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Once upon a time, as never before, there was an emperor. This great and mighty emperor had defeated all the emperors round about and brought them under his rule, until the borders of his empire stretched to where the devil weaned his children. Every emperor he conquered was obliged to send him one of his sons to serve him for ten years. On the borders of his realm lived another emperor who, while he was young, had never let himself be beaten. Whenever calamity descended upon his country, he moved heaven and earth to save it from danger; but when old age overtook him, he too submitted to the great and mighty emperor, for he had no choice. He did not know which way to turn or what to do to fulfil that emperor’s demand that he send one of his sons to serve him, for he had no sons, only three daughters. And so he sat brooding. His greatest fear was that the emperor would think him spiteful and stubbornly unwilling to send a son, and would therefore come and seize his kingdom, leaving him and his daughters to die in misery, poverty, and disgrace. Seeing their father so troubled, the girls grew anxious too, and could not think what pleasure they might give him to cheer him. When they saw, day after day, that nothing pleased him, the eldest daughter took her courage in both hands and asked him one day at table why he was so unhappy. “Does our conduct displease you?” she said. “Or are Your Majesty’s subjects wicked and quarrelsome, and is that what causes you so much sorrow? Tell us too, Father, who is this viper that gives you no peace and poisons your old age? We promise to sacrifice even ourselves if that might ease your sorrow a little. For you alone, Father, are our comfort, as you know very well, and we have never disobeyed your word.” “That is true enough; I have nothing to complain of. You have never disobeyed me. But you, my dears, cannot soothe the grief that pierces my soul. You are girls, and only a son can deliver me from the trouble I am in.” “I do not understand,” said the eldest daughter, “why you hide the source of your sorrow from us. Tell us, Father, for I am ready to give my life for you.” “What could you do, my dears? Ever since you came into this world, you have handled the distaff, the needle, and the loom: you know how to spin, sew, and weave. Only a brave warrior can save me, one who knows how to swing a mace, wield a sword with might, and ride like a dragon.” “Father, tell us too, for surely no hole will open in the sky if we also know what is troubling you.” When the emperor saw how his daughters pressed him with their entreaties, he said, “Here, my children, is why I am always sad. You know that while I was young no one could lay hands on my kingdom without risking his head and going back in shame to wherever he had come from. Now this accursed old age has drained all my strength; my arm has grown feeble and can no longer brandish the broadsword so as to make the enemy tremble. My horse, whom I all but lost my life to win, has grown old too. He is a mangy creature now, barely dragging out his days. In former times, I had only to mount my brave Șoimulean and show myself before the enemy, and then you should have seen them! They quailed before my face. But today, what more can I tell you? You know that I have submitted to the greatest and mightiest emperor on the face of the earth. Now, in his kingdom it is the custom for all his vassals to send him a son to serve for ten years, and I have only you.” “I shall go, Father,” said the eldest daughter, “and I shall strive with all my strength to please you.” “I fear you will return without accomplishing anything. Who knows what trouble you may get into there, such that no one will ever be able to put it right again!” “All I know, Father, and all I promise, is that I shall not bring shame upon you.” “If that is so, make ready and go.” When the girl heard that her father was giving her leave to set out, she was beside herself with joy. She put everything in order for the journey, turning on her heel as she gave commands and arranged her travelling gear. She chose the finest horse in the imperial stables, the most splendid and costly clothes, and enough provisions to last her a whole year. When her father saw her ready to leave, he gave her fatherly advice on how to behave and how to keep anyone from discovering that she was a girl. He taught her everything a brave young man entering such exalted service ought to know, and how to keep clear of gossip and intrigue, lest the other emperors’ sons should dislike and slight her. Then he said, “Go with God, my daughter, and remember my counsel.” The girl shot out of the courtyard like lightning; her joy scarcely let her feet touch the ground, and in a moment she was out of sight. Had she not stopped farther on to wait for her boyars and the carts of provisions, they would have lost their way, for they could not keep up with her. Meanwhile, the emperor went ahead of her by another road, towards the edge of his kingdom, without her knowing. He at once set a copper bridge in place, turned himself into a wolf, and hid beneath it. Just as his daughter was about to cross, he suddenly sprang out from under the bridge, baring his teeth and snapping them so fearfully that the sight chilled the blood. He stared straight at her with eyes that blazed like two torches, and rushed at her to tear her to pieces. The girl, whose blood had frozen with fright, lost her wits, and had her horse not leapt aside, the wolf would have sunk his claws into her. She took to her heels and fled home. Her father, who had returned before her, came out to meet her and said, “Did I not tell you, my daughter, that not every fly makes honey?” “That is true, Father, but I did not know that in going to serve an emperor I should also have to fight wild and rabid beasts.” “If that is so,” said the emperor, “stay at home and tend your spindles and bobbins, and may God have mercy on me and not let me die in disgrace.” Not long afterwards, the middle daughter also asked to go, pledging to put all her strength into fulfilling the service she was taking upon herself. After many entreaties and promises, her father relented and let her go too. But she fared just as her elder sister had, and when her father met her on her return, he said, “Well, my daughter, did I not tell you that not everything that flies is fit to eat?” “Indeed you did, Father, but that wolf was so dreadful! How he opened his jaws, as if to swallow me in a single gulp! And how he stared at me, with eyes that seemed to shoot arrows straight into my heart!” “Then stay at home,” replied the emperor, “and see to the broom handle and the vegetables in the kitchen.” More time passed, and one day, as they sat at table, the youngest daughter said to her father, “Father, let me try too. Please let me go and try my luck.” “Since your elder sisters could not manage it, I wonder how you can even think of offering yourself, when you scarcely know how to eat your maize porridge.” And he tried every means he could to put her off going, but in vain. “For love of you, Father,” she said again, “I shall move heaven and earth to succeed. But if God stands against me, I shall come back to you, and without shame.” Her father still objected and hesitated, but his daughter overcame him with her entreaties. At last the emperor said, “If that is how it must be, then I give you leave as well. Let us see what good you will do me. How I shall laugh to see you come back with your head hanging!” “You will laugh, Father, as you laughed at my sisters, without their being any the less worthy of honour.” Once the emperor’s daughter saw that her father had given her permission, she first considered which of the old boyars she should take as her counsellor. In the meantime, she remembered her father’s brave deeds in his youth, and his horse. So she went to the stables to choose a horse for herself. She looked at one, then another; she looked at all the horses in the stables, but none caught her fancy, though they were the finest stallions and horses in the whole empire. At last she came upon the horse her father had ridden in his youth, mangy, covered in sores, and lying on his side. As soon as she saw him, she gazed at him with pity and seemed unable to bring herself to leave him. Seeing this, the horse said to her, “It must be your love for the emperor, my mistress, that makes you look at me so tenderly. What a brave young fellow he was in his youth! Many were the victories we won together. But since he grew old, no one else has ridden me. And if you see me so wasted away, it is because there is no one to feed me as he did. Why, if someone were to tend me as I need, in ten days I should be such a horse that I would not trade places with ten like these.” Then the girl said, “And how must you be tended?” “I must be washed every day in freshly drawn water, fed barley boiled in fresh milk so that I can chew it, and given a bushel of glowing embers each day.” “If I knew you would help me accomplish what I have set my heart on, I would almost be willing to do as you say.” “Mistress,” said the horse, “put it to the test, and you will not be sorry.” For the horse was enchanted. The emperor’s daughter tended him exactly as he had told her. On the tenth day, the horse gave himself a single shake and became handsome, round and sleek as a melon, and nimble as a roe deer. Then, looking joyfully at the emperor’s daughter, he said, “May God grant you good fortune and victory, my mistress, for you have cared for me and made me once more what I longed to be. Tell me what troubles you, and command me what I must do.” “I wish to go and serve the great and mighty emperor, our neighbour, and I need someone to advise me. Tell me which of the boyars I should choose.” “If you go with me,” the horse told her, “you need not worry: you need no one else. I shall serve you as I served your father. Only heed what I say.” “If that is so, we shall leave three days from today.” “This very moment, if you command it,” the horse replied. When the emperor’s daughter heard this, she put everything in order for the journey. She chose clean clothes, but without finery, and, coming before her father, said, “God be with you, Father, and may I find you in good health when I return!” “A safe journey, my daughter,” her father said. “Whatever else may happen, never forget the counsel I have given you. And in every difficulty, let your thoughts remain fixed on God, from whom all goodness and all help come to us.” After promising to do so, the girl set off. As he had done with the other girls, her father took another road and went ahead of her, set the copper bridge in place once more, and waited there for her. On the way, the horse told the girl what tricks her father was using to test her courage, and advised her what to do to come through with honour. When she reached the bridge, he rushed at her.

a wolf with wild, bulging eyes that sent a chill through her bones, a great maw and a tongue like a rabid beast’s, baring and snapping its fangs as though it had not eaten for a month. Just as it was about to sink in its tearing claws, the girl dug her heels into her horse and charged at the wolf, sword in hand, to hack it to pieces. Had the wolf not leapt aside, she would have cleaved it in two, for she was in deadly earnest: she had put her faith in God and meant, come what might, to carry out the task she had undertaken. She crossed the bridge as proudly as any warrior. Her father marvelled at her courage, then took another way and hurried far ahead of her, set up a silver bridge, turned himself into a lion, and waited there. The horse told the girl what lay ahead and taught her how to overcome this trial too. As soon as she reached the silver bridge, the lion sprang out before her, its jaws gaping wide enough to swallow her, horse and all, its fangs like ivory tusks and its claws like sickles. It roared so loudly that the forests shook and the plains rang with the sound. The mere sight of its head, as big as a bushel measure, and its bristling, upstanding mane would have frozen anyone with fear. But the emperor’s daughter, heartened by her horse, charged straight at it with her naked sword in her hand, and had the lion not fled beneath the bridge, she would have quartered it. Then she crossed the bridge, thanking God and little knowing what else awaited her. The emperor’s daughter, who had not been beyond the house since the day her mother bore her, marvelled at the beauty of the countryside and would stop in wonder to gaze at it. Now she longed to dismount and gather a handful of flowers from the multitude that covered the valleys and hills, flowers she had never seen before; now she wished to rest in the shade of some tall, leafy tree, where thousands of birds sang songs so tender they could have lulled you to sleep; and then she wanted to go to a spring of water clear as a tear, welling from a rocky crag on a hillside. The murmur of these springs made her gaze at them dreamily, and she loved to watch their winding courses slipping over the earth among countless little flowers and the fresh green of spring. But through it all the horse encouraged her and urged her onward, telling her to mind her journey. Warriors, he said, did not pause over such things until they had brought their business to a successful end. He also told her that her father had one more trap in store for her, and taught her how to emerge victorious this time too. The girl listened with all her ears and did as the horse advised, for she had seen that all his counsel served her well, and she never strayed from his word. As before, her father took another way and went ahead of her, set up a golden bridge, turned himself into a great twelve-headed dragon, and hid beneath it. When the girl came to cross, he sprang out before her, lashing his tail and coiling his body. Flames poured from his mouths, and his tongues darted like burning arrows. At the sight of so dreadful a creature, a shudder seized the girl and her hair stood on end with fright. The horse, sensing at once that her courage was failing, heartened her again and reminded her of what he had taught her. The emperor’s daughter took heart, gathered the reins in her left hand, dug in her heels, and charged at the dragon with her sword in her right. For an hour the battle lasted. The horse kept manoeuvring so that she could strike from the side and cut off one of the heads, but her enemy defended himself well. At last the girl succeeded in wounding the dragon. Then he turned three somersaults and became a man. The girl could scarcely believe her eyes when she saw her father standing before her. He took her in his arms, kissed her forehead, and said, “I see you are brave, my daughter, and you did well to take this horse, for without him you would have turned back like your sisters. I have every hope that you will successfully carry out the task you have freely undertaken. Only remember my advice, and never disregard the words of the horse you have chosen. May we meet again in good health!” “May God hear you, Father,” the girl replied, “and may I find you well.” Then she kissed her father’s hand, and they parted. After travelling a long, long way, she came to some great, lofty mountains. Among them she found two ogres who had been fighting for nine years, neither able to overcome the other. It was a struggle to the death. As soon as they saw her, taking her for a young warrior, one cried, “Făt-Frumos, Făt-Frumos, come and rid me of this enemy of mine, and perhaps one day I too may be of service to you!” The other cried in his turn, “Făt-Frumos, Făt-Frumos, come and save me from this loathsome enemy, and I shall give you a horse without equal for swiftness, whose name is Galben-de-Soare.” The girl asked her horse which of the two she should save. He told her to save the one who had promised Galben-de-Soare, for that horse was even more capable than he was, being his younger brother. At once the girl charged the other ogre with her sword and cut him in two with a single blow. Seeing himself delivered, the ogre embraced his rescuer and thanked her. Then they went to his home, so that he could give Făt-Frumos Galben-de-Soare, as he had promised. The ogre’s mother was beside herself with joy when she saw her son alive, and could not do enough to thank Făt-Frumos for saving her child from death. The emperor’s daughter said that she wished to rest after her wearisome journey. They gave her a chamber and left her alone. Pretending that she wished to tend her horse, she asked him whether anything was likely to happen to her, and the horse told her what she must do. The ogre’s mother suspected some trick was afoot. She told her son that the warrior who had saved him from danger must be a girl, and that he could do no better than marry so brave a maiden. Her son said he could never believe such a thing, for no woman’s hand could wield a sword as skilfully as Făt-Frumos did. Then the ogre’s mother said she would put the matter to the test. That evening she placed a bunch of flowers at the head of each of their beds: the one whose flowers withered would be a man, while the one whose flowers stayed fresh would be a woman. Following her horse’s advice, the emperor’s daughter rose in the night, towards dawn, when sleep is sweetest, and crept on tiptoe into the ogre’s chamber. She left her bunch of flowers there, took his, and, placing it at the head of her own bed, lay down and slept soundly. In the morning, as soon as the ogre’s mother rose, she hurried to her son’s room and saw the withered flowers. When the emperor’s daughter had risen too, she went to her room; but though she saw that those flowers had also withered, she still would not believe the stranger was a young man. She told her son that he could not possibly be a man: words flowed from his lips like honey, his figure was so delicate you could have drunk him in a little cup of water, his fine, thick hair fell in waves over his shoulders, and his face had an irresistible charm. Those great, beautiful, lively eyes that could make you lovesick, that tiny hand, that little foot like a fairy’s—in short, everything about him could belong only to a girl, however she might hide beneath a warrior’s clothes. So they decided to make another trial. After they had exchanged their morning greetings, as was the custom, the ogre took the girl into the garden. There he showed her all the kinds of flowers he had and invited her to smell them. The emperor’s daughter remembered the horse’s advice and, seeing through the trick, said rather sharply that he had brought her into the garden first thing in the morning as though she were a woman, to waste empty words praising his flowers, when they ought first to have gone to the stables to see how the horses were cared for. The ogre reported this to his mother, but even now she could not believe the stranger was a young man. At last she agreed with her son that they should make one more trial. She told him to take Făt-Frumos into the armoury and invite him to choose something there. If he chose one of the weapons set with precious stones, they would know for certain that he was a girl. After dinner the ogre took Făt-Frumos into the armoury. Weapons of every kind were skilfully arranged there, some adorned with jewels and others plain and unadorned. The emperor’s daughter looked over and tested almost all of them, then chose a rather rusty sword whose blade could bend into a ring. Afterwards she told the ogre and his mother that she wished to leave the following day. When the ogre’s mother heard what sort of weapon she had chosen, she was beside herself at being unable to discover the truth. She told her son that, though the stranger’s behaviour made him seem a young man, he was a girl all the same, and an exceedingly cunning one at that. Seeing that there was nothing else to be done, they went to the stable and gave her Galben-de-Soare. The emperor’s daughter took her leave and went on her way. While they were still on the road, pressing onward, her horse said, “Master, until now you have listened to me in everything, and all has gone well. Listen to me this time too, and you will not go wrong. I am growing old, and I fear I may stumble. Take my brother Galben-de-Soare and continue your journey with him. Trust him as you have trusted me, and you will not regret it. He is much younger and nimbler than I, and, like me, he will teach you what to do in times of need.” “It is true that I have succeeded whenever I have listened to you. Yet if I did not know how faithfully you served my father, I would not listen to you now. Still, I shall trust your brother as I trust you, once he has shown me that he wishes me well.” “Trust me, master,” said Galben-de-Soare, “for I shall be proud to carry so brave a maiden as you. I shall do my utmost to keep you from feeling my brother’s absence, and at the same time spare the poor fellow, old as he is, the hardships and dangers of the journey you mean to make. For I must tell you, whether you wish to know it or not, that you will meet with many trials and face many dangers. But with God’s help, and if you listen to me, you will overcome them all and bring everything to a happy end.” Then the emperor’s daughter mounted Galben-de-Soare and parted from her horse in tears. On and on they travelled, a long, long way, until the emperor’s daughter caught sight of a golden tress of hair. She stopped the horse and asked whether she should take it or leave it where it lay. The horse replied, “If you take it, you will regret it; if you do not take it, you will regret that too. But you had better take it.” The girl picked it up, tucked it into her bosom, and rode on. They crossed hills, mountains, and valleys, leaving behind them thick green forests, fields of flowers such as the girl had never seen, and springs of clear, cold water, until they reached the court of the great and mighty emperor. The other emperors’ sons who served there came out to meet her. They could scarcely tear themselves away, so charming were both her speech and her face. The next day she appeared before the emperor and told him why she had come. The emperor was overjoyed that so handsome and gracious a young warrior had arrived. He was greatly pleased with the answers to his questions; it was plain to see that the young man spoke with wisdom and respect. Finding him so sensible, the emperor grew fond of him and kept him close at hand. The emperor’s daughter could not make friends with all the other emperors’ sons, for most of them were arrogant, idle, and dissolute. They resented her for this, and because they saw that the emperor looked kindly on her, they bore her a bitter grudge. One day she had cooked her own food and was sitting at table when two of the other emperors’ sons came to visit. They all sat down and ate together. The two princes enjoyed the dishes so much that they licked their fingers as they ate. They praised her skill in cooking and said that never in their lives had they eaten such good food. When they met the other emperors’ sons, they told them that they had dined with the newly arrived prince, that they had eaten better than the emperor himself, and that their host had cooked everything with his own hands. Then all the emperors’ sons pressed her to cook for them one day. As it happened, that very day the court cooks had got drunk, or done goodness knows what, for there was not even a fire lit on the hearth. So, after much urging, she set to work and prepared some marvellous dishes. When they were served at the emperor’s table, he could not eat his fill. The next time he called for the cook and ordered him to prepare the same sort of food, the cook told him who had cooked that day. The emperor fell into thought. Then the emperors’ sons came and told him that, at a feast they had all held together, the newly arrived prince had boasted that he knew where to find Ileana Simziana, she of the golden tress, at whose coming the fields grow green and the flowers bloom, and that he had a lock of her hair. On hearing this, the emperor ordered him to be summoned and said at once, “You knew of Ileana Simziana and told me nothing, although I have shown you affection and honoured you above all the others.” He asked for the lock of hair, and after examining it said, “Know that it is my imperial command that you bring me the owner of this tress. If not, your head shall lie where your feet now stand.” The poor emperor’s daughter tried to say something in her defence, but the emperor cut her short. Then she went and told her horse what had happened. “Do not be afraid, mistress,” the horse told her. “Only last night my brother brought me word that the owner of the tress has been carried off by an ogre. She will not hear of loving him until he brings her herd of mares, and the ogre is racking his brains over how to fulfil her wish. She is now in the marshes by the seas. Go to the emperor and ask him to give you twenty ships, and load them with the finest merchandise.” The emperor’s daughter did not wait to be told twice, but went straight to the emperor. “Long life to you, illustrious emperor, and honour to your face! I have come to tell you that I shall carry out the task you have given me if you will provide twenty ships and money to buy the finest and costliest merchandise to load aboard them.” “Let it be as you say, only bring me Ileana Simziana,” the emperor replied. As soon as the ships were ready, they loaded them with goods. The emperor’s daughter and Galben-de-Soare boarded the finest of them and set sail. Neither winds nor waves could stand in their way, and after a voyage of several weeks they reached the marshes by the seas. There they stopped. The emperor’s daughter and Galben-de-Soare went ashore and wandered along the coast, taking with them from the ship a pair of slippers embroidered with fine thread and adorned with precious stones. As they walked, they caught sight of a palace that turned with the sun, and made their way towards it. On the road they met three of the ogre’s serving women, who watched over Ileana Simziana. The moment the women saw the slippers, they could not take their eyes off them. The emperor’s daughter told them she was a merchant who had lost his way at sea. The women returned and told their mistress what they had seen. She herself had glimpsed the merchant from the window, and the instant she saw him her heart began to beat faster, though she did not know why. She would have been only too glad to escape the ogre, especially as he was away just then, having been sent to fetch her herd of mares. After listening to the serving women, she went to the merchant, who was waiting at the gate, to see the slippers for herself. But when she heard that he had still finer and costlier wares aboard his ship, she yielded to his entreaties and agreed to go and look at them. Once aboard, she was so busy choosing among the goods that she did not notice the oarsmen pulling away from shore. God granted them a favourable wind, and the ships sped like arrows. When she found herself out in the middle of the sea, Ileana Simziana pretended to be distressed and began reproaching the merchant for having deceived her, while in her heart she prayed to God to help her escape that monstrous ogre. They reached the shore safely, but what should they see! The ogre’s she-devil of a mother, having heard from the serving women that a merchant had stolen Ileana and was carrying her away in his ships, had set off in pursuit. As they reached land, they saw her coming after them like a lioness, with one jaw in the heavens and the other on the earth, and flames pouring from her mouth as from a furnace. The moment Ileana Simziana saw her, she knew it was the ogre’s dreadful mother. She told the merchant, with whom she was riding on Galben-de-Soare, and began to weep bitterly. The emperor’s daughter asked Galben-de-Soare what she should do, for the flames from the ogress’s mouth were scorching her. He replied, “Put your hand into my left ear, take the whetstone you find there, and throw it behind you.” The emperor’s daughter did so. Then they galloped away, while behind them a mountain of stone suddenly rose as high as the sky. The ogre’s mother contrived to cross it, clambering from crag to crag, and then how she came after them! Seeing that she was about to catch them, Ileana Simziana told the merchant. After consulting the horse, the merchant took a brush from his right ear and threw it behind them. At once a great forest sprang up, so dense that not even a young wild beast could have passed through it. The ogre’s mother gnawed through the trees, clung to the branches, leapt from treetop to treetop, and forced her way through, still pursuing them like a whirlwind. When they saw that once again she was catching up, the emperor’s daughter asked the horse what to do. He told her to take the betrothal ring from Ileana Simziana’s finger and throw it behind them. The instant she threw it, a wall of flint rose to the sky. Leaving the carcass to the crows and magpies, they travelled on until they reached the place where the herd was kept. There the horse told the emperor’s daughter to climb a nearby tree and watch their battle. Once she was in the tree, Galben-de-Soare neighed three times, and the whole herd of mares gathered around him. Then, all at once, the mares’ stallion appeared, covered in foam and snorting with rage. Seeing Galben-de-Soare among the mares, he charged furiously at him, and such a battle began as God preserve you from witnessing! Whenever the stallion attacked Galben-de-Soare, he bit into buffalo hides; but whenever Galben-de-Soare attacked the stallion, he bit into living flesh. They fought and fought until the stallion, torn and mangled from head to hoof and streaming with blood, was overcome and defeated. Galben-de-Soare, meanwhile, had escaped unharmed, for it was the buffalo hides that had been torn to shreds. Then the girl climbed down from the tree, mounted, and drove the herd before her, while the stallion could barely drag himself along behind. After bringing the herd into the emperor’s courtyard, she went to tell him. Ileana Simziana came out and called them by name. The moment the stallion heard her voice, he shook himself and became as he had been before, without a trace of a wound. Ileana Simziana told the emperor to have someone milk her mares, so that the two of them could bathe. But who could go near them? They lashed out with their hooves, smashing whatever they struck. When no one could do it, the emperor once again ordered the emperor’s daughter to milk them. Her heart was crushed with sorrow and resentment at always being given the hardest tasks. Yet, being pure in her thoughts, she prayed faithfully to God to help her bring this task too to a happy end. Then such a downpour began that it seemed as though water were being poured from buckets. Soon it reached the mares’ knees, and then a frost came and froze them fast, so that they could no longer stir. Seeing this miracle, the emperor’s daughter first thanked God for the help he had given her, then went and milked the mares.

The emperor was melting with love for Ileana Simziana and gazed at her as though she were a tree laden with ripe cherries. But she scarcely took any notice of him, and with one excuse after another kept putting off the wedding from day to day. At last she said, “Illustrious emperor, everything I have asked for has been granted. We need only one thing more, and then, you may be certain, we shall be married.” “My little dove,” the emperor replied, “my empire and I are the obedient servants of your wishes. Ask whatever else you desire, and quickly, for I am wasting away with love for you. I have become like a madman; I dream with my eyes open and no longer know what I am doing when I gaze into those beautiful, languishing eyes of yours.” “If that is so,” Ileana Simziana went on, “bring me the vessel of baptismal water kept in a little church beyond the River Jordan, and then we shall be married.” As soon as the emperor heard this, he summoned the emperor’s daughter once again and ordered her, by whatever means she could devise, to bring him what Ileana Simziana had demanded. The emperor’s daughter went straight to Galben-de-Soare and told him. He replied, “This is the last and hardest task you have left to do. But put your hope in God, mistress, for the emperor’s measure too is full.” They made ready and set out. The horse knew all about these things, for his wondrous powers were no mere trifle. He told the emperor’s daughter, “That vessel of baptismal water stands on a table in the middle of a little church, guarded by nuns. They sleep neither by day nor by night. From time to time, however, a hermit comes to instruct them in the holy things of the Lord. While they are listening to his teaching, only one remains on watch. If we can arrive at just that moment, all will be well; otherwise, who knows how long we may have to wait, for there is no other way.”

So they went on, crossed the River Jordan, and came to the little church. Luckily, the hermit had just arrived and summoned all the nuns to their devotions. Only one had remained on guard, and, weary from her long vigil, she had fallen asleep. Yet lest anything untoward should happen, she had lain down across the doorway, thinking that no one could enter without her knowing. Galben-de-Soare told the emperor’s daughter how to get hold of the baptismal vessel. The maiden crept softly along the wall on tiptoe until she reached the door. There she sprang over the threshold as lightly as a cat, without so much as touching the sleeping nun; then she seized the vessel, slipped out the way she had come, mounted her horse, and away she went. The nun stirred, leapt to her feet, and, seeing that the vessel was gone, began to wail so bitterly that it would have wrung your heart to hear her. At once the other nuns gathered round and lamented the calamity that had befallen them. When the hermit saw that the baptismal vessel was lost to him, he looked after the emperor’s daughter as she sped away on Galben-de-Soare, raised his hands to heaven, and, falling to his knees, cursed her, saying, “Lord, holy Lord! Grant that the evildoer who dared lay an unclean hand upon the sacred baptismal vessel may become a woman if he is a man, and a man if she is a woman!” The hermit’s prayer was answered at once. The emperor’s daughter became a young man so handsome that it was a joy merely to look at him. When he reached the emperor, the emperor marvelled and scarcely knew what to believe, for he noticed the change: the youth seemed different from when he had set out, more handsome now and more stately. As he handed over the vessel, he said, “Great Emperor, I have carried out the tasks you entrusted to me. I believe my work is now done. May you reign in peace for as long as the Lord in His mercy wills.” “I am pleased with your service,” said the emperor. “May all go well with you! By bringing me this vessel, you have gladdened my eyes. Know that after my death you shall ascend the throne of my empire, for as yet I have no heir. And if God grants me a son, you shall be his right hand.” All the counsellors and princes were present when the emperor spoke these words. When Ileana Simziana saw this wish of hers fulfilled as well, she resolved to take revenge upon the emperor for sending her handsome youth on all those perilous errands, any one of which might have cost him his life. She had thought that the emperor himself would go to fetch her the baptismal vessel, since he could have done so more easily, with everyone bound to obey his commands. She ordered the bath to be heated, so that she and the emperor might bathe together in the milk of her mares. Once she had entered the bath, she commanded that her stallion be brought to breathe cool air upon them. When he came, the stallion breathed coolness towards her through one nostril, but through the other he blew scorching air towards the emperor, until the very marrow boiled in his bones and he fell dead on the spot. There was a great stir throughout the empire when news spread of the mighty emperor’s death. People gathered from every quarter and gave him a funeral befitting an emperor. Afterwards Ileana Simziana said to Făt-Frumos, “You brought me here, you brought me my herd of horses, you killed the dragon who had carried me away, and you brought me the baptismal vessel. You shall be my husband. Come, let us bathe and be wed.” “I shall marry you, if you choose me,” answered Făt-Frumos, “but you must know that in our house I mean the cock to crow, not the hen.” They agreed and went into the bath. Ileana called her stallion to warm the milk in which they were to bathe. The new emperor also called Galben-de-Soare. And so the two horses vied with one another to make the bath just warm enough for their master and mistress, neither too hot nor too cool. After they had bathed, they were married the very next day, and then ascended the imperial throne. The festivities lasted three weeks, and everyone rejoiced that God had given them so valiant an emperor, who had performed so many great deeds. He ruled justly and in the fear of God, protecting the poor and oppressing no one; and they are reigning still to this very day, unless they have died. I was there too, gaping from outside at all the festivities, for there was never any question of inviting me; and, as everyone knows, an uninvited guest has no seat. Then I mounted a saddle, and told you the tale just so.