Roumanian Fairy Tales

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But did my fearless hero restrain himself? Scarcely two minutes had
passed ere he began to gather flowers and twine them into a wreath.
The tempest howled louder, the darkness was greater, and the earth
quaked still more than in the Copper Forest; the Welwa of the Silver
Wood rushed upon Petru with seven-fold greater fierceness than the
other Welwa had done. But he was not idle either. The battle again
lasted for three days and three nights, and at dawn on the fourth
morning our hero bridled the second Welwa.

"Sweet be your fortune, for you have delivered me from enchantment!"
said the Welwa, and they pursued their journey along the road by which
they had come.

"Stop, stand still, go on at a walk, and let me gaze at what I have
never seen before," cried Petru for the third time; then he covered
his eyes with his hand lest he should be blinded by the rays streaming
from the Gold Forest. He had already beheld marvelous things, but
never even dreamed of a sight like this.

"We will stand here or we shall fare badly," cried the horses in one
breath.

"Why should we fare badly?" asked Petru.

"You'll pluck the flowers again. I know your heart will give you no
rest until you do! And our youngest brother is seven times seven times
stronger and more terrible than we three together. So let us go round
the forest," said the bay.

"Certainly not," replied Petru; "let us go through it! Let us see all,
since we have seen something, and experience all, now that we have
experienced part. Have no fear, I have none!"

I need not tell you that Petru did again what he had already done
twice. Oh dear! How could he help it?

Scarcely was the wreath twined when something began which had never
been experienced before. It was not a more furious tempest or greater
darkness, neither did the earth quake more violently. No! I don't know
how or what it was, but it seemed to Petru as though somebody had got
into the middle of the earth to overturn it. What happened was
something awful, and may Heaven preserve any one from it!

"You see!" said the bay angrily, "why couldn't you keep quiet?"

Petru saw that he saw nothing more, began to feel that he felt nothing
more, and understood that he could understand nothing more, so he made
no reply, but girded his sword tighter and prepared to fight. "Now the
Welwa can come," he cried, "I will die or throw the bridle over its
head." He had scarcely uttered the words when something whose like he
had never beheld before approached him. A dense fog surrounded Petru,
a fog so dense that he could not even see himself in it.

"What's this?" cried the champion, somewhat startled, when he began to
feel that he was aching all over. But he was still more alarmed when
he perceived that he could not hear his own voice through the mist. So
he began to strike about him with his sword to the right and left,
before and behind, in every direction, and with all the strength he
had--as a man does when he sees that matters are growing serious. So
he fought on during a day and a night, without seeing any thing
except thick darkness, or hearing any thing except his own
perspiration trickling down his horse's flanks. For some time he had
even felt as if he were no longer alive, but had died long before.
Suddenly the fog began to scatter. At dawn on the second day it
disappeared entirely, and when the sun rose in the sky Petru's eyes
again saw the light. He felt as if he had been born anew.

The Welwa? it seemed to have vanished from the earth.

"Get your breath now, for the battle will begin again presently," said
the bay.

"What was that?" asked Petru.

"The Welwa," replied the horse, "the Welwa changed into fog. Get your
breath, it is coming again."

The bay had hardly spoken and Petru had hardly had time to breathe,
when he saw approaching from one side something,--but what it was he
did not know. Water, yet it was not like water, for it did not seem to
flow on the earth, but in some queer fashion to fly, or move in some
way--Enough, it left no trace behind and did not fly high. It was
something that appeared to be nothing.

"Oh, dear!" cried Petru.

"Take courage and defend yourself, don't stand still," said the bay,
but could not utter another word, for the water filled its mouth.

The fight began again. Petru struck about him without stopping for a
day and a night, not knowing at what he was aiming, and fought without
knowing with whom. When the next day dawned he felt that his feet
were paralyzed.

"Now I am lost!" he cried somewhat angrily; yet he began to show
himself doubly brave and dealt still stronger blows. The sun rose and
the water vanished, one could not tell how or when.

"Get your breath!" said the bay, "get your breath, for you haven't
much time to lose. The Welwa will come back directly."

Petru made no answer; the poor fellow was so tired that he did not
know what to do. So he settled himself more firmly in the saddle,
seized his sword with a tighter grip, and thus prepared awaited the
approach of the foe he saw advancing.

Such a thing, how can I describe it? It was like a man dreaming that
he sees something which has what it has not, and has not what it
has--this was the shape in which the Welwa now appeared to Petru. Oh,
heavens! how could the Welwa now be a gold forest after having twice
left it in disgrace? It flew with its feet and walked with its wings,
its head was behind and its tail was before, its eyes were in its
breast and its breast was on its forehead--and as for the rest, no
mortal could describe it.

Petru shuddered in every limb, and crossed himself twice, then he
plucked up courage and began to fight as he had already fought once,
and also as he had never yet fought before. The day passed and Petru's
strength failed. Evening came, and Petru's eyes began to grow dim.
When midnight arrived he felt that he was no longer on horseback. He
himself did not know how and when he had reached the earth, but he
was on foot. When night was yielding to day Petru could not keep up,
but sank on his knees.

"Stand up, gather your strength once more!" cried the bay, seeing that
his master was losing his vigor.

Petru wiped away the perspiration with his shirt-sleeve, strained
every nerve, and once more stood erect.

"Now strike the Welwa on the mouth with the bridle?" said the bay.

Petru did as he was bid. The Welwa neighed so loudly that Petru
thought he should be deafened, then, though so tired that it was
scarcely able to move, rushed upon the hero. The fight was now not
long. Petru managed to throw the bridle over this Welwa's head, too.

When broad day came, the hero was riding on the fourth horse. "May you
have a beautiful wife, for you have delivered me from enchantment!"
said the Welwa.

They rode on, and when night was shrouding the day, they reached the
borders of the Gold Forest.

While pursuing their way Petru began to get tired, and, in order to
have something to do, examined the beautiful wreaths. "What shall I do
with the wreaths?" he said to himself. "One is enough for me. I'll
keep the handsomest." So he threw down the copper one, then the silver
one, and reserved only the gold garland.

"Stop," said the bay horse. "Don't throw the wreaths away. Dismount
and pick them up, they may yet be useful to you."

Petru did as he was told and rode on. Toward evening, when the sun was
only a hand's breadth above the horizon and the little flies were
beginning to swarm, our rider reached the edge of the forest. Before
him stretched a wide moor, on which as far as the eye could wander
nothing was visible. The horses stopped.

"What is it?" asked Petru.

"We may fare badly here," replied the bay.

"Why should we fare badly?"

"We are now entering the domain of Holy Wednesday. So long as we ride
through it, we shall experience nothing but cold, cold, cold. Fires
are kept burning all along the roadside, and I'm afraid you will go
and warm yourself."

"Why shouldn't I warm myself?"

"You'll fare badly if you do," said the bay anxiously.

"Forward," said Petru fearlessly, "I will be cold, too, if necessary."

The further Petru entered Holy Wednesday's kingdom the more he felt
that it was no pleasant region. At every step the air grew colder and
frostier, there was so much cold and ice that it froze even the marrow
in one's bones. But Petru was no coward, he proved as brave in
enduring hardship as he had been in battle. Along the roadside one
fire after another was burning, and beside these fires were gathered
groups of people who called to him in the sweetest, most enticing
words. Petru's very breath froze, yet he did not yield, but ordered
the bay to go on at a walk. How long our hero battled with the cold
and frost can not be told, for every body knows that Holy Wednesday's
kingdom is longer than one stone's throw or even two. The cold there
is not moderate, but bitter, so bitter that even the rocks are split
by the frost. That's the way it is in that country. But Petru had not
grown up without some hardships, so he only ground his teeth, though
he was so benumbed that he couldn't even wink.

They reached Holy Wednesday. Petru dismounted, flung the bridle over
the bay's head, and entered the house.

"Good morning, mother."

"Thank you, my frozen hero!"

Petru laughed, but made no answer.

"You have proved yourself a brave fellow," said Holy Wednesday,
patting him on the shoulder. "Now I'll give you the reward." She went
to an iron chest, opened it, and took out a little box. "See," she
said, "this casket has been destined from the earliest times for the
person who penetrated the realm of the cold. Take it and guard it
carefully, for it may be of great service to you. When you open it,
you will receive news from whatever place you desire and truthful
tidings from your native land."

Petru thanked her for her words and her gift, mounted his horse, and
rode on. After he was a good stone's throw away, he opened the magic
box. "What do you command?" asked something inside.

"Give me news of my father," replied Petru rather timidly.

"He is sitting in the council chamber with the elders of the kingdom."

"Is he prospering?"

"Not especially; he has troubles."

"Who is annoying him?" asked Petru, somewhat sharply.

"Your brothers, Costan and Florea," the voice in the box answered. "As
it seems to me, they are trying to wrest the scepter from him and the
old monarch says that they are not yet worthy of it."

"Forward, bay, we have no time to lose," cried Petru. Then, shutting
the box, he put it into his knapsack.

They hurried as ghosts flit when whirlwinds are blowing and vampires
hunting at midnight. How long they rode can not be told, but it was a
long, long time.

"Stop! Let me give you another piece of advice," said the bay after a
while.

"Well, tell me," said Petru.

"You have been tormented by the cold, now you'll have to encounter
heat such as you never felt before. Keep up your courage, and don't
let yourself be attracted to the cool places."

"Forward!" replied Petru. "Don't be anxious--if I didn't freeze, I
shan't melt."

Indeed! This heat was enough to melt the very marrow of one's bones, a
heat that exists nowhere except in the kingdom of Holy Thursday.[7]
The further they went the greater the heat became. Even the iron of
the horses' shoes began to melt, but Petru would not yield. The
perspiration ran down his body in streams, he wiped it away with his
sleeve, and rode swiftly on. As for the heat, intense as it became,
there was something else that tortured Petru more. Along the roadside,
always a good stone's throw apart, were cool valleys with cold springs
ready to quench the traveler's thirst. When Petru looked at them, he
felt as if his heart was shriveled and his tongue dried up with
thirst. Lilies, violets, and roses grew in the soft grass around the
springs, and on these beds of flowers reclined girls so beautiful that
heaven only knows how it would have been possible for them to be
lovelier. Petru would fain have shut his eyes in order not to see such
bewitching creatures any longer.

[Footnote 7: Joi--Thursday and Jupiter.]

"Come, hero, come to the cooling waters, let us amuse you," called the
enticing maidens.

Petru silently shook his head, he had lost the power of speech.

They rode on so for a long, long time. Suddenly they felt that the
heat was beginning to lessen, and on a distant hill-top a hut
appeared. This was the dwelling of Holy Thursday. Petru approached,
and when almost at the door Holy Thursday came out and welcomed him.
Petru expressed his thanks, as is customary among distinguished and
well-behaved people, and they entered into conversation as people who
have never seen each other are in the habit of doing. Petru brought
news of Holy Wednesday, related his adventures, and mentioned the
goal for which he had started, and then bade her farewell, for he
really had no time to lose. Who could tell how far he still had to go
to reach the Fairy Aurora?

"Wait a little while, until I can say a few words to you," said Holy
Thursday. "You are now about to enter the domain of Holy Friday;[8] go
to her and tell her that I wish her health and happiness. When you
return, come to me again, and I'll give you something that will be
useful to you."

[Footnote 8: Vineri means Friday as well as Venus.]

Petru thanked her and rode on.

He had scarcely ridden long enough to smoke a pipeful of tobacco, when
he entered a new country. Here it was neither hot nor cold, but like
the climate in spring when the lambs are being weaned. Petru began to
breathe easily, but he was on a desolate moor consisting of sand and
thistles.

"What can this be?" asked Petru, when he saw an object something like
a house, but a long, long distance off; just where his eyes beheld the
end of the dreary heath.

"That is Holy Friday's house," replied the bay; "if we ride on, we may
be able to reach it before dark."

And so it happened. Night was just closing in as the hero slowly
neared the distant house. On the moor was a throng of phantoms
flitting on Petru's right and left hand, before and behind him.

"Don't be afraid," said the bay. "Those are the Whirlwind's
daughters; they are dancing in the air, waiting for the moon eater."

So they reached Holy Friday's house. "Dismount and enter," said the
bay.

Petru was about to do what he had been told.

"Stop, don't be in such a hurry," the horse continued. "Let me first
tell you what you are to do. You can't go into Holy Friday's house so
unceremoniously; she is guarded by the Whirlwinds."

"What am I to do?"

"Take the copper wreath and go with it to the hill you see yonder.
When you reach the top, begin to call: 'Good Heavens, what beautiful
girls, what angels, what fairy-like creatures!' Then hold the garland
aloft, and say: 'If I only knew whether any body would take this
wreath from me--if I only knew! If I only knew!' and hurl the garland
away."

"Why should I do that?" asked Petru, as a man is in the habit of
questioning, when he wants to know the cause of his acts.

"Silence! Go and do it," replied the bay curtly, and Petru, without
further words, did as he was bid.

Scarcely had the hero flung the wreath aside, when the Whirlwinds
rushed upon it and tussled around it.

Petru now turned toward the house.

"Stop," cried the bay again, "I haven't yet told you every thing. Take
the silver wreath and knock at Holy Friday's window. When she asks
'Who is there?' say that you came on foot and have lost your way on
the moor. She will rebuff you. But you mustn't stir from the spot. Say
to her: 'I won't go away, for ever since I was a little child I have
always heard of Holy Friday (Venus) and--I didn't have steel shoes
made with calf-skin straps, did not travel nine years and nine months,
did not fight for this silver wreath I want to give her, did not do
and suffer all these things merely to turn back now that I have
reached her.' Act and speak as I have told you--what follows must be
your own care."

Petru made no reply, but went up to the house. As it was perfectly
dark, the hero did not see the dwelling, and was guided only by the
rays of light streaming through the window. When he reached the house
several dogs began to bark, because they knew some stranger was near.

"Who is fighting with the hounds? May his life be bitter," cried Holy
Friday angrily.

"It is I, Holy Friday!" said Petru, with laboring breath, like a man
who likes and yet is not quite satisfied with what he is doing. "I
have lost my way on the moor, and don't know where I can spend the
night." Here he stopped, not daring to say more.

"Where did you leave your horse?" asked Holy Friday rather sharply.

Petru reflected; he did not know whether he ought to tell a lie or
speak the truth, so he made no answer.

"Go, in God's name, my son, I have no room for you," said Holy Friday
retiring from the window.

Petru now repeated what the horse had told him to say. Scarcely had he
done so, when he saw Holy Friday open the window.

"Let me see the wreath, my son," she said sweetly, in a gentle tone.

Petru gave her the garland.

"Come into the house," said Holy Friday, "don't be afraid of the dogs,
they know what I want."

It was even so. The dogs began to wag their tails, and followed Petru
as they follow a master returning home from the fields at night. Petru
said "good evening" as he entered, laid his hat on the oven, and when
Holy Friday invited him to sit down took his place on a bench by the
stove. They now talked about everyday matters, the world, the
wickedness of mankind, and similar things, without any special reason
or purpose. It appeared from her talk that Holy Friday was very much
incensed against men; but Petru agreed with her in every thing--as is
proper for a person who is sitting at another's table.

Heavens, how old the aged dame looked! I don't know why young Petru
devoured her so with his eyes, that he might have given her the Evil
eye. Was he counting the wrinkles in her face? He would have needed to
be born seven times in succession, and each time live seven times as
long as an ordinary human life, to have leisure to number them all.
But Holy Friday's heart laughed with joy, when she saw Petru
completely absorbed in gazing at her.

"When the present state of things had no existence," Holy Friday
began, "before the world was made, I was born, and was so beautiful a
child that my parents created the earth, in order to have somebody to
admire my loveliness. By the time the world was made I had grown up
and, amid all the marveling at my beauty, the Evil eye fell upon me.
Since then every century a wrinkle has formed on my face. And now I am
old!" Holy Friday's grief and anger would allow her to say no more.

In the course of the conversation Holy Friday told Petru that her
father had once been a great and powerful emperor, and once, when a
quarrel broke out between him and the Fairy Aurora, who ruled the
adjoining country, he had been shamefully mocked at by his neighbor.
Then she began to say all sorts of things about the Fairy Aurora. What
was Petru to do? He listened in silence, now and then saying: "Yes,
yes, it is really too bad." What else could he do?

"But I will set you a task, if you are a brave champion and will
perform it," said Holy Friday, when both began to be sleepy. "At the
Fairy Aurora's is a spring--whoever drinks from it will bloom like the
rose and the violet. Bring me a jug of the water, and I shall know how
to show you my gratitude. It's a difficult task, heaven knows! The
Fairy Aurora's kingdom is guarded by all sorts of wild beasts and
terrible dragons. But I want to tell you something else, and give you
something too."

After Holy Friday had said this, she went to a chest bound with iron
on every corner and took out a tiny little flute.

"Look," she said to Petru, "an old man gave me this when I was young.
Whoever hears its notes falls asleep and sleeps till they are heard no
longer. Take the instrument, and play upon it so long as you remain
in the Fairy Aurora's kingdom. No one will harm you, for every
creature will be asleep."

Petru now told his hostess what he meant to do, and Holy Friday was
still more delighted. They did not talk much more. Why should they? it
was already long past midnight. Petru said "good night," thrust the
flute into its case, and went up to the garret to get some sleep. When
morning dawned, the hero was already awake and the morning-star had
hardly risen in the sky ere he was up. He took a large manger, filled
it with red-hot coals, and went out to feed his horses. After the bay
had eaten nine and each of the other horses three full cribs of fire,
Petru led them to the spring, watered them, and prepared to continue
his journey.

"Stop," Holy Friday called from the window. "I have a word more to
say. I want to give you a piece of advice."

Petru went to the window.

"Leave one horse here, and go on with only three. Ride slowly until
you have reached the Fairy Aurora's kingdom. Then dismount and enter
her country on foot. Then, when you return, come so that you will
leave all three steeds lying in the road and arrive here on foot."

"I will obey every word," said Petru, trying to go on.

"Don't be in a hurry, I haven't finished yet," Holy Friday continued.
"Don't look at the Fairy Aurora, for her eyes bewitch, her glances rob
a man of his reason. She is ugly, too ugly to be described. She has
owl's eyes, a fox's face, and cat's claws. Do you hear? Don't look at
her. And may the Lord bring you back to me safe and sound, my son
Petru."

Petru thanked her for her counsel and lingered no longer. Where should
he find time to gossip with old women? He left the bay horse in the
meadow and continued his journey.

Far, far away, where the sky meets the earth and the stars talk to the
flowers, appeared a bright rosy glow, almost like that of the sky in
early spring, only still more beautiful and wonderful. This was the
Fairy Aurora's palace. The whole space between was filled with flowery
meadows. Then, too, it was neither warm nor cold, neither light nor
dark, but midway between, just as it is on St. Peter's day when one
rises early in the morning to drive the cattle to pasture. Petru rode
through this beautiful region with a happy heart. How long he rode can
not be told in human language, for in that country night does not
follow day and day night; it was always early morning with soft, cool
breezes, a viewless sun, and a dim light--the reign of day and night
first began in Holy Friday's land. After a long journey, Petru saw
something white appear amid the rosy glow of the sky. The nearer he
approached the more distinctly he saw what was now before his eyes. It
was the fairy-palace. Petru gazed and gazed, then drew a long breath
like a man who says, "Oh, Lord, I thank thee!" But ah, how beautiful
this palace was! Lofty turrets stretching far above the clouds, walls
white as sea-shells, and brighter than the sun at noon-day, a roof of
silver--but what kind of silver? it did not even glitter in the
sun--and the windows were all spun from air and set in frames of dull
gold. Over all these things the merry sunbeams played, as the wind
plays with the shadows of the branches in the spring, when it is so
indolent that it scarcely stirs.

Petru could not stay long, for he was in a hurry; so he dismounted,
let the horses graze on the dewy grass, took his flute, as Holy Friday
had directed, and saying, "God be with me!" commenced his tremendous
task. He had scarcely walked three stones' throws when he saw a giant,
lulled to sleep by the sweet notes of the flute. This was one of the
guardians of the Fairy Aurora's palace. As he lay there on his back
Petru began to measure him by paces. I won't exaggerate, but he was so
big that when Petru had walked from his feet to his head he heaved a
sigh, he did not exactly know whether from fatigue or fear. It would
have been no wonder if he was astounded. The rising moon is not so
large as the giant's eye. And this eye was not even like other
people's, but in the middle of the giant's forehead. Such was the eye!
What could the rest have been! Petru was a brave hero, but he heartily
thanked God, the flute, and Holy Friday, that he had not got into a
fight with this monster of a man, and softly continued his way. The
prince had walked about as far as a man usually goes before he feels
inclined to sit down in the shade, when he encountered still more
terrible foes. Dragons, each with seven heads, were stretched out in
the sun sound asleep, some on his right hand, others on the left. How
these dragons looked I can not describe: nowadays every body knows
that dragons are not things to be trifled with or laughed at. Petru
hurried swiftly past them, but I really don't know whether it was from
haste or fear. And it would have been no wonder if he was afraid! A
dragon is a dragon!

The prince now reached a river. But let nobody suppose it was an
ordinary stream; milk flowed instead of water, not over sand and
gravel, but over gems and pearls, and it ran neither slowly nor
quickly, but both slowly and quickly at the same time, like the days
of happy mortals. This was the river that flowed around the palace
without ever stopping or moving. On the bank, each one leap from the
other, lions were sleeping. And such lions! They had golden hair, and
teeth and claws tipped with iron. These were the guardians of the
other bank of the river, where there was a beautiful garden, as
beautiful as gardens can only be in the Fairy Aurora's realm. On the
shore grew the fairest flowers and upon these blossoms fairies, each
more beautiful and bewitching than the others, slept sweetly side by
side. Petru did not even dare to glance that way. The prince now asked
himself how he was to get across the stream. It was broad and deep and
had only one bridge, and this bridge, too, was unlike any other in the
world. On each bank was a bridge-head, each guarded by four sleeping
lions! But as to the bridge--no human soul could cross it. One saw it
with the eyes, but felt nothing but empty air if he tried to set foot
on it. Who knows of what material it was made! Perhaps a little cloud.

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