Prevod

Once upon a time there lived an old queen whose husband had been dead for many years, and she had a beautiful daughter. When the girl grew up, she was promised to a prince in a distant land. Now, when the time came for her to be married and the child had to set out for the foreign kingdom, the old queen packed a great many precious vessels and jewels for her, gold and silver, cups and treasures—in short, everything that belonged in a royal dowry, for she loved her child with all her heart. She also sent a waiting-maid to ride with her and deliver the bride into the bridegroom’s care. Each was given a horse for the journey, but the princess’s horse was called Falada and could speak. When the hour of parting came, the old mother went into her bedchamber, took a little knife, and cut her fingers until they bled. Then she held a little white cloth beneath them and let three drops of blood fall onto it. She gave it to her daughter and said, “Dear child, keep these safe. You will have need of them on your journey.”

And so the two took a sorrowful leave of one another. The princess tucked the little cloth into her bosom, mounted her horse, and set off to her bridegroom. After they had ridden for an hour, she grew terribly thirsty and said to her waiting-maid, “Dismount and fetch me some water from the brook in the cup you brought for me. I should like a drink.” “If you are thirsty,” said the waiting-maid, “get down yourself, lie beside the water, and drink. I have no wish to be your servant.” In her great thirst, the princess dismounted, bent over the water in the brook, and drank, for she was not allowed to drink from her golden cup. Then she said, “Oh, God!” And the three drops of blood answered, “If your mother knew of this, her heart would break within her.” But the royal bride was meek, said nothing, and mounted her horse again. They rode on for several miles, but the day was warm, the sun beat down, and soon she was thirsty once more. When they came to a stream, she called again to her waiting-maid, “Dismount and give me a drink from my golden cup,” for she had long since forgotten all the cruel words. But the waiting-maid replied more haughtily still, “If you want a drink, get it yourself. I have no wish to be your servant.” So, in her great thirst, the princess dismounted, bent over the flowing water, wept, and said, “Oh, God!” And the drops of blood answered again, “If your mother knew of this, her heart would break within her.” As she drank, leaning far over the stream, the little cloth with the three drops fell from her bosom and floated away on the water, without her noticing in her distress. But the waiting-maid had seen it and rejoiced that she would now have power over the bride, for in losing the drops of blood, the princess had become weak and helpless. When she was about to mount her horse, whose name was Falada, the waiting-maid said, “Falada is for me, and my nag is for you.” And she had to submit. Then the waiting-maid harshly ordered her to take off her royal clothes and put on the maid’s shabby ones. Finally, she had to swear beneath the open sky that she would not tell a soul at the royal court what had happened; had she refused to take this oath, she would have been killed on the spot. But Falada saw everything and took careful note.

The waiting-maid now mounted Falada, and the true bride mounted the poor nag, and they rode on until at last they reached the royal castle. There was great rejoicing at their arrival, and the prince hurried out to meet them, lifted the waiting-maid from her horse, and thought she was his bride. She was led upstairs, while the true princess had to remain below. The old king looked out of the window and saw her waiting in the courtyard, and noticed how delicate, graceful, and very beautiful she was. He went straight to the royal chamber and asked the bride about the girl she had brought with her, who was standing down in the courtyard, and who she was.

“I picked her up along the way to keep me company. Give the girl some work so that she does not stand idle.” But the old king had no work for her and could think of nothing except to say, “I have a little boy who tends the geese. She can help him.” The boy was called Kürdchen (little Konrad), and the true bride had to help him tend the geese.

Soon afterward, the false bride said to the young king, “Dearest husband, I beg you, do me a favor!” He answered, “Gladly.” “Then send for the knacker and have the horse I rode here beheaded, for it vexed me on the journey.” In truth, she was afraid the horse might tell how she had treated the princess. Matters had gone so far that the order was to be carried out and faithful Falada was to die, when the true princess heard of it. She secretly promised the knacker a coin if he would do her a small service. There was a great, dark gateway in the town through which she had to pass with the geese every morning and evening. Would he nail Falada’s head beneath that dark gateway, so that she might still see him from time to time? The knacker’s man promised to do so, cut off the head, and nailed it beneath the dark gateway.

Early in the morning, as she and Kürdchen drove the geese out through the gateway, she said in passing, “O Falada, hanging there,” and the head answered:

“O young princess, passing by, if your mother knew of this, her heart would break within her.” Then she went quietly on out of the town, and they drove the geese into the fields. When she reached the meadow, she sat down and unbound her hair, which was pure gold. Kürdchen saw it and delighted in its gleam, and wanted to pull out a few strands. Then she said:

“Blow, blow, little breeze, take Kürdchen’s hat, if you please, and let him chase it here and there till I have braided up my hair and pinned it neatly in its place.” Then such a strong wind sprang up that it blew Kürdchen’s little hat far across the fields, and he had to run after it. By the time he returned, she had finished combing and pinning up her hair, and he could not get a single strand. Kürdchen was angry and would not speak to her, and so they tended the geese until evening, then went home.

The next morning, as they drove the geese out through the dark gateway, the maiden said, “O Falada, hanging there,” and Falada answered, “O young princess, passing by, if your mother knew of this, her heart would break within her.”

Out in the fields, she sat down in the meadow again and began to comb her hair. Kürdchen ran over and tried to seize it, but she quickly said:

“Blow, blow, little breeze, take Kürdchen’s hat, if you please, and let him chase it here and there till I have braided up my hair and pinned it neatly in its place.” Then the wind blew his little hat far from his head, so that Kürdchen had to run after it. When he returned, she had long since put her hair in order, and he could not get a single strand. And so they tended the geese until evening.

That evening, after they had come home, Kürdchen went before the old king and said, “I will not tend geese with that girl any longer!” “Why not?” asked the old king. “Because she vexes me all day long.” The old king told him to explain what happened when he was with her. Kürdchen said, “In the morning, when we take the flock through the dark gateway, there is a horse’s head on the wall, and she says to it:

‘Falada, hanging there,’ and the head answers, ‘O young princess, passing by, if your mother knew of this, her heart would break within her!’”

Then Kürdchen went on to tell what happened in the meadow where they tended the geese, and how he had to chase his hat in the wind. The old king told him to take the geese out again the next day, and when morning came, he himself hid behind the dark gateway and heard the girl speaking to Falada’s head. Then he followed her into the fields and hid in a bush in the meadow. Before long, he saw with his own eyes how the goose-girl came driving the flock, and how, after a while, she sat down and unbraided her shining hair. At once she said again:

“Blow, blow, little breeze, snatch Kürdchen’s hat, if you please, and let him chase it here and there till I have braided up my hair and pinned it neatly in its place.” A gust of wind came and carried Kürdchen’s hat away, so that he had a long way to run, while the girl quietly went on combing and braiding her locks. The old king watched it all. Then he went back unnoticed, and when the goose-girl came home that evening, he called her aside and asked why she did all these things. “I may not tell you, nor may I tell any human being of my sorrow, for I swore it beneath the open sky. Otherwise I would have lost my life.” He pressed her and gave her no peace, but could get nothing out of her. At last he said, “If you will tell me nothing, then tell that iron stove your troubles,” and went away. She crept into the iron stove, began to lament and weep, poured out her heart, and said, “Here I sit, forsaken by all the world, though I am a king’s daughter. A treacherous waiting-maid forced me to take off my royal clothes and took my place beside my bridegroom, while I must do menial work as a goose-girl. If my mother knew of this, her heart would break within her.” But the old king was standing outside by the stovepipe, listening, and heard everything she said. He came back into the room and bade her come out of the stove. Then she was dressed in royal robes, and her beauty seemed nothing short of a miracle. The old king summoned his son and told him that he had the false bride: she was only a waiting-maid, while the true bride stood here before him, the girl who had been tending geese. The young king was overjoyed at the sight of her beauty and goodness, and a great feast was prepared, to which all their people and good friends were invited. The bridegroom sat at the head of the table, with the princess on one side and the waiting-maid on the other. But the waiting-maid was so dazzled that she no longer recognized the princess in her splendid finery. When they had eaten and drunk and were in good spirits, the old king set the waiting-maid a riddle: what did a woman deserve who had deceived her master in such and such a way? He told the whole story and asked, “What punishment does she deserve?” The false bride said, “She deserves nothing better than to be stripped stark naked and put into a barrel studded inside with sharp nails. Then two white horses must be harnessed to it and drag her up and down the streets until she is dead.” “You are that woman,” said the old king, “and you have pronounced your own sentence. So it shall be done to you.” When the sentence had been carried out, the young king married his true bride, and together they ruled their kingdom in peace and happiness.