Roumanian Fairy Tales

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He had scarcely uttered the words when he leaped upon the window-sill,
jumped through the window into the room, went through the room to the
table, and took his place at the very top, where the emperor had sat
when he was a bridegroom.

"Stop, stop!" said Ileane. "First let me see whether you are what you
ought to be, and then we'll talk and begin our love-making. Can you
make roses grow on burdocks?"

"No!" said the prince.

"Then the thistle is your flower," said clever Ileane. "Can you make
the bat sing in a sweet voice?"

"No!" said the prince.

"Then night is your day," said clever Ileane. "Can you make apples
grow on wolf's-bane?"

"That I can!" said the prince.

"Then that shall be your fruit!" replied the beautiful and cunning
Ileane. "Sit down at the table."

The prince took his place. Ah! but Ileane was indeed cunning Ileane.
Ere he had fairly seated himself, he dropped, chair and all, into the
deep cellar where the emperor's treasures were kept.

Ileane now began to scream: "Help!" and when all the servants came
rushing in to see what had happened, she told them she had heard a
noise and was afraid that some one had got into the cellar to rob the
emperor of his treasures. The servants did not waste many words, but
instantly opened the iron door and went into the cellar, where they
found the prince and brought him in disgrace to be sentenced.

Ileane pronounced judgment.

Twelve girls under punishment for some offense were to carry him out
of the country, and when they had reached the frontier with him, each
one was to give him a kiss.

The order was obeyed. When the prince reached home and joined his
brothers, he told them the whole story, and after every thing had been
related their hearts were filled with rage. So they sent word to the
two older princesses that they must arrange to have Ileane go to the
three princes' court, so that they might revenge themselves upon her
for the insult she had offered them. When the oldest daughter received
this message from the prince she pretended to be sick, called Ileane
to her bedside, and told her that she could not get well unless Ileane
brought her something to eat from the princes' kitchen.

Ileane would have done any thing for her sister's sake, so she took a
little jug and set off for the court of the three princes, to beg or
steal. When she reached the palace, she rushed breathlessly into the
kitchen and said to the head-cook:

"For heaven's sake, don't you hear the emperor calling you? Make
haste, and see what is the matter."

The cook took to his heels and ran as fast as he could, as though he
had received an imperial command. Ileane, left alone in the kitchen,
filled her jug with food, emptied all the dainty dishes that were on
the fire upon the floor, and went away.

When the princes heard of this insult they were still more enraged
than before, sent another message to the two sisters and again
prepared a revenge. As soon as the second sister received the news,
she, too, pretended to be ill, called Ileane to her bed, and told her
that she could not get well unless she tasted the wine in the princes'
cellar. Ileane would have done any thing for her sister, so she took
the little jug and prepared to go again.

When she reached the court she rushed into the cellar, and, panting
for breath, said to the head-butler:

"For heaven's sake, don't you hear the emperor calling you? Make haste
and see what is the matter." The butler took to his heels and ran as
if he had received an imperial command. Ileane filled her jug with
wine, poured out the rest on the cellar floor, and then hurried home.

The princes sent a third message to the two princesses and told them
they must send Ileane in a different way from what they had done
before. This time both the princesses feigned illness, called their
sister to them, and told her that they could not get well unless
Ileane brought them two of the princes' apples.

"My dear sisters," replied Ileane, "I would go through fire and water
for you, how much more willingly to the princes." Taking the little
jug she set off to find, seize, and bring back the fruit and save her
dear sisters' lives.

When the youngest prince learned that Ileane was coming to the garden
to steal the golden apples, he gave orders that, if groans were heard
there, nobody must dare go in, but let the person who was wailing,
moan in peace. Then he hid huge knives, swords, spears, and many other
things in the earth under the tree that bore the golden apples,
concealing them so that only the sharp points rose out of the ground.
After he had finished, he hid himself in a clump of bushes and waited
for Ileane. She came to the gate, and seeing the two huge lions that
kept guard there flung each of them a piece of meat; the lions began
to tear it, and the princess went to the apple tree, stepped
cautiously between the knives, swords, spears, and other things, and
climbed into it.

"May this do you much good, little sister," said the prince. "I'm glad
to see you in my garden."

"The pleasure is mine," replied Ileane, "since I have so brave and
handsome a prince for my companion. Come, climb the tree and help me
pick some apples for my dear sisters, who are dangerously ill and have
asked for them."

The prince wanted nothing better--he meant to pull Ileane from the
tree among the knives.

"You are very kind, Ileane," he replied, "be kinder still and give me
your hand to help me up into the tree."

"Your plan is wicked," thought Ileane, "but it shall work your own
misfortune." She gave him her hand, pulled him up the trunk to the
branches, and then let him drop among the knives, swords, spears and
other such things, which had been put there for her own destruction.

"There you are," she said, "now you will know what you meant to do."

The hero with the black soul began to shriek and groan--but nobody
came to help him; they left him, according to his own orders, to moan
in peace, and he was obliged to bear his terrible sufferings
patiently.

Ileane took her apples, carried them home, gave them to her sisters,
and then went back to the imperial palace and told the servants to go
and rescue their master from his great danger.

The prince, who had been so abominably treated, sent for the most
skillful witch in the whole country to come and give him a cure for
his wounds. But Ileane had gone to the witch first and offered her a
great deal of money to let her, Ileane, go to the court in her place.
So Ileane went to the palace disguised as the witch. She ordered a
buffalo hide to be soaked in vinegar three days and three nights, then
taken out and wrapped around the wounded youth. But the prince's cuts
only burned the more, and his sufferings became still more unbearable.
When he saw that he was in a bad way, he sent for a priest that he
might relieve his heart before he died and give him the sacrament. But
Ileane was not idle. She went to the priest, offered him a large sum
of money, and induced him to let her go to the palace instead. So
Ileane arrived at the court disguised as a priest.

When she approached the prince's bed he was at the point of death,
there were scarcely three breaths left in him.

"My son," said the false priest, Ileane, "you have summoned me to
confess your sins to me. Think of the hour of death, and tell me all
you have on your heart. Are you at variance with any one? Yes, or no?"

"With no one," replied the prince, "except Ileane, the youngest
daughter of the emperor, our neighbor. And I hate her out of love and
longing," he continued. "If I should not die, but recover, I will ask
the emperor for her hand in marriage, and if I don't kill her the
first night she shall be my faithful wife according to the law."
Ileane heard these words, said a few in reply, and then went home.
Here she soon understood why her sisters were wailing and lamenting,
for they had heard that the emperor was returning home from the great
war.

"You ought to rejoice," said Ileane, "when you hear that our kind
father is coming home safe and well."

"We should rejoice," replied the sisters, "if our flowers had not
withered, our apples had not rotted, and our birds had not stopped
singing; but now we have reason to cry."

When Ileane heard these words she went to her room, saw the flower
sprinkled with dew, the bird hungry, and the apple looking as if it
wanted to say: "Eat me, little sister!"

So, to help her dear sisters, she gave the flower to one and the bird
to the other, keeping only the beautiful apple for herself. So they
waited for the arrival of the emperor, who was very stern in his
commands.

When the monarch reached home, he approached his oldest daughter and
asked for the flower, the bird, and the apple. She showed him nothing
but the flower, and even that was half withered. The emperor said
nothing, but went to his second daughter. She showed him only the
little bird, and that, too, looked drooping. Again the emperor did not
speak, but silently went up to his youngest daughter, clever Ileane.

When the emperor saw the apple on Ileane's chest of drawers he could
almost have devoured it with his eyes, it was so beautiful. "Where did
you put the flower, and what have you done with the bird?" he asked
Ileane.

Ileane did not answer, but hurried to her sisters and brought back a
fresh flower and a merry little bird.

"May you prosper, my little daughter," said the emperor; "I see now
that you have kept faith with me."

From Ileane the emperor went to his second daughter, and then to the
eldest one.

When he questioned them about the three things he had trusted to their
care, they hastily brought Ileane's flower, bird, and apple. But as
God permits no falsehood to succeed, in their hands the flower
withered, the bird moped, and only the apple remained fresh,
rosy-cheeked, and eatable.

When the emperor saw this he understood every thing, and ordered the
two older princesses to be buried to their breasts in the earth, and
left there that they might be an example of the severity of an
imperial punishment. But Ileane he praised, kissed, spoke to her in
kind, fatherly words, and said: "May you have much happiness, my
child, for you have been faithful to your duty."

After the neighboring emperor's son had recovered, he mounted his
horse and set off to ask Ileane to be his wife. The old emperor,
Ileane's father, after hearing for what purpose the prince had come,
said to him kindly:

"Go and ask Ileane, my son and hero; whatever she wishes shall, with
God's help, be done."

Ileane said nothing, but permitted the prince to kiss her. The emperor
instantly understood the whole matter and said: "My dear children, I
see that you ought to be husband and wife; may it prove for your
good."

It was not long before Ileane married the bold, handsome, heroic
youth. Her wedding was so magnificent that tidings of it spread
through seven countries. Yes indeed! But Ileane had not forgotten the
evil the prince had in his mind; she knew that he would try some trick
upon her the first night after their marriage. So she ordered a sugar
doll to be made exactly the same size as she was herself, with face,
eyes, lips, and figure precisely like Ileane's. When it was finished,
she hid it in the bed where she was to sleep that night.

In the evening, when the relatives and friends had gone to rest and
Ileane, too, had been asleep, the prince said to his bride:

"Dear Ileane, wait a little while, I'll come back directly." Then he
left the room.

Ileane did not hesitate long, but jumped out of bed, left the sugar
doll in her place, and hid behind a curtain at the head of the bed.

She had scarcely concealed herself, when the prince returned to the
chamber with a sharp sword in his hand.

"Tell me now, my dear Ileane," he said, "did you throw me into the
cellar?"

"Yes," said Ileane, behind the curtain. The prince dealt one blow with
the sword on the doll's breast.

"Did you drive me out of the country with scorn and mockery?" he asked
again.

"Yes," said Ileane.

The prince cut the doll across her face.

"Did you empty my dishes of food?" asked the prince the third time.

"Yes," said Ileane.

The prince slashed the doll from head to foot.

"Did you pour out my wine?" was the prince's fourth question.

"Yes," said Ileane.

The prince cut the figure once across. Ileane began to breathe heavily
as if in the agony of death.

"Did you throw me among the knives?" he asked for the fifth and last
question.

"Yes," said Ileane.

The prince now thrust his sword into the figure's heart, slashed, and
hacked it in all directions, with all his strength, till the tears ran
down in streams. As dawn approached he began to sob bitterly. Suddenly
a bit of sugar popped into his mouth.

"Ah, Ileane! you were sweet in life, and remain sweet even in death,"
he said, weeping still more violently.

"Sweet indeed," said Ileane, coming out from behind the curtain, "but
from this hour forth I will be a hundred thousand times sweeter."

The prince seemed fairly petrified with delight, when he saw Ileane
safe and well. He clasped her in his arms, and for many years they
lived joyously and ruled the land in peace and happiness.

The Princess and the Fisherman.

Once upon a time something happened. If it had not happened, it would
not be told.

There was once a fisherman, neither very well off nor very poor, but
he was young, with a mustache that curled fiercely at the ends, you
know, and a fine-looking fellow. Whenever he passed the imperial
palace, the emperor's daughter sent for him, bought his fish, and gave
him ten times as much money as they were worth.

Our fisherman was spoiled by this wealth, and whenever he had nice
fresh fish he took them to the palace; not a day passed that the
princess did not buy fish if the fisherman went by.

One day, while paying for the fish, the princess pressed his hand, the
fisherman blushed as red as a beet, and cast down his eyes, but first
gave her one loving glance, for he had understood that she was willing
he should do so.

Then he entered into conversation with her, and took good care not to
say any thing stupid.

The next time the princess bought fish he began to talk about them at
great length, and made her comprehend that he had understood her
feelings, and that the fire of love which was consuming her burned no
less hotly in his heart than in her own.

Another time he spoke still more freely, and the princess learned that
he was unmarried; she was, besides, much pleased with his clever
answers, and as he was very attractive the royal maiden finally fell
in love with him. She gave him a purse filled with money to purchase
handsome clothes, and told him to come back afterward and show himself
to her.

After he had bought garments like those worn by gentlemen, he put them
on and returned to the princess. She would scarcely have recognized
him, for even his gait and bearing had become as stiff as a noble's.

At last, unable to repress the love that glowed in her heart, the
emperor's daughter told him that she would marry him.

The fisherman did not know much, but he was aware that such a dainty
morsel wasn't meant for his bill, and he could hardly believe what he
heard with his ears and saw with his eyes; but when the princess
assured him that she wasn't joking, he accepted her hand, though to
tell the truth with many doubts and blushes.

The marriage did not exactly suit the emperor, but as he loved his
daughter and she was her parents' only child, he yielded to her
wishes. The princess gave the fisherman another purse filled with
money, and told him to buy himself still handsomer clothes. When he
returned, in garments that fairly glittered with gold, the royal
maiden presented him to the emperor, and the monarch betrothed them to
each other.

Ere long a magnificent imperial wedding was celebrated. When the
company sat down to enjoy the banquet, a soft-boiled egg, which,
according to ancient custom, only the bride and bridegroom were
permitted to eat, was brought to the wedded pair. When the husband was
about to dip a bit of bread into the egg, the princess stopped him,
saying: "I must dip first, because I am the daughter of an emperor,
and you are a fisherman." The bridegroom made no reply, but rose from
the table and vanished. The guests, who did not know what had
happened, looked at one another and asked in surprise what this meant,
for they had not heard that the emperor's son-in-law had formerly been
a fisherman.

The bride repented her imprudence, bit her lips, and wrung her hands.
She ate what she was compelled to swallow, but she might just as well
have thrown it behind her, for not a morsel did her any good.

After the feast she went to her room, but all night long she could not
once close her eyes or fall asleep, she was so sorrowful. She thought
of her bridegroom so constantly that she was afraid she would fall ill
from longing. Her principal grief was that she did not know why he had
gone away without saying even one word.

The next day she went to the emperor and told him she was seized with
so great a longing for her husband that she was going to follow him
till she found him. The emperor tried to detain her, but she would
not listen and set out on her journey.

She searched up and down the whole city, but did not find him
anywhere. Then she wandered from place to place till she met him
serving in a tavern.

As soon as she saw him she went up and spoke to him, but he pretended
not to know her, turned his head away, made no answer, and went about
his business.

The princess followed him everywhere, begging him to say just one word
to her, but in vain. When the landlord saw that the stranger was to
blame for the interruption in the work, he said: "Why don't you let my
servant finish his work in peace? Don't you see he is dumb? Be kind
enough to go away from here, if you are a respectable woman."

"He isn't dumb," she cried, "this is my husband, who deserted and fled
from me on account of a fault of mine."

All the people in the tavern stood still in astonishment when they
heard her words, for she was not joking; but the landlord could not
believe it, he thought it would be impossible for a man who could
speak to live a whole week without saying even one word, and every
body really knew him as a dumb man, made him understand by signs, and
liked him for his industry.

The princess then entered into an agreement with them all, that she
would induce him to speak within three days if they would only allow
her to stay with him, but if she did not succeed she would be hung.
This agreement was put in writing and shown to the magistrates for
their sanction. When the contract was concluded, the three days' trial
was arranged to begin the next morning.

The fisherman at first knew nothing about this agreement, though he
heard of it afterward, but the emperor's daughter never left his side.

"My beloved husband," she said, "you know I am to blame. I chose you
because I loved you; I swear that I will never commit such a blunder
again; have pity on me, speak one word to me, save me from the
disgrace that is killing me. I know you have a right to be angry, but
for the sake of my love, forgive me."

The fisherman turned his head toward her, shrugged his shoulders, and
pretended that he did not know her, and did not understand what she
was talking about. One day, two days passed, and he did not even say
boo. When the third came the princess was terribly frightened, and
wherever the dumb man went she followed, beseeching him to say one
word to her.

But the fisherman, feeling that she was softening him by her
entreaties, fled like a savage that she might not assail him with
tears, and pretended his heart was a lump of ice; but she did not
cease imploring him a thousand times, so tenderly that it would have
softened even a wild beast.

At last the third day also passed, and the fisherman had not even said
baa.

Every body wondered over these things. Nothing was talked of in the
whole city, except the mute servant at the tavern and the beautiful,
charming girl, who, it was supposed, had mistaken the dumb man for
some one else, and had now brought herself into trouble.

The next day the gallows was ready, and the whole population gathered
around it to witness the end of the affair.

The magistrates were summoned to the place, and, against their will,
compelled to execute what was in the agreement.

The executioner came, and called upon the princess to submit to the
penalty, since she had not succeeded in fulfilling the obligations she
had imposed upon herself; the girl turned once more to the fisherman,
and, sobbing bitterly, tried to soften his heart, but in vain. When
she saw and understood that no escape was possible, she loosed her
hair and let it fall over her shoulders, wailing so piteously that it
was enough to make even wood and stone weep for her, and so walked
toward the place of execution. All the people, old and young, were
weeping around her, yet could not help her.

On reaching the gallows, she once more gazed hopefully at the dumb
man, who had come with the crowd, but stood as if he were perfectly
unmoved, and said to him:

"My dear husband, save me from death; you know my love for you, do not
let me perish so ignominiously. Speak but one word and I shall be
delivered." But the man only shrugged his shoulders and glanced
backward across the fields.

The executioner stood with the noose in his hand; two assistants led
her up the ladder, and the hangman slipped the rope around her neck.
One moment more, and the princess would have been a corpse! But just
at the instant the executioner was going to let her swing out into the
empty air, the fisherman raised his hand, shouting: "Hi! hi! stop!"

They all stood motionless, tears of joy streamed from every eye as the
hangman took the noose from the prisoner's neck. Then the fisherman,
looking at the royal maiden, said three times:

"Will you say fisherman to me again?"

"Forgive me, my dear husband," the princess hastened to reply, "I have
only said it once, and that was by mistake. I promise you not to do so
again."

"Let her come down, she is my wife."

He took her by the hand, and they went home together.

Afterward they lived in peace and happiness, and if they haven't died,
they are living still.

Into the saddle then I sprung,
This tale to tell to old and young.

Little Wild-Rose.

Once upon a time something extraordinary happened. If it had not
happened it would not be told. It was when the wolves lay down to rest
with the sheep, and the shepherds feasted in the green fields with
emperors and kings, when one sun rose and another set.

There was once a man, my dear good friends. This man would now--I am
telling no lie--this man would now be a hundred years old, if not
twenty more to boot; his wife, too, was older than any body I know;
she was like the Friday-goddess (Venus), and from youth to age had
never had a single child. Only those who know what children are in a
house can understand the uncontrollable grief in the empty home of the
old man and his wife. The poor old man had done every thing in his
power to have his house brightened and filled with joy by what he
himself so greatly desired. He had given alms to the convents and
churches, he had had liturgies read in seven churches, had sent for
priests with white beards, because they are the holiest men and have
more earnestness in prayer, and had had masses read for all the
saints and prayers for the last unction. But every thing was useless.
The old wife had clung to the witches and magicians. There was not an
enchanter to whom she had not gone for advice, even if he lived a
week's journey off. As I said before, what wouldn't she have done! But
it was vain, all was useless.

One day the old man said sadly and thoughtfully:

"Old wife!"

"What do you want?"

"Give me some provisions to take with me on my journey, for I intend
to travel through the wide world, looking wherever I go to try and
find a child, for my heart aches and burns when I think that the end
of my life is drawing near, and no heir will have my house after me,
but all my property fall into the hands of strangers. I have tried all
ways, now I will take this one. And I'll tell you one thing: If I find
no child, I won't come home any more."

With these words the old man took his knapsack on his back, went out
of the house, and began his journey. He walked on and on and on
through the kingdom and the world, as God willed. Listen, good
friends, I am telling the truth. He walked on till he came to a thick
forest, so dense that it seemed like a wall. Tree was intwined with
tree, bush with bush, so that the sun could not even send so much as a
ray of light through the foliage. When the old man saw these vast
woods he thrice made the sign of the cross toward the east, prostrated
himself three times, also toward the east, and then entered with great
sorrow. How long a time he spent in groping about the forest I don't
know, but I do know that one day he reached the entrance of a cave.
This cave was hundreds and thousands of times darker than the deep
forest, as dark as it is when we shut our eyes, as dark as it usually
is in endless caverns. The old man crossed himself three times, fell
on his knees several times, and then, with God's assistance, turned
around a projection of a rock. He went about the distance of a
gun-shot and saw a light in a cranny. Approaching nearer and nearer he
could not believe his eyes when he saw what was standing beside it. An
old hermit! He was very old, as ancient as the world. He had a white
beard that reached to his knees, and when he raised his eyebrows and
then lowered them again they shaded the whole cave.

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