Dekle, ki prinaša nesrečo

Besedilo

Dekle, ki prinaša nesrečo

Once upon a time, as never before, there lived an emperor who had twelve sons. Whenever he sat down to table, his children formed a perfect wreath around him. He was always in good spirits, for everything prospered in his hands. The neighboring emperors envied his peaceful life. You see, he was kindhearted too: he did not burden his people, nor did he oppress the widow or the poor. Yet no one knew what secret sorrow gnawed at his heart. For all his sons, good people, he longed to have at least one daughter. And after many hopes and prayers, God at last granted this wish as well: his wife, the empress, conceived, and nine months later gave birth to a girl so beautiful that she had no equal in the world. Now the emperor expected to be perfectly happy—but not a bit of it! In his case, as in that of everyone in this sinful world, the old song proved true: Of all who on this earth were born, None ever lived from care untorn, Nor ever knew, from first to last, A happiness no shadow cast. The affairs of his empire began to languish. In short, his fortunes took a turn for the worse. One emperor threatened to make war on him unless he did a certain thing; another demanded something else; his subjects began talking of rebellion; cattle from his estates strayed across the border into another empire and were impounded; then a plague struck his herds. Misfortunes followed one another in an unbroken chain, until the poor emperor was all but ruined. He and all his twelve sons did their utmost to make peace, to foster goodwill among men, and to put a stop to the evils besetting them, but it was no use: the losses kept mounting. At last he summoned a reader of the stars to tell him why everything was going wrong and why he could make no headway. When the wise man came, he consulted the stars, and then told the emperor to observe for three nights running how his children slept. After the three nights had passed, the wise man returned. The emperor told him that some slept with their hands above their heads, some on their sides, some with their hands upon their chests, and others on their backs with their arms beside them; but the girl slept on her stomach, or lay curled up, or with her hands between her knees. “She is the ill omen in your empire,” the wise man replied. “Unless you send her away from your house, not a trace will remain of you or your children.” The emperor himself had noticed that the wise man’s words seemed to be borne out, for his fortunes had begun to decline from the very time his daughter was born. Yet he did not know what to do, or how to save his twelve sons from destruction. To the poor emperor, she too was his child. He would not willingly have lost a single one of them. In the end, however, he yielded to the counsel of the wise men. They said it was better to lose one and save twelve than for them all to be brought to misery and become the laughingstock of the world. Both the emperor and the empress shrank from committing such a deed; but, hard pressed by all the troubles assailing them on every side, they gave way to the advice of those closest to them and finally resolved to sacrifice one rather than all thirteen. So the emperor spoke with his trusted servant about how it should be done. The servant was to say that he was going hunting and would take the girl along, together with his dogs, especially since she was always saying how much she liked watching people hunt. Then he was to leave her there in the forest, without her knowing his intention. The emperor’s heart was torn with grief at the thought of losing his daughter, and the empress was sorrowful to the very depths of her soul as she packed food into a basket for her, placing a change of clothes and a few of her own jewels beneath it. When the carriage was ready, they put in the basket of food and a pitcher of water, and the girl and the emperor’s trusted servant climbed aboard. They set off and came to a great forest. Back at home, the emperor, the empress, and the girl’s brothers wept so bitterly that it would have made you want to flee the world. When they reached the forest, they left the carriage a little way off beside the path, took the basket and pitcher, and went into the woods to hunt. Coming to a clearing, the girl began picking little flowers to make herself a posy, while the emperor’s servant wandered through the trees after birds. Little by little he drew farther away, until he reached the carriage, climbed in, and was off before you could blink. When the emperor’s daughter looked about her, the servant was gone. She called out, shouted, and screamed, but no one answered. What was she to do? At last, seeing that evening was drawing on, she climbed a tree and looked first one way and then another, hoping to catch sight of some little hut. There was nothing. She turned and searched in other directions, and there, far away, she saw a light twinkling like a tiny star. Then she climbed down and, dragging the basket in one hand and the pitcher of water in the other, made straight for the light she had glimpsed. When she reached it, she found a hut with a little oil lamp burning in a shard of pottery. She knocked, and the door was opened. An old beggar woman lived there. The girl begged her for shelter. The poor woman took her in, but said she had nothing to give her to eat, for all she possessed was a hen, a little dog, and a cat. The girl took food from her basket and shared it with the old woman. The next morning, when they rose, the old woman began lamenting that her hen had died overnight. Now, she cried, she would have to take to the road and starve, for she had lived on the little egg the hen laid every day. The poor emperor’s daughter gave her one of her jewels to buy another hen and so provide herself with food. With a good deal of grumbling, half willingly and half because she had no choice, the old woman accepted the girl’s gift and fell silent. On the second night, her little dog died. Then she said, “My girl, gather your few belongings and leave my house, for ever since you came, one loss has followed another. I would not have parted with that dog for anything in the world: he guarded my hut, and I had had him for so many years.” “There, dear mother, do not be upset. I will give you enough to buy another, and you will have something left over besides.” And she took out another jewel and gave it to her. On the third day, they found the cat dead too. “Leave my house, girl,” said the old woman, “and never come back. I can see you come of good people, and I can see you have precious things, but I want none of such riches. Better to be poor and live in peace. Ever since you arrived, troubles have come crowding upon me. Go, my dear, and take with you everything you brought into my house, both good and bad.” The girl had no choice but to leave the old woman’s hut. Before going, however, she took off her fine clothes and asked the old woman for some of her rags. Eager to be rid of her, the old woman searched behind the pillows, under the bed, and along the clothes rail, and found a few scraps for her to put on, if only she would leave the house. The fine clothes the girl left behind, the old woman carried outside and put in the storeroom beside her hut. And so the girl, dressed like a beggar, left the old woman’s house and began feeling her way through the dense forest, hoping to find a path that would lead her back to other people. As she wandered on, she came upon a sheepfold. There was no one there, for its owners were three companions who all went out together with their sheep. Once she arrived, the emperor’s daughter swept out the hut, put everything in its proper place, lit the fire, and hung the little pot for maize porridge from its hook. While seeing to one thing and another, she also washed the vessels, the pails and wooden tubs in which the shepherds collected their milk. Then she hid. When the shepherds returned and saw all this, they were astonished. They looked here and there, but could see no one. Then they said, “Whoever has done us this kindness, if it is a lad, he shall be our brother; and if it is a girl, she shall be our sister.” At that, the emperor’s daughter came out of hiding. She begged them to let her live with them, for she was an unfortunate girl with nowhere to find shelter or lay her head. The shepherds took her in and told her what she was to do. When they came back that evening, they again found everything ready: supper was cooked, the tubs in which they made cheese were clean, and all was in good order at the sheepfold. But one of the companions complained that he did not know what was wrong with his sheep, which had been ailing since morning. Some sickness must have struck them; they had the staggers, or he could not tell what had happened to them. The next day, another complained that sheep-pox had broken out in his flock, and he did not know how many would survive. On the third day, the other shepherd came home with only a pitiful handful of sheep. He said that, as he was about to cross a little bridge over which he drove his flock every day, one of the sheep had somehow taken it into its head to leap into the river; another followed it, and another after that, until the whole flock rushed forward and nearly all of them jumped into the water. The poor shepherd had struggled to stop them, but you might as well try stopping the devil! Once sheep take fright, all your efforts are in vain. He had barely managed to save the few he brought home. The poor shepherds began to wonder how they had come to suffer such losses in the three days since that girl had arrived at their sheepfold. They saw that their new sister must be a bringer of bad luck, and that she had descended upon them like a curse. So they agreed to send her away, and said to her, “Sister, as you came, so you must leave us, and go wherever the Lord in His mercy may guide you. We can keep you no longer. You entered our hut with poverty at your heels. The losses we have suffered in these three days since you came to us we shall not make good in ten years.” The girl could say nothing. She too could see that it was so. She rose, gathered her things, and begged their pardon for the harm she had unwittingly done them. Then she wandered away across the fields, wherever her eyes might lead her. As she walked with her heart full of sorrow and tears streaming down her face, she saw a palace far in the distance. She quickened her pace and made for it, so that night would not overtake her on the road. A wealthy Moorish woman lived there. The girl begged the palace servants to take her in. The Moorish woman, who had seen her from above as she came through the gate, ordered them to bring her before her. As soon as she saw the girl, she knew who she was, and had her bathed, dressed in clean clothes, and taken into her own service. One day, the Moorish woman set her to searching her hair for lice, for they say that, however clean the Moors may be, little creatures are still to be found in their hair, so tangled, matted, and exceedingly thick is it. When the emperor’s daughter saw things on the Moorish woman’s head such as she had never seen since her mother bore her, she was filled with disgust and felt the need to spit. She looked to the right and to the left, but everywhere her eyes fell on costly things that she could not bear to spoil. She could not move farther away, either, for the Moorish woman had fallen asleep with her head in the girl’s lap. So she spat in the Moorish woman’s face. The woman, sharp as the devil, felt it and sprang up at once. She looked at the girl with pity and said, “If I did not know who you were, you would see what you would suffer at my hands. As it is, I forgive you. Make yourself ready; we are going somewhere.” She ordered the horses to be harnessed to the carriage. By the time they were ready, it had drawn up at the steps. They went downstairs and got in. The Moorish woman told the coachman where to drive. Along the way, she also instructed the girl in what to do when they reached their destination. She had scarcely finished speaking when they arrived in the courtyard of a palace with thousands upon thousands of chambers. As soon as they stepped out of the carriage, the Moorish woman went to a room where there were two men. One, young and fat, lay back on a golden bed, playing with two balls of silk; the other, an old man, hurried to and fro, unable to rest for a moment. He had grown bent with toil, and was so ragged, thin, and shriveled that you would have taken him for some strange creature rather than a human being. As it happened, the young man was the girl’s Fortune, and the old man was the Moorish woman’s Fortune. The moment the girl saw the young man playing with the balls of silk, she rushed at him, just as the Moorish woman had taught her, snatched them from his hands, and away she went! She ran out, jumped into the carriage, and the coachman whipped up the horses and did not stop until they were home. The fellow, slow and clumsy as he was, took so long to get up, come outside, and set off after her that he was left looking foolish: he could no longer catch her. Then the carriage went back, picked up the Moorish woman, and brought her home as well. Now, just at that time, the emperor of that country, who was a bachelor, had decided to marry. His betrothed had asked him to have a gown made for her from a very costly silk. By one means or another, the emperor found just such a fabric and sent it to the tailor. But here was the trouble: there was not enough silk, and one more piece was needed. The emperor had a search made for it, but no more silk of that kind could be found anywhere in the empire. Well then, what was to become of the bride’s gown? Unless it was made exactly to her liking, his betrothed would not accept it; and unless the missing piece could be found, the gown would remain unfinished. Surely the wedding could not be abandoned over such a trifle! So the emperor sent more men to make inquiries, and they learned that a certain Moorish woman had a piece of silk exactly like the one he was seeking, and just as much as he needed. It so happened that this piece of silk was in the balls the emperor’s daughter had taken from her idle Fortune. The emperor sent men to buy it. The Moorish woman told them she would give the piece to whoever paid her its weight in gold coins. So she placed the piece of silk in one pan of a balance, and at once that end sank down. They put gold coins in the other pan, but it remained aloft. They added more, and more, and still more, yet the balance would not come down. The emperor’s men put in all the money they had with them, but the pan still stayed up. Then they went and told the emperor. He was astonished beyond measure at this strange occurrence. He sent several sacks of gold, but his messengers returned and said that the devilish balance would not come down in the slightest. Then the emperor took several more sacks of gold and went to see this marvel with his own eyes, for he could scarcely believe it. When he reached the Moorish woman’s house and went inside, he saw the emperor’s daughter—the very girl her father had driven away as a bringer of bad luck—and lost his heart to her. You see, she was far from ugly: she had charm, she had that come-hither grace, as the saying goes, and she was well brought up—after all, she was an emperor’s daughter. It was only luck she had lacked. The emperor looked at the balance too. The pan with the money in it was still high in the air! He put in one of the sacks of gold he had brought, but as for the pan coming down—not a chance. He added another, and then another, but the balance took no notice. He put in every sack; the pan seemed fastened where it stood. Then, in a fit of vexation, the emperor took it into his head to climb on top of the money himself, and at once that end of the balance sank and came to rest exactly level with the pan holding the piece of silk. The scales were balanced at last. “So this piece of silk can be bought only with me,” said the emperor, who, being an emperor, had understood what the balance meant. “Something like that, Your Majesty,” replied the Moorish woman. “Well, if that is so, I should gladly break my engagement to that fussy girl I have promised to marry, if I knew the owner of this silk would have me.” “How can you suppose she would not?” the Moorish woman answered. “You can see for yourself that even her little piece of silk wants you.” And so the matter was settled, and before long the wedding was celebrated with great rejoicing and love. But when the girl’s father, mother, and brothers heard of it, can you imagine their joy? They all came together again, and held one of those imperial weddings whose fame spreads far and wide. And I mounted my saddle, and so on.