Prevod

There was once a woman who had three daughters. The eldest was called One-Eye, because she had only a single eye in the middle of her forehead; the middle daughter was called Two-Eyes, because she had two eyes like other people; and the youngest was called Three-Eyes, because she had three eyes, the third of which was also in the middle of her forehead. But because Two-Eyes looked no different from other human children, her sisters and her mother could not bear her. They said to her, “You with your two eyes are no better than the common folk. You do not belong with us.” They pushed her about, tossed her shabby clothes, gave her nothing to eat but their leftovers, and caused her heartache whenever they could. One day Two-Eyes had to go out into the fields to tend the goat, but she was still very hungry, because her sisters had given her so little to eat. She sat down on a grassy bank and began to weep, and she wept so hard that two little streams ran down from her eyes. When she looked up in her misery, a woman was standing beside her, who asked, “Two-Eyes, why are you crying?” Two-Eyes answered, “How can I help crying? Because I have two eyes like other people, my sisters and my mother cannot bear me. They push me from one corner to another, toss me old clothes, and give me nothing to eat but what they leave over. Today they gave me so little that I am still terribly hungry.” The wise woman said, “Two-Eyes, dry your face. I will tell you something so that you need never go hungry again. Just say to your goat:

‘Little goat, bleat away! Little table, spread your array!’ and a neatly laid little table will stand before you, with the finest food upon it, so that you may eat as much as you please. And when you have had your fill and no longer need the little table, just say:

‘Little goat, bleat away! Little table, vanish away!’ and it will disappear again before your eyes.” Then the wise woman went away. But Two-Eyes thought, I must try at once to see whether what she said is true, for I am very hungry, and she said:

“Little goat, bleat away! Little table, vanish away!” Scarcely had she spoken the words when a little table stood there, covered with a white cloth, with a plate, a knife and fork, and a silver spoon upon it. All around stood the most delicious dishes, steaming and still warm, as though they had just come from the kitchen. Then Two-Eyes said the shortest grace she knew: “Lord God, be our guest at all times. Amen!” She helped herself and thoroughly enjoyed her meal. And when she had eaten her fill, she said, as the wise woman had taught her:

“Little goat, bleat away! Little table, vanish away!” At once the little table and everything upon it disappeared again. What a fine way to keep house, thought Two-Eyes, and she was quite happy and in excellent spirits.

That evening, when she came home with her goat, she found a little earthenware bowl of food that her sisters had set out for her, but she did not touch it. The next day she went out again with her goat and left the few scraps they had given her lying where they were. At first her sisters paid no attention, but when it happened every time, they began to take notice and said, “Something is not right with Two-Eyes. She always leaves her food now, though she used to eat up everything she was given. She must have found some other way to feed herself.” To discover the truth, One-Eye was to go along when Two-Eyes drove the goat out to pasture, and watch what she did there and whether anyone brought her anything to drink.

When Two-Eyes set off again, One-Eye came up to her and said, “I am coming out into the fields with you to see that the goat is properly tended and led to good pasture.” But Two-Eyes guessed what One-Eye had in mind. She drove the goat out into the tall grass and said, “Come, One-Eye, let us sit down. I will sing you something.” One-Eye sat down, tired from the walk she was not used to and from the heat of the sun, and Two-Eyes kept singing:

“One-Eye, are you waking? One-Eye, are you sleeping?” Then One-Eye closed her one eye and fell asleep. And when Two-Eyes saw that One-Eye was fast asleep and could not betray her, she said:

“Little goat, bleat away! Little table, spread your array!” and sat down at her little table and ate and drank until she had had enough. Then she called again, “Little goat, bleat away! Little table, vanish away!”

and everything disappeared in an instant. Two-Eyes now woke One-Eye and said, “One-Eye, you come to tend the goat and then fall asleep! The goat might have wandered anywhere in the meantime. Come, let us go home.” So they went home, and Two-Eyes once again left her little bowl untouched. One-Eye could not tell her mother why her sister would not eat, and could only excuse herself by saying, “I fell asleep out there.”

The next day the mother said to Three-Eyes, “This time you shall go with her and watch whether Two-Eyes eats out there, and whether anyone brings her food and drink, for she must be eating and drinking in secret.” So Three-Eyes went up to Two-Eyes and said, “I am coming with you to see whether the goat is properly tended and led to good pasture.” But Two-Eyes guessed what Three-Eyes had in mind. She drove the goat out into the tall grass and said, “Let us sit down here, Three-Eyes. I will sing you something.” Three-Eyes sat down, tired from the walk and the heat of the sun, and Two-Eyes began the same little song again, singing:

“Three-Eyes, are you waking?” But instead of singing, “Three-Eyes, are you sleeping?” as she ought to have done, she carelessly sang, “Two-Eyes, are you sleeping?”

and kept singing, “Three-Eyes, are you waking? Two-Eyes, are you sleeping?” Then two of Three-Eyes’ eyes closed and went to sleep, but the third did not fall asleep, because the little charm had not addressed it. Three-Eyes did close it, but only as a trick, as though that eye too were asleep; all the while she peeped through it and could see everything perfectly well. And when Two-Eyes thought Three-Eyes was fast asleep, she said her little charm:

“Little goat, bleat away! Little table, spread your array!” She ate and drank to her heart’s content, then ordered the little table to go away again: “Little goat, bleat away! Little table, vanish away!”

And Three-Eyes had seen it all. Then Two-Eyes came over, woke her, and said, “Well, Three-Eyes, have you fallen asleep? What a fine goatherd you are! Come, let us go home.” And when they reached home, Two-Eyes once again ate nothing, and Three-Eyes said to their mother, “Now I know why that haughty creature will not eat. When she says to the goat out in the fields:

‘Little goat, bleat away! Little table, spread your array!’ a little table stands before her, covered with the very best food, much better than anything we have here. And when she has had enough, she says:

‘Little goat, bleat away! Little table, vanish away!’ and everything disappears again. I watched it all very closely. She put two of my eyes to sleep with a little charm, but luckily the one on my forehead stayed awake.” Then the envious mother cried, “Do you mean to live better than we do? I shall put an end to your pleasure!” She fetched a butcher’s knife and thrust it into the goat’s heart, so that it fell down dead.

When Two-Eyes saw this, she went out full of sorrow, sat down on the grassy bank at the edge of the field, and wept bitter tears. Suddenly the wise woman stood beside her again and said, “Two-Eyes, why are you crying?” “How can I help crying?” she answered. “My mother has stabbed the goat to death, the goat that laid such a beautiful table for me every day when I said your little charm. Now I must suffer hunger and sorrow again.” The wise woman said, “Two-Eyes, I will give you some good advice. Ask your sisters to give you the entrails of the slaughtered goat, and bury them in the earth outside the front door. They will bring you good fortune.” Then she vanished, and Two-Eyes went home and said to her sisters, “Dear sisters, please give me something of my goat. I do not ask for anything good. Just give me the entrails!” They laughed and said, “You may have them, if that is all you want.” So Two-Eyes took the entrails and that evening, without a word to anyone, buried them outside the front door, as the wise woman had advised. The next morning, when they all woke and stepped outside, a wonderful, magnificent tree stood there. Its leaves were silver, and golden fruit hung among them, so that there could hardly have been anything more beautiful or more precious in all the wide world. They did not know how the tree had come there in the night; only Two-Eyes understood that it had grown from the goat’s entrails, for it stood in the very spot where she had buried them. Then the mother said to One-Eye, “Climb up, my child, and pick us some fruit from the tree!” One-Eye climbed up, but whenever she tried to grasp one of the golden apples, the branch slipped away from her hands. This happened every time, so that, try as she might, she could not pick a single apple. Then the mother said, “Three-Eyes, you climb up. With your three eyes you can look about you better than One-Eye.” One-Eye slid down, and Three-Eyes climbed up. But Three-Eyes was no more skillful, and however carefully she looked, the golden apples always drew back. At last the mother grew impatient and climbed up herself, but she could no more grasp the fruit than One-Eye or Three-Eyes, and her hands caught nothing but empty air. Then Two-Eyes said, “I will try climbing up. Perhaps I shall have better luck.” Her sisters cried, “You, with your two eyes! What do you think you can do?” But Two-Eyes climbed up, and the golden apples did not draw back from her. Instead, they lowered themselves into her hand, so that she could pick them one after another and bring down a whole apronful. Her mother took them from her, and instead of treating poor Two-Eyes better for it, she and One-Eye and Three-Eyes only grew jealous that she alone could gather the fruit, and treated her more harshly than ever.

One day, as they were standing together beside the tree, a young knight happened to ride past. “Quick, Two-Eyes,” cried the two sisters, “hide yourself, so that we need not be ashamed of you!” And in great haste they turned an empty barrel that stood beside the tree over poor Two-Eyes, and pushed the golden apples she had picked underneath it too. When the knight drew nearer, they saw that he was a handsome gentleman. He stopped, admired the magnificent tree of gold and silver, and said to the two sisters, “To whom does this beautiful tree belong? Anyone who gave me a branch from it could ask whatever they wished in return.” One-Eye and Three-Eyes answered that the tree belonged to them, and that they would gladly break off a branch for him. They both tried very hard, but they could not do it, for the branches and fruit drew back from them every time. Then the knight said, “How strange that the tree belongs to you, yet you have no power to break anything from it.” They insisted that the tree was their own. But while they were speaking, Two-Eyes rolled a few golden apples out from under the barrel, so that they came to rest at the knight’s feet, for she was angry that One-Eye and Three-Eyes were not telling the truth. When the knight saw the apples, he was astonished and asked where they had come from. One-Eye and Three-Eyes answered that they had another sister, but she must not show herself because she had only two eyes, like other common people. The knight, however, insisted on seeing her and called, “Two-Eyes, come out!” Then Two-Eyes came quite fearlessly out from under the barrel, and the knight marveled at her great beauty and said, “You, Two-Eyes, can surely break off a branch from the tree for me.” “Yes,” answered Two-Eyes, “I can certainly do that, for the tree belongs to me.” She climbed up, easily broke off a branch with delicate silver leaves and golden fruit, and handed it to the knight. Then the knight said, “Two-Eyes, what shall I give you in return?” “Oh,” answered Two-Eyes, “I suffer hunger and thirst, sorrow and hardship, from early morning until night. If you would take me away and deliver me from it all, I should be happy.” Then the knight lifted Two-Eyes onto his horse and took her home to his father’s castle. There he gave her beautiful clothes, and food and drink to her heart’s content; and because he loved her so dearly, he married her, and their wedding was celebrated with great joy.

When Two-Eyes was carried away by the handsome knight, her two sisters envied her good fortune more than ever. At least the wonderful tree is left to us, they thought. Even if we cannot pick any fruit from it, everyone will stop to look at it, come to us, and praise it. Who knows what good fortune may yet come our way! But the next morning their tree had vanished, and their hopes were gone. And when Two-Eyes looked out of her little chamber, there, to her great delight, stood the tree before it: it had followed her.

Two-Eyes lived happily for a long time. One day two poor women came to her at the castle and asked for alms. Two-Eyes looked into their faces and recognized her sisters, One-Eye and Three-Eyes, who had fallen into such poverty that they had to wander from door to door begging for bread. But Two-Eyes welcomed them, showed them kindness, and cared for them, so that both sincerely repented of the wrong they had done their sister in their youth.