Prevod

Once upon a time there was an emperor renowned throughout the world, so just and wise was he. Whenever disputes arose among the neighboring rulers, they went first to this emperor for judgment, and whatever he decreed was done, for he was a righteous judge and a lover of peace. As he drew near old age, God blessed him with a son. Words cannot tell the emperor’s joy when he saw that he had an heir. All the neighboring emperors sent him gifts. They, too, rejoiced greatly that their neighbor, who helped them with such useful counsel and advice, had been granted a son. When the boy was old enough, his father set him to learning his letters. He was so diligent that his teachers marveled at how quickly he learned. What other children learned in a year, he learned in a single week. At last his teachers had nothing more to teach him. Then his father sent imperial letters to certain famous philosophers, bidding them come and test his son with their learning. At the emperor’s court there was, at that time, a celebrated huntsman, and while they waited for the philosophers to arrive, the emperor entrusted his son to this man to learn his craft. When the philosophers came, the boy learned from them everything under the sun. His father’s joy was boundless when he saw that his son would be more accomplished than any other emperor’s son, and he gazed upon him as upon the sun itself. The older the prince grew, the wiser and more handsome he became. Throughout his father’s empire and the neighboring realms, people spoke of nothing but the young prince’s wisdom and beauty. Before he was old enough even to twirl his little mustache, offers of marriage and dowry agreements came pouring in from all manner of emperors who wished to give him their daughters. But he had no wish to marry so young. One day, while out hunting, he saw a turtledove that kept fluttering into his path. He felt too much pity to hunt it; he was after larger game, for he feared no danger and was a brave and skillful hunter. At last, however, when he saw that it would not stop crossing his path, he drew his bow and loosed an arrow. He was greatly astonished that he, so fine a marksman, had failed to kill it, merely wounding its wing a little. Wounded as it was, the bird flew away and vanished from sight. As soon as the turtledove was gone, he felt his heart begin to throb, though he knew neither how nor why. When he returned home, he remained rather downcast. Seeing his son’s health begin to fail, the emperor asked what troubled him, but the prince replied that nothing was wrong. That turtledove was the fairy of the mountains, who had fallen in love with his beauty. She thought it unwise to appear before him in her true form, lest she give herself away, and so she had changed into a turtledove and kept fluttering into his path. Yet she did not know how to contrive a meeting with the emperor’s son. A few days after the prince returned from the hunt, a young woman came to the imperial court seeking work as a servant. As they happened to need someone to tend the poultry, she was taken on. The cleanliness of the imperial coops and the care she lavished on the hens and all the other fowl soon became the talk of the court. The empress was so pleased that every day she had some kind word to say to the emperor about this poor young woman’s diligence. She even began to consider how she might improve the unfortunate girl’s lot. Hearing so much praise of the poultry maid, the emperor’s son wished to see her. One day, when the empress went to inspect the hens and look over the coops, her son accompanied her to see them for himself.

As soon as the poultry maid saw the emperor’s son, she cast him a glance so tender and so full of love, yet so modest, that the young prince was somewhat abashed, though he kept his composure. He felt his cheeks burn; a cold sweat swept over him, and his heart began to beat as though it would burst his breast. He could not understand what was happening to him. He lowered his eyes, said not a word, and returned to his rooms. The whole imperial court thought well of the poultry maid for her diligence and cleanliness. She treated all the servants with courtesy, and no one dared so much as tell her to move aside, for she gave them no occasion for familiarity. Now it happened that the son of a neighboring emperor was to be married, and this emperor and his entire court were invited to the wedding. Full of joy, the emperor went, taking the empress and his son with him. On the day of the marriage ceremony, the poultry maid asked the steward’s leave to go out for a walk. The steward laughed a little and said, “What does a bald man need? Why, a cap of pearls!” Then he let her go. Swallowing the insult, she said nothing and departed. The emperor was beside himself with delight to see how, among so many princes and noblemen, his own son stood out for his beauty and wisdom. Every emperor’s daughter wished to dance beside him in the hora. Suddenly a maiden arrived at the wedding wearing clothes finer than those of any emperor’s daughter there. Her hair, skillfully braided and falling down her back, reached her calves, and she was so beautifully formed that every eye rested upon her. Without further ado, she joined the dance beside the emperor’s son, and beside him alone she danced until evening drew near. They talked and laughed and told one another all manner of things, though somewhat discreetly, for the prince felt shy about laughing and talking so freely before his father. Besides, all the other princes were nudging him, having noticed that the unknown maiden danced only beside him. The emperor’s son was no longer himself. He marveled at the change he felt within him, but dared tell no one. He resolved that during the last dance he would ask the unknown maiden who she was, where she came from, and whether she was a maiden or a married woman; and he thought that, if she had no husband, he would ask for her hand. But suddenly she vanished like a vision. The emperor’s son was left bewildered. He returned home, but his thoughts remained with her. Seeing him so pensive and sad, his father no longer knew what to do to cheer him. Then they were invited to another imperial wedding, and the emperor went with the empress and his son. As at the first wedding, the prince danced with the beautiful unknown maiden, who had come to this wedding too and joined the hora beside him. After much questioning, he learned from her that she lived in the very direction of his father’s empire; she all but told him that she lived in his own household. Then the emperor’s son promised to take her home if she was alone, and she agreed. But just as the wedding festivities were about to end, she vanished from his side in the dance. So the emperor and his family returned home, but their son was wasting away before their eyes, and no one knew why. A rumor spread that the emperor’s son had fallen in love with a fairy, but before his father he protested that he knew nothing of any such thing. All the healers and readers of the stars were summoned, yet none could discover the malady from which he suffered. One of them even feared that his illness might grow worse. Meanwhile, the emperor was invited to yet another imperial wedding. He did not wish to go, for his heart was not in merry-making, and his son’s condition weighed more heavily upon him. But when he saw how earnestly the young man pleaded, he granted his wish. The prince ordered some of his trusted servants to keep several cauldrons of pitch at hand, to boil it on the wedding day, and, toward evening, to spread it over the road. Having arranged all this, he went to the wedding. No sooner had the hora begun than the beautiful unknown maiden appeared as though out of thin air and once again took her place beside him. This time she was more splendidly dressed than ever; you might have looked at the sun, but not at her. The emperor’s son danced and gazed at her as at a ripe cherry. Once more he questioned her, and once more she gave him evasive answers. Again she promised to let him take her home. But toward evening, during the very last dance, she vanished from his side like an enchanted being. Words cannot tell how deeply he grieved. He took to his bed and lay there suffering, and no one could help him. His father would have given untold riches to anyone who could cure his child. Then the prince’s trusted servants arrived with a slipper. When the fairy had stepped into the pitch, she had preferred to leave her slipper behind rather than be delayed. The prince at once sent his servants from house to house, ordering them to have every woman try on the slipper; the one whom it fitted would be his wife. His father, too, agreed to this decision. So the servants set off and searched the whole empire. Every woman tried on the slipper, but it fitted none of them. When the emperor’s son heard this, he grew still more ill. Then he ordered that the women of the imperial household should try it on as well. It fitted none of them. Only the poultry maid remained, for they had forgotten her; but the empress remembered her and ordered her to try on the slipper too. When she drew it over her heel, it was as though it had always belonged there. It fitted her foot perfectly. She began to lament and deny that the slipper was hers. As soon as the emperor’s son heard the news, he ordered her to be brought before him, and the moment he saw her he cried, “This is she, Mother!” Though she continued to deny it, at last, pressed by the entreaties of the emperor, the empress, and their son, she confessed that she was the owner of the slipper. Then she told them that she was a fairy, that she had fallen in love with him when she saw him out hunting, and that the turtledove he had wounded had been none other than herself. If she had not shown herself to him as she truly was, it was because, should she marry a mortal man, all her fairy powers would be lost. She told them, too, that she had entered their service as a poultry maid so that she might see him more often, and that everything she had done had been for love of him alone. After this she went out onto the steps and clapped her hands three times. At once a little carriage appeared, drawn by no horses. From it she took her dowry, a wealth of precious things; then, with tears streaming from her eyes, she turned to the emperor’s son and said, “See, for love of you I give up my fairy powers. Only love me as I love you.” She sent the little carriage away and remained beside the emperor’s son, who soon regained his health. Then they held a wedding such as only emperors can hold, and after his father’s death they succeeded to the throne of the empire. And they reign to this day, if they have not died. And I climbed into the saddle, and so on.