The Poor Man and the King of the Crows

Once there was a very poor man who owned two skinny cows. Those cows were like a mother's breast to him and his children: they gave milk and butter, which he traded for a few coppers to buy salt, and they also pulled the plow on his little patch of land.

One day, as he was plowing at the edge of the woods, a coach pulled by six horses appeared before him out of nowhere. Inside sat the King of the Crows himself, who said to the poor man: "Listen, poor man, I'll tell you one thing, and two will come of it. Sell me those skinny cows; I'll give you good money for them, double the price. My army hasn't had a morsel to eat for three days, and my soldiers will die of hunger and thirst unless you save them."

"If that's the case," said the poor man, "if your Highness's army hasn't eaten for three days, I don't mind helping. I'll let you have the cows, not for money, but return a cow for a cow."

"Very good, poor man, let it be as you say. I will give you a cow for a cow; more than that, for two you will get four cows. To claim them, come to my kingdom, for I am the King of the Crows. Just head north and look for the black castle; you'll be sure to find it."

With that, the King of the Crows vanished as if he had never been there, as if the earth had swallowed him. The poor man kept on plowing with the two skinny cows until, all at once, the army of the King of the Crows appeared like a black cloud approaching through the air with mighty cawing. They seized the two cows and tore them bit from bit. When they had finished, the dark legions with tumultuous cawing moved on their way like a cloud. The poor man watched the direction in which they flew so he might know the way.

Now he trudged home in great sadness, took leave of his two handsome sons and his dear wife, amid bitter tears, and set out into the world to find the black castle. He traveled and journeyed over forty-nine kingdoms, beyond the Operentsia Sea and the glass mountains, and beyond that, where the little short-tailed pig roots, and still farther on, until he came to an ocean-great sand-plain.

Nowhere for gold was there a town, a village, or a cabin to be seen where he might rest his head for the night or beg a morsel of bread or a cup of water. Food had long since left his bag, and he might have struck fire in the gourd that hung at his side. What was he to do? Where could he save his life? Here he must perish of hunger and thirst in the midst of this ocean-great desert, and then at home they would wait for him till the day of Judgment. Here the poor man's power of walking decreased, and he floundered about like a dazed fish, like a man struck on the head. While stumbling along, he suddenly saw a shepherd's fire.

He moved toward the light, creeping on all fours. At last he arrived there with great difficulty and saw that three or four men were lying around the fire, boiling kasha in a pot. He saluted them: "God give you a good evening."

"God receive you, poor man; how is it that you are journeying in this strange land where even a bird does not go?"

"I am looking for the black castle in the north. Have you heard nothing of it in your world-beautiful lives?"

"How not? Of course we have. Are we not the shepherds of that king, who rigorously and mercilessly enjoined that if such and such a man, who sold him the two skinny cows for his army, should find us, to treat him well with meat and drink, and then to show him the right road? Maybe you are the man!"

"I am indeed."

"Is it possible?"

"I am no one else."

"In that case, sit here on the sheepskin; eat, drink, and enjoy yourself, for the kasha will be ready this minute."

As they said, he did. The poor man sat by the fire, ate, drank, and satisfied himself, then lay down and fell asleep. When he rose in the morning, they gave him a round cheese and filled his bottle, then let him go his way, showing him the right road.

The poor man traveled and journeyed along the right road; and now, when he was hungry and dry, he had his bag and his bottle too. Toward evening, he saw again a shepherd's fire. He drew near the great fire and saw the shepherds of the King of the Crows sitting around it, cooking a meat stew. He wished them, "God give you a good day, my lords, the horseherds."

"God guard you, poor man," said the chief herdsman, "where are you going here in this strange land?"

"I am looking for the black castle of the King of the Crows. Have you never heard of it, brother, in your world-beautiful life?"

"How not heard of it? Of course I have. Are we not the servants of him who commanded rigorously and unflinchingly that if such and such a poor man, who sold him two skinny cows for his army, should wander along, to receive him kindly? Therefore, this is my word and speech to you. Are you, perchance, that man?"

"Of course I am."

"Is it possible?"

"I'm no one else."

"In that case, sit down here by the fire, drink, and be filled."

The poor man sat down by the fire, ate, drank, and satisfied himself; then lying on the sheepskin, he fell asleep. When he rose in the morning, the horseherds entertained the poor man again, wished him happiness, and showing the right road, let him go his way; but they left neither his bag nor his bottle empty. Then he went along the right road. But why multiply words?—for there is an end even to a hundred words; it is enough to know that toward evening he came to the ground of the swineherds of the King of the Crows. He saluted them: "God give you a good evening."

"God guard you," said the reckoning swineherd, "how is it you are journeying in this strange land, where even a bird does not go?"

"I am looking for the black castle of the King of the Crows. Has my lord elder brother never heard of it in his world-beautiful life?"

"Haho, poor man! How not heard of it? Are we not the servants of the lord of that castle? But are you not the poor man who sold his Highness the two skinny cows?"

"Well, what's the use in delay or denial? I am, indeed, he."

"Are you in truth?"

"I am no one else."

"But how will you enter the black castle, since it is covered all around with a stone wall and whirls unceasingly on a golden cock's foot? But make no account of that. Here is a shining axe. Just strike the wall with it so that sparks will fly, and you will come upon the door, which will spring open. Then jump in. Have a care, though; for if you slip and fall, neither God nor man can save you. When you are once inside, the King of the Crows will come forward and receive you kindly. He won't put his soul on the palm of his hand at once; but when his Highness inquires what your wish is, ask for nothing else but the salt-mill which stands in the corner."

Well, the talk ended there. In the morning, the poor man moved on toward the black castle. When he arrived, he saw that it whirled of itself on a golden cock's foot, like some infernal spindle, and nowhere could he see either window or door upon it—nothing but the naked wall. He took the swineherd's axe and struck the wall, and sparks flew from the axe in such style that it couldn't be better. After a time, he came upon the door; it flew open, and he jumped in. If he had delayed but one flash of an eye, the stone wall door would have crushed him; as it was, the edge of his trousers was carried off.

As soon as the poor man got in, he saw that the castle turned only on the outside. At this moment, the King of the Crows was standing by the window and saw the poor man coming for the price of the cows. He went to meet him, shook his hand, treated him as tenderly as an egg, then led him into the most beautiful chamber and seated him at his side on a golden couch. The poor man saw not a soul anywhere, although it was midday, the time of eating. All at once, the table began to spread and was soon bending under its load, so much food was on it. The poor man shook his head—for, as I say, though no one was to be seen anywhere, neither cook nor kitchen-boy nor servant, still, wasn't the table spread? It was surely witchcraft, surely some infernal art, but not the work of a good spirit—maybe the salt-mill had something to do with it. That, however, did not come into the poor man's mind, though the mill stood there in the corner.

He was there three days, the guest of the King of the Crows, who received him with every kindness he could offer, so that no man's son could raise a complaint against his Highness. Morning, noon, and night, the poor man's food appeared in proper form, but the roast and the wine had no taste for him; for it came to his mind that while he was feasting there, most likely his wife and children had not bread enough. I say it came to his mind; he began to be restless and uneasy. The King of the Crows noticed this and said to him: "Well, poor man, I see that you do not wish to stay longer with me, because your heart is at home, therefore I ask what do you wish for the two skinny cows?—believe me, brother, you did save me from great trouble that time; if you had not taken pity on me, I should have lost my whole army from famine."

"I want nothing else," said the poor man, "but that salt-mill standing there in the corner."

"Oh, poor man, have you lost your wits? Tell me, what good could you get of the mill?"

"Oh, I could grind corn or a little wheat from time to time; if I did not, some one else might, so there would be something to take to the kitchen."

"Ask for something else; ask for all the cattle which in coming here you did see."

"What should I do with such a tremendous lot of cattle? If I should drive them home, people would think evil of me; besides, I have neither stable nor pasture."

"But I'll give you money. How much do you wish? Would you be content with three bags of it?"

"What could I do with such an ocean-great lot of money? My evil fate would use it to kill me; people would think that I stole the coin, or murdered some man for it; besides, I might be stopped with it on the road."

"But I'll give you a soldier as a guard."

"What good is one of your Highness's soldiers?" asked the poor man, smiling; "a hen, I think, would drive him away."

"What! one of my soldiers?"

Here the King of the Crows blew a small whistle; straightway a crow appeared which shook itself and became such a gallant young fellow that he was not only so, but just so. "That's the kind of soldiers I have," said the king, and commanded the young man out of the room. The soldier shook himself, became a crow, and flew away.

"It's all the same to me what kind of soldiers your Highness has. Your Highness promised to give me what I want, and I ask for nothing else but the salt-mill."

"I will not give it. Ask for all my herds, but not for that."

"I need not herds; all I want is the mill."

"Well, poor man, I have refused you three times, and three times you have asked for the mill; now, whether I will or not, I must give it. But know that you are not to grind corn or wheat with the mill; for it has this virtue—that it accomplishes all wishes. Here it is, take it, though my heart bleeds after it. You did me a good deed, therefore let it be yours."

The poor man put the mill on his back, took farewell of the King of the Crows, thanking him for his hospitality, and trudged home at his leisure. On the way back, he entertained the swineherds, the horseherds, and the cowherds. All he did was to say, "Grind, my dear mill," and what food was dear to the eye, the mouth, and the taste appeared of itself; and if he said, "Draw up, my dear mill," all the food vanished as if the ground had swallowed it. Then he took leave of the good shepherds and continued his way.

As he traveled and journeyed, he came to a great wild wood; and having grown hungry, he said: "Grind, my dear mill." Straightway, the table was spread, not for one, but for two persons. The mill knew at once that the poor man would have a guest; for that moment, wherever he came from, a great fat man appeared, who without saying a word took his seat at the table. When they had enjoyed God's blessing, the great fat man spoke and said:

"Listen, poor man. Give me that mill for this knotty club; for if your mill has the power of accomplishing all your desires [the fat man knew this already], my knotty club has this power—that you have need but to say, 'Strike, my club,' and the man you have in mind is the son of Death."

What was the poor man to do? Thinking that if he did not give it of his free will the fat man would take it by force, he exchanged the mill for the knotty club; but when he had it once in his hand, he said in a low voice, for he was commanding the knotty club, "Strike, my dear club." And it so struck the fat man behind the ears that he gave forth not a sound; he didn't move his little finger. Then the poor man continued his journey homeward at his ease, and when seven years had passed, he was able to say: "Here we are!"

His wife, who was weeping by the hearth, mourning over her dear lost lord and the two skinny cows, scarcely knew the poor man, but still she knew him. His two sons had become large and had grown out of their long clothes. When the poor man put his foot in his own house, he set the mill down in the chimney-corner, loosed his mantle from his neck, hung it up on a nail, and only then did they know him.

"Well, father," said his wife, "you have come; God knows 'tis time. I never expected to see you again; but what did you get for Bimbo and Csako?"

"This mill," answered he with many "see here's" and "see there's."

"If that's the case, the palsy strike your work," cried the woman; "better for you to have stayed at home these seven years and swung your feet around here, than to have dragged that good-for-nothing mill from such a distant land, just as if you had eaten the crazy-weed!"

"Oh, my sweet wife, something is better than nothing; if we have no grain to grind for ourselves, we can grind for other people, if not in streams at least in drops."

"May a cancer eat your mill! I haven't a thing to put between my teeth, and still—"

"Well, my sweet wife, if you have nothing to put between your teeth, you'll soon have. Grind, my dear mill."

At these words, so much meat and drink appeared on the poor man's table that half of it would have been enough. It was only then that the woman regretted her tongue rattling. But a woman is a woman; beat her with a stone, only let her talk.

The poor man, his wife, and two sons sat down at the table, looking at the food like an army of locusts. They ate and drank to their hearts' content. Whether from wine or some other cause, a desire to dance came to the two sons, and they jumped up and danced, so it was pure delight to look at them. "Oh," said the elder one, "if we only had a gypsy!" That moment, a band of gypsies by the chimney struck up their music and played away with such variations that the poor man too wished to dance, and so whirled his wife around that better could not be asked for. The neighbors knew not what to think of the affair. How was it that music was sounding in the poor man's house?

"What is this?" said they one to another, coming nearer and nearer, until they came up to the door and the windows. Only then did they see that a band of gypsies were fiddling away with might and main, and the old man, his wife, and their two sons were dancing, while the table was bending under loads of rich meat and drink.

"Come in, cousin! Come in, friend! Come in, brother-in-law, bring your wife! Come in, brother!" and there was no end to the invitations of the poor man. Guests collected unceasingly, and still the table was spread. "'Pon my soul," said the poor man, "it's a pity my house isn't larger; for all these guests could scarcely find room in a palace." At these words, instead of the poor man's cabin, such a magnificent palace appeared, with chambers twelve in a row, that the king himself hadn't the like of it.

A multitude of grand people with the king in the midst of them were out walking just at that time. "What's this? What's this?" asked they of one another. "There has always been a poor man's cabin here, now there's a king's palace, and besides, music is sounding, and gypsies are fiddling. Let's go and have a look."

The king went in front, and after him all the grand people—counts, dukes, barons, and so on. The poor man came out and received the king with the great personages very kindly and conducted them all to the head of the table as their fitting place. They ate, drank, and caroused, so that it was like a small wedding.