you to make you well!”

He snatched up his beech-tree again and hurried back to St. Nedyelka.

“What is it now?” the old woman asked.

“Can you tell me, dear St. Nedyelka, where I can find the Water of Life and the Water of Death? My poor mother is still sick and she says that nothing else will cure her.”

“The Waters of Life and of Death are difficult to get,” Nedyelka said. “However, dear boy, I will help you. Take these two pitchers and again mount the faithful Tatosh. He will carry you to the two shores under which flow the springs of the Water of Life and the Water of Death. The right shore opens for a moment on the instant of noon and under it the Water of Life bubbles up. The left shore opens for a moment at midnight and under it lies the still pool of the Water of Death. Wait at each shore until the moment it opens. Then reach in and scoop up a pitcher of water. Be swift or the shores will close upon you and kill you.”

Vitazko took the two pitchers and mounted Tatosh. The horse rose on the wind and carried Vitazko far, far away beyond the Red Sea to the two shores of which old Nedyelka had told him.

At the moment of noon the right shore opened for an instant and Vitazko scooped up a pitcher of the Water of Life. He had scarcely time to draw back before the opening closed with a crash.

He waited at the left shore until midnight. At the moment of midnight the left shore opened for an instant. Vitazko scooped up a pitcher of water from the still pool of the Water of Death and pulled swiftly back as the opening closed.

With the two pitchers safe in his hands, Vitazko mounted Tatosh and the magic steed rising on the wind carried him home to St. Nedyelka.

“And how did things go?” the old woman asked.

“Very well,” Vitazko said. “See, here are the Waters.”

St. Nedyelka took the two pitchers and when Vitazko wasn’t looking changed them for two pitchers of ordinary water which she told him to carry at once to his mother.

At the castle the mother and Sharkan were again making merry when from afar they saw Vitazko with two pitchers in his hands. The mother fell into a great fright and wept and tore her hair, but the dragon again reassured her.

“He’s come back this time,” he said, “but we’ll send him off again and he’ll never return. Refuse the Waters and tell him you’re so sick that nothing will help you now but a sight of the bird, Pelikan. Tell him if he loves you he will go after the bird, Pelikan, and once he goes we need never fear him again.”

Vitazko when he reached the castle hurried into his mother’s chamber and offered her the Waters.

“Here, dear mother, is a pitcher of the Water of Life and a pitcher of the Water of Death. Now you will get well!”

But his mother pushed both pitchers away and, moaning and groaning as if she were in great pain, she said:

“Nay, you are too late with your Water of Life and your Water of Death! I am so far gone that nothing will cure me now but a sight of the bird, Pelikan. If you really loved me you would get it for me.”

Vitazko, still trusting his mother, cried out:

“Of course I love you! Of course I’ll get you the bird, Pelikan, if that is what will cure you!”

So once more he snatched up his beech-tree and hurried off to St. Nedyelka.

“What is it now?” the old woman asked him.

“It’s my poor mother,” Vitazko said. “She’s too far gone for the Water of Life and the Water of Death. Nothing will help her now but a sight of the bird, Pelikan. Tell me, kind Nedyelka, how can I get the bird, Pelikan?”

“The bird, Pelikan, my son? Ah, that is a task to capture Pelikan! However, I will help you. Pelikan is a giant bird with a long, long neck. When he shakes his wings he raises such a wind that he blows down the forest trees. Here is a gun. Take it and mount my faithful Tatosh. He will carry you far away to the vast wilderness where Pelikan lives. When you get there, note carefully from what direction the wind blows. Shoot in that direction. Then quickly push the ramrod into the barrel of the gun and leave it there and come back to me as fast as you can.”

Vitazko took the gun and mounted Tatosh. The magic steed rose on the wind and carried him far off to the distant wilderness which was the home of the bird, Pelikan. There Tatosh sank to earth and Vitazko dismounted. Immediately he felt a strong wind against his right cheek. He took aim in that direction and pulled the trigger. The hammer fell and instantly Vitazko pushed the ramrod into the gun barrel. He threw the gun over his shoulder and mounted Tatosh. Tatosh rose on the wind and in a twinkling had carried him back to St. Nedyelka.

“Well, son, how did things go?” the old woman asked as usual.

“I don’t know,” Vitazko said. “I did as you told me. Here is the gun.”

“Let me see,” Nedyelka said, squinting into the gun barrel. “Ah, son, things went very well indeed! Here is Pelikan inside the barrel.”

She drew something out of the gun barrel and sure enough it was the bird, Pelikan.

She gave Vitazko another gun and told him to go out and shoot an eagle. Then she told him to carry Pelikan home to his mother, but instead of giving him Pelikan she gave him the eagle.

When Sharkan and his mother saw Vitazko coming, they decided that this time they would send him after the Golden Apples. These grew in the garden of the most powerful dragon in the world.

“If Vitazko goes near him,” Sharkan said, “the dragon will tear him to pieces for he knows that it was Vitazko who killed all his brother dragons.”

So the mother again feigned sickness and, when Vitazko rushed in to her and offered her what he supposed was Pelikan, she moaned and groaned and pushed the bird aside.

“Too late! Too late! I’m dying!”

“Don’t say that!” poor Vitazko begged. “Will nothing save you?”

“Yes, the Golden Apples that grow in the garden of Mightiest Dragon could still save me. If you really loved me you’d get them for me.”

“I do love you, mother,” Vitazko cried, “and I’ll get you the Golden Apples wherever they are!”

So without a moment’s rest he hurried back to St. Nedyelka.

“Well, son, what is it now?” the old woman asked.

Vitazko wept.

“It’s my poor mother. She’s still sick. Pelikan hasn’t cured her. She says now that only the Golden Apples from the garden of Mightiest Dragon can cure her. Dear, kind Nedyelka, tell me, what shall I do?”

“The Golden Apples from the garden of Mightiest Dragon! Ah, my son, that will be a task for you! For this you will need every ounce of your strength and more! But never fear! I will again befriend you. Here is a ring. Put it on a finger of your right hand and when you are sore pressed twist the ring around your finger and think of me. Instantly you will have the strength of a hundred fighting men. Now take this sword, mount the faithful Tatosh, and good luck go with you.”

Vitazko thanked the dear old woman, mounted Tatosh, and was soon carried far away to the garden of the dragon. A high wall surrounded the garden, so high that Vitazko could never have scaled it alone. But it is as easy for a horse like Tatosh to take a high wall as it is for a bird.

Inside the garden Vitazko dismounted and began to look for the tree that bore the Golden Apples. Presently he met a beautiful young girl who asked him what he was doing in the dragon’s garden.

“I’m looking for the Golden Apples,” he told her. “I want some of them for my sick mother. Do you know where they are?”

“I do indeed know where they are,” the girl said, “for it is my duty to guard them. If I were to give you one the wicked dragon would tear me to pieces. I am a royal princess but I am in the dragon’s power and must do as he says. Dear youth, take my advice and escape while you can. If the dragon sees you he will kill you as he would a fly.”

But Vitazko was not to be dissuaded from his quest.

“Nay, sweet princess, I must get the apples.”

“Well, then,” she said, “I will help you all I can. Here is a precious ring. Put it on a finger of your left hand. When you are sore pressed, think of me and twist the ring and you will have the strength of a hundred men. To conquer this horrible monster you will need the strength of more than a hundred.”

Vitazko put on the ring, thanked the princess, and marched boldly on. In the center of the garden he found the tree that bore the Golden Apples. Under it lay the dragon himself.

On sight of Vitazko he raised his head and bellowed out:

“Ho, you murderer of dragons, what do you want here?”

Nothing daunted, Vitazko replied:

“I am come to shake down some of the Golden Apples.”

“Indeed!” the dragon roared. “Then you will have to shake them down over my dead body!”

“I shall be glad to do that!” Vitazko said, springing at the dragon and at the same time twisting around the ring on his right hand and thinking of kind old St. Nedyelka.

The dragon grappled with him and for a moment almost took him off his feet. Then Vitazko plunged the dragon into the earth up to his ankles.

Just then there was the rustling of wings overhead and a black raven cawed out:

“Which of you wants my help, you, oh Mightiest Dragon, or you, Vitazko, the Victorious?”

“Help me!” the dragon roared.

“Then what will you give me?”

“As much gold as you want.”

“Nay, raven,” Vitazko shouted, “help me and I will give you all the dragon’s horses that are grazing over yonder in the meadow.”

“Very well, Vitazko,” the raven croaked. “I’ll help you. What shall I do?”

“Cool me when I’m hot,” Vitazko said, “when the dragon breathes on me his fiery breath.”

They grappled again and the dragon plunged Vitazko into the ground up to his ankles. Twisting the ring on his right hand and thinking of St. Nedyelka, Vitazko gripped the dragon around the waist and plunged him into the earth up to his knees.

Then they paused for breath and the raven which had dipped its wings in a fountain sat on Vitazko’s head and shook down drops of cool water on his heated face.

Then Vitazko twisted the ring on his left hand, thought of the beautiful princess, and closed with the dragon again. This time with a mighty effort he gripped the dragon as if he were a stake of wood and drove him into the ground up to his very shoulders. Then quickly drawing Nedyelka’s sword, he cut off the dragon’s head.

At once the lovely princess came running and herself plucked two of the Golden Apples and gave them to Vitazko. She thanked him prettily for rescuing her and she said to him:

“You have saved me, Vitazko, from this fierce monster and now I am yours if you want me.”

“I do want you, dear princess,” Vitazko said, “and, if I could, I’d go with you at once to your father to ask you in marriage. But I cannot. I must hurry home to my sick mother. If you love me, wait for me a year and a day and I’ll surely return.”

The princess made him this promise and they parted.

Remembering the raven, Vitazko rode over to the meadow and slaughtered the dragon’s horses. Then rising on Tatosh he flew home on the wind to St. Nedyelka.

“Well, son, how did things go?” the old woman asked.

“Gloriously!” Vitazko answered, showing her the Golden Apples. “But if the princess hadn’t given me a second ring I might have been vanquished.”

“Take home the Golden Apples to your mother,” Nedyelka said, “and this time ride Tatosh to the castle.”

So Vitazko mounted Tatosh again and flew to the castle.

Sharkan and his mother were making merry together when they saw him coming.

“Here he comes again!” the mother cried. “What shall I do? What shall I do?”

But Sharkan could think of nothing further to suggest. So without a word he hurried to the tenth chamber where he hid himself and the woman had to meet Vitazko as best she could.

She laid herself on the bed feigning still to be sick and when Vitazko appeared she greeted him most affectionately.

“My dear son, back again? And safe and sound? Thank God!”

Then when he gave her the Golden Apples she jumped up from the bed, pretending that the mere sight of them had cured her.

“Ah, my dear son!” she cried, petting him and caressing him as she used to when he was a child. “What a hero you are!”

She prepared food and feasted him royally and Vitazko ate and was very happy that his mother was herself again.

When he could eat no more she took a strong woolen cord and, as if in play, she said to him:

“Lie down, my son, and let me bind you with this cord as once I bound your father. Let me see if you are as strong as he was and able to break the cord.”

Vitazko smiled and lay down and allowed his mother to bind him with the woolen cord. Then he stretched his muscles and burst the cord asunder.

“Ah, you are strong!” his mother said. “But come, let me try again with a thin silken cord.”

Suspecting nothing, Vitazko allowed his mother to bind him hand and foot with a thin silken cord. Then when he stretched his muscles, the cord cut into his flesh. So he lay there, helpless as an infant.

“Sharkan! Sharkan!” the mother called.

The dragon rushed in with a sword, cut off Vitazko’s head, and hacked his body into small pieces. He picked out Vitazko’s heart and hung it by a string from a beam in the ceiling.

Then the woman gathered together the pieces of her son’s body, tied them in a bundle, and fastened the bundle on Tatosh who was still waiting below in the courtyard.

“You carried him when he was alive,” she said. “Take him now that he’s dead—I don’t care where.”

Tatosh rose on the wind and flew home to St. Nedyelka.

The old wise woman who knew already what had happened was waiting for him. She took the pieces of the body from the bundle and washed them in the Water of Death. Then she arranged them piece by piece as they should be and they grew together until the wounds disappeared and there were not even any scars left. After that she sprinkled the body with the Water of Life and, lo, life returned to Vitazko and he stood up, well and healthy.

“Ah,” he said, rubbing his eyes, “I’ve been asleep, haven’t I?”

“Yes,” Nedyelka said, “and but for me you would never have wakened. How do you feel, my son?”

“All right,” Vitazko said, “except a little strange as if I had no heart.”

“You have none,” Nedyelka told him. “Your heart hangs by a string from a crossbeam in the castle.”

She told him what had befallen him, how his mother had betrayed him and how Sharkan had cut him to pieces.

Vitazko listened but he could feel neither surprise nor grief nor anger nor anything, for how could he feel since he had no heart?

“You need your heart, my son,” Nedyelka said. “You must go after it.”

She disguised him as an old village piper and give him a pair of bagpipes.

“Go to the castle,” she told him, “and play on these pipes. When they offer to reward you, ask for the heart that hangs by a string from the ceiling.”

So Vitazko took the bagpipes and went to the castle. He played under the castle windows and his mother looked out and beckoned him in.

He went inside and played and Sharkan and his mother danced to his music. They danced and danced until they could dance no longer.

Then they gave the old piper food and drink and offered him golden money.

But Vitazko said:

“Nay, what use has an old man for gold?”

“What then can I give you?” the woman asked.

Vitazko looked slowly about the chamber as an old man would.

“Give me that heart,” he said, “that hangs from the ceiling. That’s all I want.”

So they gave him the heart and Vitazko thanked them and departed.

He carried the heart to Nedyelka who washed it at once in the Water of Death and the Water of Life. Then she placed it in the bill of the bird, Pelikan, and Pelikan, reaching its long thin neck down Vitazko’s throat, put the heart in its proper place. The heart began to beat and instantly Vitazko could again feel joy and pain and grief and happiness.

“Now can you feel?” Nedyelka asked.

“Yes,” Vitazko said. “Now, thank God, I can feel again!”

“Pelikan,” Nedyelka said, “for this service you shall be freed…. As for you, my son, you must go back to the castle once more and inflict a just punishment. I shall change you into a pigeon. Fly to the castle and there, when you wish to be yourself again, think of me.”

So Vitazko took the form of a pigeon and flying to the castle alighted on the window-sill.

Inside the castle chamber he saw his mother fondling Sharkan.

“See!” she cried. “A pigeon is on the window-sill. Quick! Get your crossbow and shoot it!”

But before the dragon could move, Vitazko stood in the chamber.

He seized a sword and with one mighty blow cut off the dragon’s head.

“And you—you wicked, faithless mother!” he cried. “What am I to do to you!”

His mother fell on her knees and begged for mercy.

“Never fear,” Vitazko said. “I won’t harm you. Let God judge between us.”

He took his mother by the hand and led her down into the courtyard. Then he lifted the sword and said:

“Now, mother, I shall throw this sword in the air and may God judge between us which of us has been faithless to the other.”

The sword flashed in the air and fell, striking straight to the heart of the guilty mother and killing her.

Vitazko buried her in the courtyard and then returned to St. Nedyelka. He thanked the old woman for all she had done for him and then, picking up his beech-tree club, he started out to find his beautiful princess.

She had long since returned to her father and many princes and heroes had come seeking her in marriage. She had put them all off, saying she would wed no one for a year and a day.

Then before the year was up Vitazko appeared and she led him at once to her father and said:”This man will I marry, this and none other, for he it was that rescued me from the dragon.”

A great wedding feast was spread and all the country rejoiced that their lovely princess was getting for a husband Vitazko, the Victorious.

 

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The Wonderful Hair Fairy tale by Parker Fillmore

There was once a poor man who had so many children that he was at his wit’s end how to feed them all and clothe them.

“Unless something turns up soon,” he thought to himself, “we shall all starve to death. Poor youngsters—I’m almost tempted to kill them with my own hands to save them from suffering the pangs of hunger!”

That night before he went to sleep he prayed God to give him help. God heard his prayer and sent an angel to him in a dream.

The angel said to him:

“To-morrow morning when you wake, put your hand under your pillow and you will find a mirror, a red handkerchief, and an embroidered scarf. Without saying a word to any one hide these things in your shirt and go out to the woods that lie beyond the third hill from the village. There you will find a brook. Follow it until you come to a beautiful maiden who is bathing in its waters. You will know her from the great masses of golden hair that fall down over her shoulders. She will speak to you but do you be careful not to answer. If you say a word to her she will be able to bewitch you. She will hold out a comb to you and ask you to comb her hair. Take the comb and do as she asks. Then part her back hair carefully and you will see one hair that is coarser than the others and as red as blood. Wrap this firmly around one of your fingers and jerk it out. Then flee as fast as you can. She will pursue you and each time as she is about to overtake you drop first the embroidered scarf, then the red handkerchief, and last the mirror. If you reach the hill nearest your own village you are safe for she can pursue you no farther. Take good care of the single hair for it great value and you can sell it for many golden ducats.”

In the morning when the poor man awoke and put his hand under his pillow he found the mirror and the handkerchief and the scarf just as the angel had said he would. So he hid them carefully in his shirt and without telling any one where he was going he went to the woods beyond the third hill from the village. Here he found the brook and followed it until he came to a pool where he saw a lovely maiden bathing.

“Good day to you!” she said politely.

The poor man remembering the angel’s warning made no answer.

The maiden held out a golden comb.

“Please comb my hair for me, won’t you?”

The man nodded and took the comb. Then he parted the long tresses behind and searched here and there and everywhere until he found the one hair that was blood-red in color and coarser than the others. He twisted this firmly around his finger, jerked it quickly out, and fled.

“Oh!” cried the maiden. “What are you doing? Give me back my one red hair!”

She jumped to her feet and ran swiftly after him. As she came close to him, he dropped behind him the embroidered scarf. She stooped and picked it up and examined it awhile. Then she saw the man was escaping, so she tossed the scarf aside and again ran after him. This time he dropped the red handkerchief. Its bright color caught the maiden’s eye and she picked it up and lost a few more minutes admiring it while the man raced on. Then the maiden remembered him, threw away the handkerchief, and started off again in pursuit.

This time the man dropped the mirror and the maiden who of course was a Vila and had never seen a mirror before picked it up and looked at it and when she saw the lovely reflection of herself she was so amazed that she kept on looking and looking. She was still looking in it and still admiring her own beauty when the man reached the third hill beyond which the maiden couldn’t follow him.

So the poor man got home with the hair safely wound about his finger.

“It must be of great value,” he thought to himself. “I’ll take it to the city and offer it for sale there.”

So the next day he went to the city and went about offering his wonderful hair to the merchants.

“What’s so wonderful about it?” they asked him.

“I don’t know, but I do know it’s of great value,” he told them.

“Well,” said one of them, “I’ll give you one golden ducat for it.”

He was a shrewd buyer and the others hearing his bid of one golden ducat decided that he must know that the hair was of much greater value. So they began to outbid him until the price offered the poor man reached one hundred golden ducats. But the poor man insisted that this was not enough.

“One hundred golden ducats not enough for one red hair!” cried the merchants.

They pretended to be disgusted that any one would refuse such a price for one red hair, but in reality they were all firmly convinced by this time that it was a magic hair and probably worth any amount of money in the world.

The whole city became excited over the wonderful hair for which all the merchants were bidding and for a time nothing else was talked about. The matter was reported to the Tsar and at once he said that he himself would buy the hair for one thousand golden ducats.

One thousand golden ducats! After that there was no danger of the poor man’s many children dying of starvation.

And what do you suppose the Tsar did with the hair? He had it split open very carefully and inside he found a scroll of great importance to mankind for on it were written many wonderful secrets of nature.

 

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The Vilas' Spring Fairy tale by Parker Fillmore

There was once a rich man who had two sons. The older son was overbearing, greedy, and covetous. He was dishonest, too, and thought nothing of taking things that belonged to others. The younger brother was gentle and kind. He was always ready to share what he had and he was never known to cheat or to steal.

“He’s little better than a fool!” the older brother used to say of him scornfully.

When the brothers grew to manhood the old father died leaving directions that they divide his wealth between them, share and share alike.

“Nonsense!” the older brother said. “That fool would only squander his inheritance! To every poor beggar that comes along he’d give an alms until soon my poor father’s savings would be all gone! No! I’ll give him three golden ducats and a horse and tell him to get out and if he makes a fuss I won’t give him that much!”

So he said to his younger brother:

“You’re a fool and you oughtn’t to have a penny from our father’s estate. However, I’ll give you three golden ducats and a horse on condition that you clear out and never come back.”

“Brother,” the younger one said quietly, “you are doing me a wrong.”

“What if I am?” sneered the older. “Wrong is stronger than Right just as I am stronger than you. Be off with you now or I’ll take from you even these three golden ducats and the horse!”

Without another word the younger brother mounted the horse and rode away.

Time went by and at last the brothers chanced to meet on the highway.

“God bless you, brother!” the younger one said.

“Don’t you go God-blessing me, you fool!” the older one shouted. “It isn’t God who is powerful in this world but the Devil!”

“No, brother,” the other said, “you are wrong. God is stronger than the Devil just as Good is stronger than Evil.”

“Are you sure of that?”

“Yes, brother, I’m sure.”

“Well, then, let us make a wager. I’ll wager you a golden ducat that Evil is stronger than Good and we’ll let the first man we meet on this road decide which of us is right. Do you agree?”

“Yes, brother, I agree.”

They rode a short distance and overtook a man who seemed to be a monk. He wasn’t really a monk but the Devil himself disguised in the habit of a monk. The older brother put the case to him and the false monk at once answered:

“That’s an easy question to decide. Of course Evil is stronger than Good in this world.”

Without a word the younger brother took out one of his golden ducats and handed it over.

“Now,” sneered the older one, “are you convinced?”

“No, brother, I am not. No matter what this monk says I know that Good is stronger than Evil.”

“You do, do you? Then suppose we repeat the wager and ask the next man we meet to decide between us.”

“Very well, brother, I’m willing.”

The next man they overtook looked like an old farmer, but in reality he was the Devil again who had taken the guise of a farmer. They put the question to him and of course the Devil made the same answer:

“Evil is stronger than Good in this world.”

So again the younger brother paid his wager but in sisted that he still believed Good to be stronger than Evil.

“Then we’ll make a third wager,” the other said.

With the Devil’s help the older brother won the third golden ducat which was all the money the younger one had. Then the older brother suggested that they wager their horses and the Devil, disguised in another form, again acted as umpire and the younger one of course lost his horse.

“Now I have nothing more to lose,” he said, “but I am still so sure that Good is stronger than Evil that I am willing to wager the very eyes out of my head!”

“The more fool you!” the other one cried brutally.

Without another word he knocked his younger brother down and gouged out his eyes.

“Now let God take care of you if He can! As for me I put my trust in the Devil!”

“May God forgive you for speaking so!” the younger one said.

“I don’t care whether He does or not! Nothing can harm me! I’m strong and I’m rich and I know how to take care of myself. As for you, you poor blind beggar, is there anything you would like me to do for you before I ride away?”

“All I ask of you, brother, is that you lead me to the spring that is under the fir tree not far from here. There I can bathe my wounds and sit in the shade.”

“I’ll do that much for you,” the older one said, taking the blinded man by the hand. “For the rest, God will have to take care of you.”

With that he led him over to the fir tree and left him. The blinded man groped his way to the spring and bathed his wounds, then sat down under the tree and prayed God for help and protection.

When night came he fell asleep and he slept until midnight when he was awakened by the sound of voices at the spring. A company of Vilas were bathing and playing as they bathed. He was blind, as you remember, so he couldn’t see their beautiful forms but he knew that they must be Vilas from their voices which were as sweet as gurgling waters and murmuring treetops. Human voices are never half so lovely. Yes, they must be Vilas from the mountains and the woods.

“Ho, sisters!” cried one of them, “if only men knew that we bathed in this spring, they could come to-morrow and be healed in its water—the maimed and the halt and blind! To-morrow this water would heal even the king’s daughter who is afflicted with leprosy!”

When they were gone the blind man crept down to the spring and bathed his face. At the first touch of the healing water his wounds closed and his sight was restored. With a heart full of gratitude he knelt down and thanked God for the miracle. Then when morning came he filled a vessel with the precious water and hurried to the king’s palace.

“Tell the king,” he said to the guards, “that I have come to heal his daughter.”

The king admitted him at once to the princess’s chamber and said to him:

“If you succeed in healing the princess you shall have her in marriage and in addition I shall make you heir to my kingdom.”

The moment the princess was bathed in the healing water she, too, was restored to health and at once the proclamation was sent forth that the princess was recovered and was soon to marry the man who had cured her.

Now when the evil older brother heard who this fortunate man was, he could scarcely contain himself for rage and envy.

“How did that fool get back his sight?” he asked himself. “What magic secret did he discover that enabled him to heal the princess of leprosy? Whatever it was he got it under the fir tree for where else could he have got it? I’ve a good mind to go to the fir tree myself to-night and see what happens.”

The more he thought about it the surer he became that if he went to the fir tree in exactly the same condition as his brother he, too, would have some wonderful good fortune. So when night came he seated himself under the tree, gouged out his eyes with a knife, and then waited to see what would happen. At midnight he heard the Vilas at the spring but their voices were not sweet but shrill and angry.

“Sisters,” they cried to each other, “have you heard? The princess is healed of leprosy and it was with the water of this, our spring! Who has spied on us?”

“While we were talking last night,” said one, “some man may have been hiding under the fir tree.”

“Let us see if there is any one there to-night!” cried another.

With that they all rushed to the fir tree and took the man they found sitting there and in a fury tore him to pieces as though he were a bit of old cloth. So that was the end of the wicked older brother. And you will notice that in his hour of need his friend, the Devil, was not on hand to help him.

So after all it was the younger brother who finally inherited all his father’s wealth. In addition he married the princess and was made heir to the kingdom. So you see Good is stronger than Evil in this world.