Translation:Collection of Slavic Folk Tales/V

THE DOGE'S DAUGHTER

(DALMATIAN TALE)

In one of the many castles that once rose along the Adriatic coast, lived the daughter of a Doge of Venice. She had as her godmother a Vila (fairy) from the mountains who had showered her with the most precious gifts. She had endowed her with marvelous beauty; she had promised her that she would marry the most handsome and noble of all men.

The Dogaressa, for her part, had done everything possible to ensure her daughter never forgot this prophecy. She had placed in Zora's room (that was the young lady's name) two finches in a cage and had trained them to repeat a little song that compared Zora to the sun, to the moon, to all possible stars, and declared that she must choose a husband as handsome among men as she was among women.

Indeed, at the age of eighteen, Zora was truly the most admirable and spirited of all creatures. Her father gave her as a dowry immense treasures of gold and silver, plus the two islands of Cyprus and Rhodes with their ports, their fortresses, their warehouses filled with goods, their countless ships. Surely, Zora would not lack suitors; they soon arrived in droves.

The first to present himself was a son of an emperor; he came from the direction of Stamboul; he was handsome as a statue fresh from the sculptor's hands. He was also a renowned hero who, in a hundred battles, had defeated the Turks, those great enemies of Christendom. He brought magnificent gifts of solid gold and jewels to the Doge and the Dogaressa; he laid at Zora's feet pearls of unheard-of size; he had recently torn them from the turban of an Arabian sultan he had killed in a duel. Certainly, any young lady would have considered herself fortunate to become the wife of such a husband.

But Zora barely cast a disdainful glance at him; she didn’t even deem him worthy of courteous treatment; she had one of her maids tell him to kindly withdraw, that she had no intention of marrying such an ugly and insignificant person.

After rejecting this noble suitor, she ran into the forest, began to sob, and called for the Vila, her godmother.

"What do you want, my goddaughter?" asked the Vila, who appeared suddenly, wearing a veil embroidered with gold and filled with white roses. "What’s wrong, my little heart, to wail like this?"

"What’s wrong, what do I want? You ask me that? How, didn’t you promise me the most handsome and noble prince on earth for a husband? And now that the time to marry has come, you send me from Stamboul some emperor’s son, a stupid soldier, a crude brawler who boasts of having killed hundreds and thousands, who has only gold and jewels to offer my parents, the most common things in the world, and dares to offer me pearls taken from the turban of a sultan he killed himself. If only he were handsome; but no, he has a rounded, pointed nose like a crescent moon. I shudder at the thought that such an ugly monster could be my husband. Is this how you keep your word?"

"Indeed, my dear goddaughter. The son of the emperor of Stamboul is truly the most handsome and noble of men. Well, if he doesn’t please you, send him away."

"I didn’t wait for your advice," interrupted Zora. "I knew what to do with that nuisance. I certainly showed him the door."

"Let it be as you wish," replied the Vila, crossing her arms; "my intentions were good. It seems I didn’t find what you desired. Be patient, I’ll try to send you another suitor. I only regret these white roses I had already prepared for your bridal crown, which will now wither."

"What does it matter," retorted Zora. "I’m not in such a hurry; and I’d rather wait ten years than marry that soldier with his crooked nose."

She left, and the Vila disappeared into the depths of the forest.

When the young girl returned to the castle, she learned that the emperor’s son had already departed; but, as he didn’t want to have come for nothing, he had immediately become engaged to the maid who had been tasked with delivering his dismissal, and he had returned to Stamboul.

II

Soon after, another suitor presented himself at the castle.

It was the son of a king of Caramania; he was handsome, elegant: a painter could not have drawn a more striking figure. He was also a renowned scholar and poet. He brought magnificent gifts of solid silver to the parents; he laid at the feet of the beautiful Zora a laurel crown that had recently been awarded to him in a great poetry competition.

Zora barely cast a disdainful glance at him, turned her back, and had a maid tell him to leave at once. It was useless for him to present himself to her parents. She would never accept such a monster as a husband.

After this dismissal was clearly delivered, she burst into tears, ran into the woods, and called for the Vila.

"What’s wrong, my dear goddaughter?" her godmother called out.

And she appeared before her eyes, wearing a veil embroidered with silver, full of red roses.

"Why are you crying?"

"Why am I crying? You first sent me a soldier with a crooked nose like a crescent moon, and now, wretched one, who do you send to replace him? A pedant, a rhymester who knows nothing but his books, who has only silver to offer my parents and for me just a sprig of laurel used to season stews. And his face! Not only does he have a crooked nose, but also a beard pointed like a pickaxe. Me, be the wife of such a monster? Is this how you keep your word?"

"Indeed, my child," replied the Vila. "The son of the king of Caramania is currently the most handsome and gallant knight on earth. I kept my word. Still, if he doesn’t please you, you can send him away."

"That’s what I’ve already done."

"Very well. You mustn’t force your inclination. I’ll send you another who, no doubt, will find favor with you. I only regret these beautiful roses I had picked for your bridal crown, which will now wither."

"What does it matter!" cried Zora. "Rather than marry such a pedant, I’d prefer to remain a maiden for another twenty years."

She spoke and left. The Vila disappeared into the depths of the forest.

When Zora returned to the castle, she learned that the son of the king of Caramania had already departed, not alone, however. In his frustration at being so rejected, he had married, on the spot, the maid who had been tasked with delivering his dismissal, and he had carried her off on his black horse.

III

Beauty and power always attract suitors. A new one soon presented himself. It was the son of a prince of Milan; he was fairly handsome and very agreeable. He had traveled for many years on land and sea, visited the courts of sovereigns; he recounted his travels in the most fascinating way. He was the pride of his principality, and he was esteemed by kings. He brought gifts of ivory and ebony to the Doge and the Dogaressa, and to their daughter a parrot of marvelous beauty that he had recently taken from a forest in the East.

But the Doge’s daughter, as soon as she saw him through the window, refused even to look at him. She slammed the window so violently that the panes shattered; she had him told to leave immediately; if he had taken the trouble to look in a mirror, he should understand that he was not worthy of marrying such a beauty.

Thereupon, Zora ran back into the woods, shouting with rage. The Vila appeared. She held in her hand a basket full of cornflowers.

"What does my goddaughter want now?" she asked.

"What do I want? Are you mocking me, sending me some kind of vagabond? I won’t speak of his nose or his beard; but he has two teeth that can only be compared to a boar’s tusks. He’s only a prince’s son; he’s only good for telling tales of travels to lands no honest man has ever set foot in; he has nothing to offer my parents but bits of bone and blackened wood, and to me, he brings a parrot, as if I kept a menagerie. Is this how you fulfill your promise?"

"Indeed," replied the Vila. "The prince of Milan is today the most handsome and gallant knight in the world. It was I who inspired his affection for you, and I have fully kept my promise. I didn’t even think for a moment of punishing you for your vanity; I know you have two birds that sing to you every day that you’re more beautiful than me; yet it was I who gave you your beauty. Still, if this suitor doesn’t please you, you’re not forced to accept him."

"I’d like to see who could force me!"

"No one," replied the Vila. "I’ve done what I could for your happiness. It depends above all on you. You are completely free. I won’t forget you as soon as I can send you more suitors. In the meantime, I regret these poor flowers I had picked for you, which I’m now forced to discard."

"Throw them away. I’d rather never marry than wed monsters like the ones you send me one after another. I beg you, once and for all, to stop meddling in my affairs. My beauty is enough for me: you gave it to me, you can’t take it back. I’ll find the husband I need without you."

As she said these words, mysterious voices were heard in the forest, repeating:

"White hair! White hair!"

These voices followed Zora to the door of her father’s castle. There she learned that the prince of Milan had left, and that before going, he had become engaged to the maid who had been tasked with delivering his dismissal.

IV

Years and years passed without a single suitor arriving. Word had spread of the poor reception given to the first who had dared to present themselves, and no one came. Meanwhile, Zora was not getting younger; she had counted on the sovereign power of her charms and wealth, but she began to reflect on the natural course of things and to fear dying an old maid.

Suddenly, the Doge died, and the Dogaressa too. This was a great change in Zora’s life. She came into possession of the lands, seas, cities, islands, ships, and ports that belonged to her father; she inherited immense wealth and, on top of that, the two crowns of Cyprus and Rhodes.

Suitors began to appear again. The first to show up was a great Hungarian lord. He wrote Zora a very courteous letter to ask for her hand.

Zora ran to consult her two birds; one sang its usual refrain, that she was more beautiful than the moon and the sun. Zora, delighted, doubled its millet ration. The other, grown old, mumbled some incoherent words, which earned it a sharp tap on the beak from the queen of Cyprus with her fan.

The next day, Zora rose early and called her maid:

"Comb my hair," she said, "and make me the most elegant braids you can. I’m expecting a suitor today; it seems he likes me, and he’s coming to try his luck with me. Style me as best you can, and I’ll reward you royally. It’s not, as you know, that I’m vain. But propriety demands…"

"What’s that?" cried Zora, noticing that the maid had suddenly stopped.

"Nothing, madam, nothing!"

"Nothing? You don’t get surprised over nothing. I want to know what it is."

"But nothing, madam, nothing. A gray hair."

At these words, Zora leaped up like one possessed.

"You’re lying," she said! "Because you’re redheaded, you envy my beautiful black hair and want to tarnish its reputation. But, wretch, you won’t succeed."

She seized the maid by her hair and threw her out the window.

"There’s for my gray hair," she cried with a fiendish laugh!

The maid fell into a deep well at the foot of the castle.

Zora hurriedly covered the spot where the gray hair had been pointed out with a diamond ornament. She placed the crown of Cyprus on top and received the Hungarian lord.

He was tall as a colossus, a bit mature; he limped on one foot, squinted with both eyes, had a nose crooked like a crescent moon, a beard pointed like a pickaxe, and a pair of teeth like a boar’s tusks.

"Beautiful queen," he said, "or dogaressa, or if you prefer, princess, as you can see and ascertain, I’m not entirely without flaws. But I hope you’ll forgive me. There’s no perfect man in this world, I except neither you nor me… I must also confess that I have a certain fondness for Tokay wine and that…"

"Impudent, wretch," cried Zora, "how dare you even present yourself before me, daughter of a doge, queen of Cyprus, the pride and glory of my sex? Where have you ever seen an eagle welcome an owl into its nest? Get out! Get out! Or I’ll set my dogs on you."

The Hungarian was not disconcerted. He twirled his mustache majestically and replied:

"My goodness! No doubt the eagle doesn’t take an owl into its nest; but the owl doesn’t admit a turkey into its own. Besides, as I entered your castle, I saw something tumble out the window and fall into the well. My manners are a bit rough, but I have a good heart at bottom; I sent my servants to see what was happening. They pulled a girl from the well, a bit redheaded, but young and rather pretty. She was still alive. I came here to find a wife, and, by my faith, I’ll see if the redhead will set dogs on me."

He made a limping bow to the queen of Cyprus and withdrew.

The maid, full of gratitude for her savior, thought: Better to have a limping, squinting husband than remain a maiden; if he likes Tokay, well, I’ll try to like it too!

She accepted, and they both went off to Hungary.

V

Soon after, a new letter arrived.

Zora, seeing a new fiancé on the horizon, went to her two birds and asked them:

"Well! What do you think of this?"

And with joy, she began to dance.

The old finch, seeing its mistress dance, began to sing its refrain, and Zora, delighted, gave it triple rations. But its companion turned its head with a worried air, as if this didn’t suit it at all; this earned it a sharp tap on the beak; it flew off, dazed.

The next day, Zora called a maid and ordered her to comb her hair as best she could. But the maid stopped suddenly, then stopped a second time, then a third.

"What’s that?" cried Zora, exasperated.

"Nothing, madam, a strand of gray hair."

"Wretch! Because you have coarse, frizzy hair, you disparage my beautiful black hair. But woe to you, I’ll punish you terribly."

And she called the footmen and ordered them to throw the maid into the lime kiln, which happened to be heating at that moment.

Zora hurriedly covered the strand of hair with diamonds, rubies, and placed the crowns of Cyprus and Rhodes on top.

The new suitor was introduced.

It was a Cossack chief who, God knows through what adventure, arrived from the depths of Russia; he was short, lame, hunchbacked; he squinted, true, with only one eye. For he was one-eyed. He had a nose curved like a crescent moon, a beard pointed like a pickaxe; he stammered, was hard of hearing, and constantly waved his arms like a windmill.

He began a fine speech, but Zora interrupted him at the first words.

"Wretch," she said, "get out of my sight."

She clenched her fists, her teeth chattered with rage.

"Fine, fine," replied the Cossack calmly; "do you think anyone cares so much about you, beauty? I have black hair, you have a gray head. You don’t want to be my wife? I’ll manage without you."

Zora would hear no more and had him thrown out by her lackeys.

As he left, the Cossack passed by the lime kiln and saw the footmen preparing to throw the maid into it.

"No, no," he cried. "Wait a moment. It would truly be a shame to burn this young person."

And addressing the maid:

"Tell me, girl, which is better: to burn in a kiln or to become my wife?"

The maid accepted him as her husband at once; he took her on his horse, and they departed. The castle became silent again, and Zora remained alone with her birds; she made them repeat old songs. Months, years passed without anyone knocking at the palace doors.

Finally, long, very long after, a letter arrived at the castle. It announced the visit of a new suitor, Sir Knight of Six-Planks.

"Well, what do you think?" asked the heiress of the doges to her two birds.

The finches, recalling the punishments they had received, began to sing their most flattering refrains with gusto. It was a pleasure to hear them. So their mistress treated them generously.

Then she called a maid and ordered her to style her hair as quickly as possible: an illustrious guest was coming. The maid began to comb her, but slowly and with difficulty.

"What’s wrong with you? Your hands aren’t moving. You know I’m in a hurry."

"Madam," replied the maid, "one doesn’t pick leaves from trees in winter."

"What do you mean?"

"That with white hair, it’s hard to braid black tresses."

"May heaven confound you!" cried Zora. "You too are against me? Jealous, because you have a wild mare’s mane, you won’t even allow me a single black hair?"

And she strangled the poor girl with her silk sash and threw her into the deepest cellar of the castle.

Then, to hide the outrage of age, she placed her two crowns on her head, wrapped herself in a black veil, and sat on the royal throne in the darkest corner of the grand salon.

At that moment, the announced fiancé entered with his retinue.

It was a terrifying figure, bald skull, without nose or eyes, without lips or teeth. One couldn’t say he had only bones under his skin, for he had only bones. Instead of weapons, he held an immense scythe in his hand.

It was the lord of Death.

"Beautiful princess," said the sinister visitor, "as you can see, I have none of the flaws that made you insolently chase away my predecessors. My face is not afflicted with a nose curved like a crescent moon, nor a beard pointed like a pickaxe, nor boar’s tusks. I neither squint nor limp. I’m neither a brawler nor a pedant, I don’t write poetry, and I don’t drink. I’m of such high rank that counts and princes, kings and emperors bow before me. I’m so rich, so powerful, that all the treasures, all the honors of this world vanish before me. I do have one small flaw, that of being a terrible wanderer. All year, night and day, without rest, without respite, I roam the world; I’m seen wandering from north to south, on land and sea, in cities and deserts. I’m received sometimes in the palaces of kings, sometimes in the huts of the poor. I reap the old and the young, the beautiful and the ugly alike. Today your turn has come; I’m the fiancé you’ve waited for all these years. And I’ve come to take you to my castle of Six-Planks."

The daughter of the doges trembled in every limb.

"Get back," she cried, "get back! I haven’t yet accepted any fiancé. I don’t want you either. Rather than give myself to you, I’d prefer to live another hundred years without a husband."

"I believe it," replied the inexorable fiancé. "But unfortunately, that’s not possible. The one I’ve chosen, I never give up."

And the visitor seized Zora in his arms. The first finch sang its usual refrain. He threw her lifeless onto the bed. The second finch sang its usual lullaby. And the Knight of Death broke the window with his scythe and disappeared.

The funeral of the Doge’s daughter brought all her friends and maids, with their husbands, children, and grandchildren, around her coffin.

On Zora’s grave, the next morning, a heap of withered flowers was found, white roses, red roses, and cornflowers. It was the Vila who had placed these three bridal crowns on her goddaughter’s coffin.