Czechoslovak Fairy Tales

He was already running to the tree when the seer called him back.

“Wait! Don’t touch them! I will pick them for you myself!”

But instead of picking an apple, the seer drew his sword and struck a mighty blow into the apple tree. Red blood gushed forth.

“Just see, my man! You would have perished if you had eaten one apple. This apple tree is the eldest queen, whom her mother, the witch, placed here for our destruction.”

Presently they came to a spring. Its water bubbled up clear as crystal and most tempting to the tired traveler.

“Ah,” said the servant, “since we can get nothing better, at least we can take a drink of this good water.”

“Wait!” cried the seer. “I will draw some for you.”

But instead of drawing water he plunged his naked sword into the middle of the spring. Instantly it was covered with blood and blood began to spurt from the spring in thick streams.

“This is the second queen, whom her mother, the witch, placed here to work our doom.”

Presently they came to a rosebush covered with beautiful red roses that scented all the air with their fragrance.

“What beautiful roses!” said the servant. “I have never seen any such in all my life. I’ll go pluck a few. As I can’t eat or drink, I’ll comfort myself with roses.”

“Don’t dare to pluck them!” cried the seer. “I’ll pluck them for you.”

With that he cut into the bush with his sword and red blood spurted out as though he had cut a human vein.

“This is the youngest queen,” said the seer, “whom her mother, the witch, placed here in the hope of revenging herself on us for the death of her sons-in-law.”

After that they proceeded without further adventures.

When they crossed the boundaries of the dark kingdom, the sun in the horse’s forehead sent out its blessed rays in all directions. Everything came to life. The earth rejoiced and covered itself with flowers.

The king felt he could never thank the seer enough and he offered him the half of his kingdom.

But the seer replied: “You are the king. Keep on ruling over the whole of your kingdom and let me return to my cottage in peace.”

He bade the king farewell and departed.

THE THREE CITRONS

THE STORY OF A PRINCE WHO CLIMBED THE GLASS HILL

THE THREE CITRONS

ONCE upon a time there was an aged king who had an only son. One day he called the prince to him and said: “My son, you see that my head is white. Soon I shall be closing my eyes and you are not yet settled in life. Marry, my son, marry at once so that I can bless you before I die.”

The prince made no answer but he took the king’s words to heart and pondered them. He would gladly have done as his father wished but there was no young girl upon whom his affections were set.

One day when he was sitting in the garden, wondering what to do, an old woman suddenly appeared before him.

“Go,” she said, “to the top of the Glass Hill, pluck the Three Citrons, and you will get a wife in whom your heart will delight.” With that she disappeared as mysteriously as she had come.

Her words went through the prince’s soul like a bright dart. Instantly he determined, come what might, to find the Glass Hill and to pluck the Three Citrons. He told his father his intention and the old king fitted him out for the journey and gave him his blessing.

For a long time the prince wandered over wooded mountains and desert plains without seeing or even hearing anything of the Glass Hill and the Three Citrons. One day, worn out with his long journey, he threw himself down in the shade of a wide-spreading linden tree. As his father’s sword, which he wore at his side, clanked on the ground, twelve ravens began cawing from the top of the tree. Frightened by the clanking of the sword, they raised their wings and flew off.

The prince jumped to his feet. “Those are the first living creatures I have seen for many a day. I’ll go in the direction they have taken,” he said to himself, “and perhaps I’ll have better luck.”

So he traveled on and after three days and three nights a high castle came in view.

“Thank God!” he exclaimed, pushing joyfully ahead. “I shall soon have human companionship once more.”

The castle was built entirely of lead. The twelve ravens circled above it and in front of it stood an old woman leaning on a long leaden staff. She was a Yezibaba. Now you must know that a Yezibaba is an ugly old witch with a hooked nose, a bristly face, and long scrawny hands. She’s a bad old thing usually, but sometimes, if you take her fancy, she’s kind.

This time when she looked the prince over she shook her head at him in a friendly way.

“Yi, yi, my boy, how did you get here? Why, not even a little bird or a tiny butterfly comes here, much less a human being! You’d better escape if life is dear to you, or my son, when he comes home, will eat you!”

“No, no, old mother, don’t make me go,” begged the prince. “I have come to you for advice to know whether you can tell me anything about the Glass Hill and the Three Citrons.”

“No, I have never heard a word about the Glass Hill,” Yezibaba said. “But wait until my son comes. He may be able to tell you something. Yes, yes, I’ll manage to save you somehow. Go hide under the besom and stay there until I call you.”

The mountains rumbled and the castle trembled and Yezibaba whispered to the prince that her son was coming.

“Phew! Phew! I smell human meat! I’ll eat it!” shouted Yezibaba’s son while he was still in the doorway. He struck the ground with his leaden club and the whole castle shook.

“No, no, my son, don’t talk that way. It’s true there is a pretty youth here, but he’s come to ask you about something.”

“Well, if he wants to ask me something, let him come out and ask.”

“Yes, my son, he will, but only when you promise me that you will do nothing to him.”

“Well, I won’t do anything to him. Now let him come out.”

The prince hidden under the besom was shaking like an aspen leaf, for when he peeped through the twigs he saw an ogre so huge that he himself would reach up only to his knees. Happily the ogre had guaranteed his life before Yezibaba ordered him out.

“Well, well, well, you little June bug!” shouted the ogre. “What are you afraid of? Where have you been? What do you want?”

“What do I want?” repeated the prince. “I have been wandering in these mountains a long time and I can’t find what I’m seeking. So I’ve come to you to ask whether you can tell me something about the Glass Hill and the Three Citrons.”

Yezibaba’s son wrinkled his forehead. He thought for a moment and then, lowering his voice a little, he said: “I’ve never heard of any Glass Hill around here. But I tell you what you do: go on to my brother in arms who lives in the Silver Castle and ask him. Maybe he’ll be able to tell you. But I can’t let you go away hungry. That would never do! Hi, mother, bring out the dumplings!”

Old Yezibaba placed a large dish on the table and her giant son sat down.

“Well, come on! Eat!” he shouted to the prince.

When the prince took the first dumpling and bit into it, he almost broke two of his teeth, for the dumpling was made of lead.

“Well,” shouted Yezibaba’s son, “why don’t you eat? Doesn’t the dumpling taste good?”