Prevod

Once upon a time there was a tailor who had three sons and only one goat. But since the goat fed them all with her milk, she had to have good fodder and be taken out to pasture every day. The sons took turns doing this. One day the eldest took her to the churchyard, where the finest herbs grew, and let her eat and gambol about. In the evening, when it was time to go home, he asked, “Goat, have you had your fill?” The goat answered:

“I am so full, I could not eat Another leaf, however sweet. Meh! Meh!” “Then come home,” said the boy, and he took her by her little rope, led her into the stable, and tied her up. “Well,” said the old tailor, “has the goat had enough to eat?” “Oh yes,” answered his son, “she is so full she could not eat another leaf.” But the father wanted to see for himself. He went down to the stable, stroked the dear creature, and asked, “Goat, have you really had your fill?” The goat answered:

“How could I be full today? Over little graves I leapt away, But not one leaf came in my way. Meh! Meh!” “What is this I hear!” cried the tailor. He ran upstairs and said to the boy, “Why, you liar! You say the goat is full, when you have left her to starve?” And in his anger he took his yardstick from the wall and drove him out with blows.

The next day it was the second son’s turn. He chose a place beside the garden hedge where nothing but good herbs grew, and the goat ate them all down to the ground.

In the evening, when he wanted to go home, he asked, “Goat, have you had your fill?” The goat answered, “I am so full, I could not eat Another leaf, however sweet. Meh! Meh!” “Then come home,” said the boy. He led her home and tied her up in the stable. “Well,” said the old tailor, “has the goat had enough to eat?” “Oh yes,” answered his son, “she is so full she could not eat another leaf.” The tailor would not take his word for it. He went down to the stable and asked, “Goat, have you really had your fill?” The goat answered:

“How could I be full today? Over little graves I leapt away, But not one leaf came in my way. Meh! Meh!” “The wicked scoundrel!” shouted the tailor. “To let such a gentle creature starve!” He ran upstairs and beat the boy out of the front door with his yardstick.

Now it was the third son’s turn. He was determined to do his task well, so he chose bushes with the finest leaves and let the goat feed on them. In the evening, when he wanted to go home, he asked, “Goat, have you really had your fill?” The goat answered:

“I am so full, I could not eat Another leaf, however sweet. Meh! Meh!” “Then come home,” said the boy. He led her into the stable and tied her up. “Well,” said the old tailor, “has the goat had enough to eat?” “Oh yes,” answered his son, “she is so full she could not eat another leaf.” The tailor did not trust him. He went down and asked, “Goat, have you really had your fill?” The spiteful creature answered:

“How could I be full today? Over little graves I leapt away, But not one leaf came in my way. Meh! Meh!” “Oh, what a brood of liars!” cried the tailor. “One as wicked and neglectful as the next! You shall make a fool of me no longer!” Beside himself with rage, he rushed upstairs and thrashed the poor boy’s back so fiercely with the yardstick that he fled out of the house.

The old tailor was now alone with his goat. The next morning he went down to the stable, petted her, and said, “Come, my dear little creature, I shall take you to pasture myself.” He took her by the rope and led her to green hedges and patches of yarrow and all the other things goats like to eat. “Now you can eat to your heart’s content,” he told her, and he let her graze until evening. Then he asked, “Goat, have you had your fill?” She answered:

“I am so full, I could not eat Another leaf, however sweet. Meh! Meh!” “Then come home,” said the tailor. He led her into the stable and tied her up. As he was leaving, he turned round once more and said, “Well, at last you have had enough to eat!” But the goat treated him no better and cried:

“How could I be full today? Over little graves I leapt away, But not one leaf came in my way. Meh! Meh!” When the tailor heard this, he stopped short and realized that he had driven away his three sons for no reason. “Just you wait!” he cried. “You ungrateful creature! Driving you away is not punishment enough. I shall mark you so that you will never dare show yourself among respectable tailors again.” He rushed upstairs, fetched his razor, lathered the goat’s head, and shaved it as smooth as the palm of his hand. And since the yardstick would have been too great an honor, he fetched his whip and gave her such a beating that she bounded away in enormous leaps.

As the tailor sat all alone in his house, he grew very sad and wished he had his sons back, but no one knew where they had gone. The eldest had been apprenticed to a carpenter, where he worked diligently and tirelessly. When his time was up and he was ready to set off on his travels, his master gave him a little table. There was nothing remarkable about its appearance, and it was made of ordinary wood, but it had one excellent quality. If you set it down and said, “Little table, set yourself!” the good little table was instantly covered with a clean cloth, with a plate upon it and a knife and fork beside it, and as many dishes of boiled and roasted meat as there was room for. A large glass of red wine sparkled there too, enough to gladden anyone’s heart. The young journeyman thought, “That will keep you for the rest of your life,” and traveled cheerfully about the world, never troubling himself about whether an inn was good or bad, or whether there was anything to eat there. If he chose, he did not stop at an inn at all, but out in the fields, in the woods, or in a meadow, wherever he pleased, he took the little table off his back, set it before him, and said, “Set yourself!” Then everything his heart desired was there. At last it occurred to him that he would like to return to his father. His anger would have cooled by now, and with the little table that set itself, he would surely be glad to welcome him home. It so happened that one evening on his homeward journey he came to an inn that was full of guests. They welcomed him and invited him to sit down and eat with them, for otherwise he would scarcely get anything. “No,” answered the carpenter, “I will not take those few morsels out of your mouths. You shall be my guests instead.” They laughed, thinking he was joking. But he set his little wooden table in the middle of the room and said, “Little table, set yourself!” At once it was laden with food better than any the innkeeper could have provided, and delicious smells rose to the guests’ nostrils. “Help yourselves, dear friends!” said the carpenter. When the guests saw he meant it, they did not need asking twice. They drew up close, took out their knives, and ate heartily. What astonished them most was that whenever a dish was emptied, a full one appeared in its place all by itself. The innkeeper stood in a corner watching. He hardly knew what to say, but thought, “A cook like that would come in very handy at your inn.” The carpenter and his company made merry until late into the night. At last they lay down to sleep, and the young journeyman went to bed too, leaving his wishing-table against the wall. But the innkeeper’s thoughts gave him no peace. He remembered an old little table in his lumber room that looked exactly the same. He fetched it very quietly and exchanged it for the wishing-table. The next morning the carpenter paid for his lodging, shouldered his little table, and went on his way, never suspecting that he had the wrong one. At noon he reached his father’s house, where he was received with great joy. “Well, my dear son, what have you learned?” his father asked. “Father, I have become a carpenter.” “A good trade,” replied the old man, “but what have you brought back from your travels?” “Father, the best thing I have brought back is this little table.” The tailor examined it from every side and said, “You have made no masterpiece there. That is an old, shabby little table.” “But it is a ‘Little table, set yourself!’” answered his son. “When I put it down and tell it to set itself, the finest dishes appear on it at once, along with wine to gladden the heart. Just invite all our relatives and friends. They shall feast and refresh themselves for once, for the little table will feed them all.” When the company had assembled, he set his little table in the middle of the room and said, “Little table, set yourself!” But the little table did not stir and remained as empty as any other table that does not understand human speech. Then the poor journeyman realized that his table had been exchanged, and he was ashamed to stand there looking like a liar. His relatives laughed at him and had to go home without so much as a bite to eat or a drop to drink. His father brought out his scraps of cloth and took up his tailoring again, while the son went to work for a master carpenter.

The second son had found his way to a miller and become his apprentice. When he had served his time, his master said, “Because you have done so well, I shall give you a donkey of a very special kind. He neither pulls a cart nor carries sacks.” “What use is he, then?” asked the young journeyman. “He spits gold,” answered the miller. “If you stand him on a cloth and say, ‘Bricklebrit!’ the good creature pours out gold coins for you, from behind and in front.” “That is a fine thing,” said the journeyman. He thanked his master and set out into the world. Whenever he needed gold, he had only to say “Bricklebrit!” to his donkey, and gold coins rained down. He had no more trouble than to pick them up off the ground. Wherever he went, nothing but the best would do, and the dearer the better, for his purse was always full. After he had seen something of the world, he thought, “You must go and see your father. When you arrive with the gold-donkey, he will forget his anger and welcome you.” As it happened, he came to the very same inn where his brother’s little table had been exchanged. He was leading his donkey by the halter, and the innkeeper offered to take the animal and tie him up. But the young journeyman said, “Do not trouble yourself. I shall take my gray donkey to the stable and tie him up myself, for I must know where he is.” This struck the innkeeper as odd, and he thought that someone who had to tend his own donkey could not have much to spend. But when the stranger reached into his pocket, took out two gold coins, and told him to buy something good for his supper, his eyes opened wide, and he hurried off to find the best fare he could. After the meal the guest asked what he owed. The innkeeper, quite ready to charge twice the proper price, said he must add another couple of gold coins. The journeyman put his hand in his pocket, but his money had just run out. “Wait a moment, landlord,” he said. “I shall just go and fetch some gold!” And he took the tablecloth with him. The innkeeper did not know what to make of this. Curious, he crept after him, and when his guest bolted the stable door, he peered through a knothole. The stranger spread the cloth beneath the donkey and cried, “Bricklebrit!” At once the animal began pouring out gold from behind and in front, until it fairly rained upon the ground. “Well, upon my word!” said the innkeeper. “Those ducats are soon minted! That is a purse worth having!” The guest paid his bill and lay down to sleep, but during the night the innkeeper slipped down to the stable, led away the mint-master, and tied another donkey in his place. Early the next morning the journeyman set off with his donkey, believing it to be his gold-donkey. At noon he reached his father’s house. His father was delighted to see him again and gladly welcomed him. “What have you become, my son?” asked the old man. “A miller, dear Father,” he answered. “What have you brought back from your travels?” “Nothing but a donkey.” “There are donkeys enough here,” said his father. “I would rather you had brought a good goat.” “Yes,” answered the son, “but this is no ordinary donkey. He is a gold-donkey. When I say ‘Bricklebrit!’ the good creature pours out a whole clothful of gold coins for you. Just send for all our relatives. I shall make them all rich.” “Now that is to my liking,” said the tailor. “Then I need no longer toil away with my needle.” He hurried off himself and called the relatives together. As soon as they had assembled, the miller asked them to make room, spread out his cloth, and brought the donkey into the room. “Now watch!” he said, and cried, “Bricklebrit!” But what fell down was not gold coins, and it became plain that the animal knew nothing of the art, for not every donkey can attain such heights. The poor miller pulled a long face, saw that he had been cheated, and begged his relatives’ pardon. They went home as poor as they had come. There was nothing for it: the old man had to take up his needle again, and the young man had to find work with a miller.

The third brother had been apprenticed to a woodturner, and because it is a skilled craft, he had to spend the longest time learning it. His brothers wrote him a letter telling him how badly things had gone for them, and how the innkeeper had robbed them of their fine wishing-things on the very last evening of their journeys. When the woodturner had finished his apprenticeship and was ready to set out on his travels, his master gave him a sack because he had done so well, and said, “There is a cudgel inside.” “I can sling the sack over my shoulder, and it may be useful to me, but what good is the cudgel inside it? It only makes it heavy.” “I shall tell you,” answered his master. “If anyone does you a wrong, you need only say, ‘Cudgel, out of the sack!’ and the cudgel will leap out among them and dance so merrily on their backs that they will be unable to stir or move for a week. And it will not stop until you say, ‘Cudgel, into the sack!’” The journeyman thanked him and slung the sack over his shoulder. Whenever anyone came too close and tried to attack him, he said, “Cudgel, out of the sack!” At once the cudgel leapt out and beat the dust from their coats or jackets, one after another, while they were still wearing them, without waiting for them to take them off. It all happened so quickly that each man’s turn came before he knew it. One evening the young woodturner arrived at the inn where his brothers had been cheated. He laid his sack on the table before him and began to tell of all the remarkable things he had seen in the world. “Yes,” he said, “you may find a little table that sets itself, a gold-donkey, and such things—all fine things, which I certainly do not despise. But they are nothing beside the treasure I have acquired and carry about with me here in my sack.” The innkeeper pricked up his ears. “What on earth can it be?” he thought. “The sack must be full of precious stones. I ought to have that too, for all good things come in threes.” When bedtime came, the guest stretched himself out on a bench and put his sack beneath his head for a pillow. Once the innkeeper thought his guest was fast asleep, he came over and very gently and carefully tugged at the sack, hoping to pull it away and slip another beneath his head. But the woodturner had long been waiting for this. Just as the innkeeper was about to give it a good hard tug, he cried, “Cudgel, out of the sack!” At once the little cudgel shot out, fell upon the innkeeper, and gave his seams a thorough pounding. The innkeeper howled pitifully, but the louder he howled, the harder the cudgel beat time upon his back, until at last he fell to the floor exhausted. Then the woodturner said, “Unless you give back the little table that sets itself and the gold-donkey, the dance shall begin again!” “Oh, no!” cried the innkeeper meekly. “I will gladly give everything back. Only let that accursed goblin crawl into the sack again!” Then the journeyman said, “I shall show mercy rather than demand justice, but beware of doing wrong again!” Then he cried, “Cudgel, into the sack!” and let it rest.

The next morning the woodturner set off for his father’s house with the little table that set itself and the gold-donkey. The tailor was delighted to see him again and asked him too what he had learned abroad. “Dear Father,” he answered, “I have become a woodturner.” “A skilled craft,” said his father. “What have you brought back from your travels?” “Something precious, dear Father,” answered his son. “A cudgel in a sack.” “What?” cried his father. “A cudgel! Well, that was worth the trouble! You could cut yourself one from any tree.” “But not one like this, dear Father. If I say, ‘Cudgel, out of the sack!’ the cudgel leaps out and dances a terrible dance with anyone who means me harm. It does not stop until he lies on the ground begging for mercy. You see, with this cudgel I have recovered the little table that sets itself and the gold-donkey, which the thieving innkeeper took from my brothers. Now send for them both and invite all our relatives. I shall give them food and drink and fill their pockets with gold as well.” The old tailor was not quite willing to believe it, but he gathered the relatives together all the same. Then the woodturner spread a cloth on the floor, led in the gold-donkey, and said to his brother, “Now, dear brother, speak to him!” The miller said, “Bricklebrit!” and at once the gold coins came tumbling down onto the cloth like a sudden downpour. The donkey did not stop until everyone had so much that they could carry no more. (I can see by your face that you would have liked to be there too!) Then the woodturner fetched the little table and said, “Dear brother, now speak to it!” And scarcely had the carpenter said, “Little table, set yourself!” when it was laid and richly laden with the finest dishes. Then they enjoyed such a feast as the good tailor had never known in his house before, and all the relatives stayed together until night, merry and content. The tailor locked his needle and thread, his yardstick and iron, in a cupboard, and lived with his three sons in joy and splendor.

But what became of the goat who was to blame for the tailor driving his three sons away? I shall tell you. Ashamed of her bald head, she ran into a fox’s den and hid herself there. When the fox came home, a pair of great eyes gleamed at him out of the darkness. He took fright and ran away again. The bear met him, and seeing how distressed he looked, said, “What is the matter, Brother Fox? Why such a face?” “Oh,” answered the red fellow, “there is a fierce beast in my den, and it stared at me with fiery eyes.” “We shall soon drive it out,” said the bear. He went along to the den and peered inside, but when he saw the fiery eyes, he too grew frightened. He wanted nothing to do with the fierce beast and took to his heels. The bee met him, and noticing how uneasy he was, said, “Bear, what a dreadfully glum face you have! What has become of your good cheer?” “It is easy for you to talk,” answered the bear. “There is a fierce beast with staring eyes in the red fellow’s house, and we cannot drive it out.” The bee said, “I feel sorry for you, Bear. I am only a poor, weak creature, and you would not spare me a glance if you met me on the road, but I believe I can help you all the same.” She flew into the fox’s den, settled on the goat’s smooth-shaven head, and stung her so fiercely that she leapt up, crying, “Meh! Meh!” and ran out into the world like a mad thing. And to this very day, no one knows where she went.