Czech Folk Tales. Baudiš Josef. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Baudiš Josef
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if they squeak again she will tear them to pieces. Then she will lie down to sleep, and then you must spit the pig and run quickly away. The pig will be afraid to squeak, the sow won’t stir, and my horse will carry you away.”

      Víťazko promised to carry out her directions exactly. He took the spit, mounted the magic horse, and it brought him swiftly to the place – far, very far it was – where the earth sow lay buried in the earth. Víťazko pricked one of the pigs, and it squeaked terribly. The sow started wildly up and ran round the earth in one moment. But the magic horse did not move, so the sow did not see him or anybody else, and she said angrily to the pigs:

      “If one of you squeaks, I will tear you all to pieces at once.”

      Having said this, she buried herself again.

      At once Víťazko spitted the pig. It kept quiet and didn’t squeak at all, and the magic horse began to fly, and it wasn’t long till they were home again.

      “Well, Víťazko, how did it go?” asked Holy Sunday.

      “Well, it went just as you said, and here is the pig.”

      “Very well. Take it to your mother.”

      Víťazko gave her back the spit; he led the magic horse back to its stall, thanked Holy Sunday, and, hanging the pig from the beech-tree, made haste to go home to his mother.

      The mother and the griffin were feasting; they did not expect Víťazko, and here he was. They ran away and discussed what they should do with him.

      “When he has given you the pig, you must still pretend to be ill,” said the griffin; “and when he asks you what will save you, tell him that only the Water of Life and the Water of Death can cure you. If he goes in quest of that, he is bound to perish.”

      Víťazko came running to the castle full of joy. He gave the pig to his mother, but she still went on groaning and complaining that she was going to die, and that the pig would not cure her.

      “Alas! mother, don’t die, but tell me what will cure you, so that I may bring it for you at once,” said Víťazko anxiously.

      “Ah! my dear son, I can only be cured by the Water of Life and the Water of Death, and where would you get that?” sighed the mother.

      Víťazko did not waste time thinking about it. He grasped his beech, and off he went to Holy Sunday.

      “Where are you going, Víťazko?” asked Holy Sunday.

      “I am coming to you to ask where I could find the Water of Life and the Water of Death, for my mother is still ill, and only those will cure her.”

      “It will be a hard task for you to get them, but I will help you as well as I can. Here are two jugs; mount my magic horse, and he will bring you to two banks. Beneath those two banks spring forth the Water of Life and the Water of Death. The right bank opens at noon, and from beneath it gushes the Water of Life. The left bank opens at midnight, and beneath it is the Water of Death. As soon as the bank opens, run up to it and fill your jug with water, and so you must do in the other case too. When you have the water, come back. Follow my instructions carefully.”

      Saying this, she gave him two jugs. He took them and mounted the magic horse, and in a moment they were gone like the wind. The two banks were in a far distant land, and thither the magic horse brought Víťazko. At noon he raised the right bank and the Water of Life gushed forth, then, crash! the bank fell down again, and it was a wonder that it did not take Víťazko’s heels off. Quickly Víťazko mounted the magic horse and made haste for the left bank. There they waited till midnight. When the bank lifted, beneath it was the Water of Death. He hurried to it and filled the jug, and, crash! down fell the bank again; and it was a marvel it didn’t take Víťazko’s hand off. Quickly he mounted the magic horse, the horse flew off, and soon they were home again.

      “Well, Víťazko, how have you fared?” asked Holy Sunday.

      “Oh! everything went all right, Holy Sunday; and here is the water,” said Víťazko, giving her the water.

      Holy Sunday kept the water, and gave him two jugs full of spring water and told him to take them to his mother. Víťazko thanked her and went home.

      The mother and the griffin were carousing as before, for they did not expect that he would ever return – and there he was just outside. They were terribly frightened, and considered how they could get rid of him.

      “You must pretend to be sick still, and tell him you won’t recover unless you get the Pelican bird, and he will perish on the quest,” said the griffin.

      Víťazko brought the water joyfully, but the mother was still groaning and complaining; even that was no good, she was sure she was going to die.

      “Ah! don’t die, sweet mother. Tell me what will cure you, and I shall be glad to get it all for you,” said the good lad.

      “There is no help for me unless I can see the Pelican bird. Where could you get it for me?” groaned the mother.

      Víťazko took his beech again, and it was no trouble to him to go to Holy Sunday once more.

      “Where are you going?” asked Holy Sunday.

      “Well, I am coming to you to ask for advice. Mother is still sick; the water did not cure her either, and she says she must see the Pelican bird. And where is the Pelican bird?”

      “My dear child, it would be very hard for you to get the Pelican bird. But I will help you all I can. The Pelican bird is a gigantic bird. His neck is very long, and, whenever he shakes his wings, he raises such a wind that the trees begin to shake. Here is a gun; mount my magic horse, and he will bring you to the place where the Pelican bird lives. But be careful. Point the gun against the wind from whatever quarter it blows, and when the hammer falls, ram the gun with the ramrod and come quickly back. You must not look into the gun.”

      Víťazko took the gun and mounted the magic horse, and the horse spread his wings, and they were flying through the air a long way until they came to a vast desert, where dwelt the Pelican bird. There the magic horse stopped. Now Víťazko perceived that the wind was blowing strongly on his left cheek, so he pointed the gun in that direction, and, clap! the hammer fell. Víťazko rammed the gun quickly with the ramrod and flung it over his shoulder, and the horse started flying, and very soon they were home again.

      “Well, how did things go?”

      “I don’t know whether they went well or ill, but I did what you commanded,” answered Víťazko, handing down the gun to Holy Sunday.

      “All right. You did quite right. Here he is!” she said. And then she took out the Pelican bird. Then she gave Víťazko another gun to shoot an eagle with. He went out into the forest, and returned before long with an eagle. She gave him this eagle for his mother, in place of the Pelican bird.

      The griffin and the mother were making merry again, hoping that Víťazko would never come back, but he was already near. They were terrified, and began to consider what new task they were to set him.

      “You must pretend to be sick still, and tell him nothing can do you any good but the golden apples from the garden of the Griffin. If he goes there the Griffin will tear him in pieces, for he is enraged because Víťazko has killed his brothers.”

      Joyfully Víťazko gave the bird to his mother, but she still kept on groaning; nothing was any good, only the golden apples from the garden of the Griffin could save her.

      “You shall have them,” said Víťazko, and without resting, he started again and came to Holy Sunday.

      “Where are you going, Víťazko?”

      “Well,” he replied, “not even that did her any good. Mother is still sick, for only the golden apples from the garden of the Griffin will cure her.”

      “Well, you’ll have to fight, my boy,” said Holy Sunday; “but, even though you were stronger than you are, it would be a bad look-out for you. Still, I will help you all I can. Here is a ring for you; put it on your finger, and, when you are in need, think of me, turn the ring round on your finger, and you will have the strength of a hundred