Prevod

Mountain and valley never meet, but the children of men do, especially the good and the wicked. So it happened once that a shoemaker and a tailor met on their travels. The tailor was a handsome little fellow, always merry and in good spirits. He saw the shoemaker coming toward him, and, guessing his trade from his knapsack, called out a mocking little song:

"Sew me the seam, draw me the thread, wax it with pitch from end to end, hammer the peg and hammer it tight." But the shoemaker could not take a joke. He pulled a face as though he had drunk vinegar and made as if to seize the little tailor by the collar. The little fellow began to laugh, held out his bottle, and said, "I meant no harm. Have a drink and swallow your bitterness." The shoemaker took a mighty gulp, and the storm clouds on his face began to clear. He handed the bottle back to the tailor and said, "I've certainly done it justice. People talk about drinking too much, but never about being too thirsty. Shall we travel together?" "That suits me," answered the tailor, "as long as you mean to go to a large city where there's no lack of work." "That's just where I was bound," answered the shoemaker. "There's nothing to be earned in a little hole of a place, and in the country people would rather go barefoot." So they traveled on together, putting one foot before the other like weasels in the snow.

They both had time enough, but little to sink their teeth into. Whenever they came to a town, they went about paying their respects to the masters of their trades, and because the little tailor looked so fresh and cheerful and had such pretty rosy cheeks, everyone was glad to give him something. If luck was with him, the master's daughter would even give him a kiss in the doorway to send him on his way. Whenever he met up with the shoemaker again, he always had more in his bundle. The surly shoemaker pulled a wry face and said, "The greater the rogue, the better his luck." But the tailor laughed and sang and shared everything he received with his companion. If a few groschen jingled in his pocket, he would order food and drink and pound the table for joy until the glasses danced. His motto was, "Easy come, easy go."

After they had traveled for some time, they came to a great forest through which the road led to the royal city. Two footpaths ran through it: one was seven days long, the other only two, but neither traveler knew which was the shorter way. They sat down under an oak tree and discussed what provisions they should make and how many days' bread they ought to take. The shoemaker said, "You must think farther than you travel. I'll take bread for seven days." "What?" said the tailor. "Lug seven days' bread on my back like a beast of burden, without a thought for anything else? I put my trust in God and let nothing trouble me. The money in my pocket is as good in summer as in winter, but in hot weather bread grows dry, and moldy into the bargain. My coat reaches no farther than my ankles, either. Why shouldn't we find the right road? Bread for two days, and that will do." So each bought his bread, and they ventured into the forest, trusting to luck.

It was as quiet in the forest as in a church. No wind blew, no brook murmured, no bird sang, and not a ray of sunlight pierced the thickly leafed branches. The shoemaker said not a word. The heavy bread weighed on his back until sweat ran down his sullen, gloomy face. The tailor, however, was quite cheerful, skipping along, whistling on a leaf or singing a little song, and thinking, "God in heaven must be glad to see me so merry." This went on for two days, but on the third, when the forest still showed no sign of ending and the tailor had eaten all his bread, his heart did sink a good yard lower. Still, he did not lose courage, but trusted in God and his good fortune. On the evening of the third day he lay down hungry beneath a tree, and the next morning he rose hungry again. The fourth day was no different, and when the shoemaker sat on a fallen tree and ate his meal, the tailor could do nothing but watch. If he asked for a morsel of bread, the other laughed scornfully and said, "You've always been so merry; now you can find out what it's like to be miserable for once. The birds that sing too early in the morning are caught by the hawk in the evening." In short, he had no mercy. But on the fifth morning the poor tailor could no longer get up and was so weak that he could scarcely utter a word. His cheeks were white and his eyes red. Then the shoemaker said to him, "I'll give you a piece of bread today, but in return I'll put out your right eye." The unfortunate tailor, who still wished to save his life, had no other choice. He wept once more with both eyes, then offered them to the shoemaker, who had a heart of stone and cut out his right eye with a sharp knife. The tailor remembered what his mother used to say when he had been stealing treats from the pantry: "Eat as much as you please, and suffer what you must." When he had eaten the bread he had paid for so dearly, he got to his feet again, forgot his misfortune, and comforted himself with the thought that he could still see well enough with one eye. But on the sixth day hunger returned and all but gnawed his heart away. That evening he fell down beside a tree, and on the seventh morning he was too weak to rise, with death close upon him. Then the shoemaker said, "I'll show you mercy and give you bread once more. But you won't get it for nothing. In return I'll put out your other eye." Then the tailor saw how heedlessly he had lived, begged God's forgiveness, and said, "Do what you must, and I will suffer what I must. But remember that our Lord does not judge at every moment, and another hour will come when you will be repaid for the wicked deed you are doing to me, though I have done nothing to deserve it. In better days I shared all I had with you. In my trade, one stitch must follow another. When I have no eyes left and can no longer sew, I shall have to go begging. Only do not leave me lying here alone when I am blind, or I shall perish." But the shoemaker, who had driven God from his heart, took the knife and put out his left eye as well. Then he gave him a piece of bread to eat, handed him a stick, and led him along behind him.

At sunset they came out of the forest, and in the field beyond it stood a gallows. The shoemaker led the blind tailor there, left him lying on the ground, and went his way. Worn out by weariness, pain, and hunger, the unhappy man fell asleep and slept all night. At daybreak he awoke, but did not know where he lay. Two poor sinners hung from the gallows, and on the head of each sat a crow. Then one of the hanged men began to speak. "Brother, are you awake?" "Yes, I am awake," answered the other. "Then I will tell you something," the first began again. "The dew that dripped down over us from the gallows tonight will restore the eyes of anyone who washes in it. If the blind only knew, how many might regain their sight who do not believe such a thing possible!" When the tailor heard this, he took his handkerchief and pressed it to the grass, and when it was wet with dew, he washed his eye sockets with it. At once the hanged man's words came true, and a pair of fresh, healthy eyes filled the sockets. Before long the tailor saw the sun rising behind the mountains. Before him on the plain lay the great royal city with its splendid gates and hundred towers, and the golden balls and crosses on their summits began to glow. He could make out every leaf on the trees, see the birds flying past and the gnats dancing in the air. He took a sewing needle from his pocket, and when he found he could thread it as well as ever, his heart leaped for joy. He fell to his knees, thanked God for the mercy shown him, and said his morning prayers. Nor did he forget to pray for the poor sinners hanging there like clappers in a bell, knocked against each other by the wind. Then he hoisted his bundle onto his back, soon forgot the anguish he had endured, and went on his way singing and whistling.

The first creature he met was a brown foal frisking freely about the fields. He caught it by the mane and was about to swing himself onto its back and ride into the city. But the foal begged to be set free. "I am still too young," it said. "Even a light tailor like you would break my back. Let me run free until I have grown strong. Perhaps a time will come when I can repay you." "Off you go," said the tailor. "I see you're another lively young scamp." He gave it a flick across the back with a switch, and it kicked up its hind legs for joy, cleared hedges and ditches, and raced away across the fields.

But the little tailor had eaten nothing since the day before. "The sun fills my eyes," he said, "but no bread fills my mouth. The first thing I meet that's at all fit to eat will have to serve." Just then a stork came striding solemnly across the meadow. "Stop, stop!" cried the tailor, catching it by the leg. "I don't know whether you're good to eat, but my hunger won't allow me to be choosy. I must cut off your head and roast you." "Do not do that," answered the stork. "I am a sacred bird whom no one harms, and I am of great service to mankind. If you spare my life, I can repay you another time." "Then off with you, Cousin Longlegs," said the tailor. The stork rose into the air, let its long legs dangle, and flew leisurely away.

"What is to become of me?" the tailor said to himself. "My hunger keeps growing and my stomach keeps getting emptier. Whatever crosses my path now is done for." Just then he saw a few young ducks swimming on a pond. "You've come as if I'd called you," he said, seizing one and preparing to wring its neck. An old duck hidden among the reeds began to quack loudly, swam toward him with her bill wide open, and pleaded with him to have mercy on her dear children. "Just think," she said, "how your mother would grieve if someone were to carry you off and put an end to you!" "There, there," said the good-hearted tailor. "You shall keep your children," and he set his captive back in the water.

When he turned around, he found himself before an old, half-hollow tree and saw wild bees flying in and out. "Here is my reward for my good deed already," said the tailor. "The honey will refresh me." But the queen bee came out and threatened him, saying, "If you touch my people and destroy my nest, our stings shall pierce your skin like ten thousand red-hot needles. But if you leave us in peace and go your way, we will do you a service another time."

The little tailor saw that there was nothing to be had here either. "Three empty dishes," he said, "and nothing on the fourth. That's a poor meal." So he dragged himself and his starving stomach into the city, and as the bells were just ringing noon, dinner was already cooked at the inn, and he could sit straight down at the table. When he had eaten his fill, he said, "Now I shall work, too." He went about the city looking for a master and soon found a good place. Since he had learned his trade thoroughly, it was not long before he became famous, and everyone wanted the little tailor to make his new coat. Every day his reputation grew. "I can go no further in my art," he said, "and yet things go better every day." At last the king appointed him court tailor.

But such is the way of the world: on that very same day his former companion, the shoemaker, had also become court shoemaker. When he saw the tailor and discovered that he once more had two sound eyes, his conscience tormented him. "Before he takes his revenge on me," he thought, "I must dig a pit for him." But whoever digs a pit for others falls into it himself. That evening, when his work was finished and dusk had fallen, he crept to the king and said, "Your Majesty, the tailor is an arrogant fellow. He has boasted that he could recover the golden crown that was lost long ago." "I should be very glad of that," said the king. The next morning he summoned the tailor and commanded him to recover the crown or leave the city forever. "Oho," thought the tailor, "a rogue gives more than he has. If this ill-tempered king demands something no mortal can do, I won't wait until tomorrow. I'll leave the city this very day." So he tied up his bundle, but once he was outside the gate, he felt sorry to have given up his good fortune and turned his back on the city where he had prospered so well. He came to the pond where he had made the ducks' acquaintance, and there on the bank sat the old mother whose young he had spared, preening her feathers with her bill. She recognized him at once and asked why he hung his head. "You won't be surprised when you hear what has happened to me," answered the tailor, and told her his troubles. "If that's all," said the duck, "we can put it right. The crown fell into the water and lies down on the bottom. We'll soon bring it up again. Meanwhile, spread your handkerchief on the bank." She dived with her twelve ducklings, and five minutes later she surfaced again, sitting in the middle of the crown, which rested on her wings. The twelve ducklings swam around her, holding their bills underneath to help carry it. They swam to shore and laid the crown on the cloth. You would not believe how magnificent that crown was. When the sun shone on it, it glittered like a hundred thousand carbuncles. The tailor tied the four corners of his handkerchief together and carried it to the king, who was overjoyed and hung a golden chain around his neck.

When the shoemaker saw that his first trick had failed, he thought up a second, went before the king, and said, "Your Majesty, the tailor has grown arrogant again. He boasts that he can make a wax model of the entire royal palace, inside and out, with everything in it, whether fixed or movable." The king summoned the tailor and ordered him to make a wax model of the entire royal palace, inside and out, with everything in it, whether fixed or movable. If he failed, or if so much as a nail in the wall was missing, he would be imprisoned underground for the rest of his life. The tailor thought, "It grows worse and worse. No one can bear this." He threw his bundle over his back and set off. When he reached the hollow tree, he sat down and hung his head. The bees came flying out, and the queen asked whether he had a stiff neck, since he held his head so crookedly. "Oh no," answered the tailor, "something else is weighing on me." And he told her what the king had demanded. The bees began to hum and buzz among themselves, and the queen said, "Go home, but come back at this time tomorrow and bring a large cloth. All will be well." So he turned back, while the bees flew to the royal palace and straight in through the open windows. They crawled into every corner and examined everything most carefully. Then they hurried back and copied the palace in wax so quickly that it seemed to grow before one's eyes. By evening everything was finished, and when the tailor came the following morning, the whole magnificent building stood there, with not a nail missing from the walls or a tile from the roof. It was delicate and snow-white and smelled as sweet as honey. The tailor carefully wrapped it in his cloth and brought it to the king, who could not marvel enough. He set it up in his largest hall and rewarded the tailor with a large stone house.

But the shoemaker would not give up. He went to the king a third time and said, "Your Majesty, the tailor has heard that no water will spring up in the palace courtyard, and he has boasted that he can make it rise a man's height in the very middle of the court, clear as crystal." The king summoned the tailor and said, "If a jet of water is not springing up in my courtyard tomorrow, as you have promised, the executioner shall make you a head shorter in that very courtyard." The poor tailor did not stop to think, but hurried out through the gate, and since his life was at stake this time, tears rolled down his cheeks. As he went along in sorrow, the foal whose freedom he had once granted came bounding toward him. It had grown into a handsome bay horse. "Now the hour has come," it said, "when I can repay your kindness. I already know what troubles you, but you shall soon have help. Just climb onto my back. I could carry two of you now." The tailor took heart again, sprang onto its back in a single leap, and the horse galloped at full speed into the city and straight to the palace courtyard. There it raced around three times, swift as lightning, and on the third round it fell to the ground. At that instant there was a tremendous crash. A lump of earth shot into the air like a cannonball from the middle of the courtyard and flew over the palace, and immediately behind it a jet of water rose as high as a horse and rider. The water was as clear as crystal, and the sunbeams began to dance upon it. When the king saw this, he rose in amazement, went to the little tailor, and embraced him before everyone.

But his good fortune did not last long. The king had daughters enough, each more beautiful than the last, but no son. So the wicked shoemaker went to the king a fourth time and said, "Your Majesty, there is no end to the tailor's arrogance. Now he has boasted that, if he wished, he could have a son brought to Your Majesty through the air." The king sent for the tailor and said, "If you have a son brought to me within nine days, you shall have my eldest daughter for your wife." "The reward is certainly great," thought the little tailor. "It would be worth making an extra effort, but these cherries hang too high for me. If I climb after them, the branch will break beneath me and I shall fall." He went home, sat cross-legged on his worktable, and considered what could be done. "It's no use," he cried at last. "I must leave. I shall never live in peace here." He tied up his bundle and hurried out through the gate. When he reached the meadows, he saw his old friend the stork pacing up and down like a philosopher, now and then standing still to examine a frog more closely before swallowing it. The stork approached and greeted him. "I see," it began, "that you have your pack on your back. Why are you leaving the city?" The tailor told him what the king had demanded and how he could not fulfill it, and lamented his misfortune. "Don't let that turn your hair gray," said the stork. "I'll help you out of your trouble. I've been bringing babies in swaddling clothes to the city for a long time, so for once I can fetch a little prince from the well. Go home and rest easy. Nine days from today, go to the royal palace, and I shall come." The little tailor went home and appeared at the palace at the appointed time. Before long the stork came flying up and tapped on the window. The tailor opened it, and Cousin Longlegs stepped carefully inside and strode solemnly across the smooth marble floor. In his bill he carried a child as beautiful as an angel, who stretched out his little hands toward the queen. He laid the child in her lap, and she hugged and kissed him, beside herself with joy. Before flying away again, the stork took his traveling bag from his shoulder and presented it to the queen. Inside were little bags of brightly colored sugarplums, which were distributed among the young princesses. The eldest, however, received none, but instead was given the merry tailor for a husband. "I feel just as though I'd won the grand prize," said the tailor. "My mother was right after all. She always said that whoever trusts in God and has good luck besides cannot fail."

The shoemaker had to make the shoes in which the little tailor danced at his wedding feast. Afterward he was ordered to leave the city forever. The road to the forest brought him to the gallows. Exhausted by anger, rage, and the heat of the day, he threw himself on the ground. As he closed his eyes and prepared to sleep, the two crows swooped down from the heads of the hanged men with loud cries and pecked out his eyes. He ran madly into the forest and must have perished there, for no one ever saw him or heard anything of him again.