A Traditional Slovak Folktale
Collected by Pavol Dobsinsky
Translated by David L. Cooper
Once there was a mother who had two girls: one of her own and the other a stepdaughter. She loved her own very much, and she couldn’t even look upon her stepdaughter, but that was only because Marienka was prettier than her Holena. But Marienka knew nothing of her beauty. She couldn’t possibly imagine why her mother wrinkled her brow whenever she looked upon her. She thought that perhaps she had done something to displease her stepmother. But while Holena just primped and preened herself, dallied about the room, or strutted through the yard, or paraded about the streets, she put everything in the house in order, tidied up, cooked, laundered, sewed, spun, wove, carried hay, milked the cows, did all the work, and her stepmother did nothing but curse her and rebuke her every day. Nothing did any good, and she suffered like a beast. Day by day it got worse for her. And, mind you, that was only because day by day she became prettier and Holena uglier.
Then her mother thought, “Why should I allow a beautiful stepdaughter in the house? When the boys come courting, they’ll fall in love with Marienka and won’t care to love Holena.” She even consulted with Holena about it, and they came up with things that would never even occur to a decent person. One day, and it was just after the New Year, in the bitter cold of winter, Holena suddenly felt like smelling violets. And she said, “Marienka, go to the mountain and gather me a bouquet of violets. I want to wear it under my sash, for I so wish to smell some violets.”
“My Lord, dear sister, what has come over you! Who ever heard of violets growing beneath the snow?” said poor Marienka.
“You trollop, you clod, you! How dare you talk back when I give you an order!” Holena shouted back at her. What’s more, she threatened her, “Get out of here, and if you don’t bring violets from the mountain, I’ll kill you!” And her stepmother pushed her out, banged the door behind her, and closed the lock.
The girl started off, weeping, for the mountain. There were walls of snow and nowhere even a human footstep. She wandered and wandered for a long time. Hunger tormented her, the cold shook her, and weeping even more, she begged the gods rather to take her from this world. Then she spotted a light in the distance. She followed the glow until she reached the summit of the mountain.
There a great bonfire was burning, about the bonfire were twelve stones, and sitting on those stones were twelve men. Three were white-bearded, three younger than they, three younger still, and three the youngest. They sat quietly, mutely, numbly staring into the fire. These twelve men—they were the twelve months. Great January now sat up on the highest stone. His hair and beard were as white as snow and he held a cudgel in his hand. Marienka was frightened and stood as though she, too, were numb. But she grew bold, came closer, and begged, “Good people of my gods, let me warm myself. The cold is shaking me.”
Great January nodded his head and asked her, “Wherefore have you come, my child? What seek you here?”
“I have come for violets,” answered Marienka.
“It is not the time to gather violets. There is snow, after all,” said Great January.
“Oh, I know that, but my sister Holena and my stepmother ordered me to bring violets from the mountain. If I don’t bring them, they’ll kill me. I beg of you kindly, uncles, tell me where I can gather them.”
With that Great January rose, approached the youngest month, placed the cudgel in his hand and said, “Brother April, seat yourself up in my place!” The month April sat on the highest stone and waved the cudgel over the bonfire. The fire flamed up to a great height, the snow began to melt, trees began to bud, beneath the birches the grass grew greener, in the grass the flower buds began to darken. It was spring. Among the shrubs hidden beneath the leaves, violets bloomed. Even as Marienka looked on, it was as if the ground was being spread with an azure covering. “Gather them quickly, Marienka, quickly,” the young April instructed. Elated, Marienka soon plucked and put together a large bouquet. Then she thanked the months nicely and hurried home.
Holena was amazed and her stepmother, too, when they saw her hurrying home with violets. They opened the door to her and the scent of violets filled the entire house. “Wherever did you pick them?” asked Holena defiantly.
“Oh, high up on the mountain they are growing beneath the bushes. There’s really quite a lot of them,” answered Marienka quietly. Holena tore the bouquet from her hands, fastened it under her sash, sniffed it herself, had her mother sniff it, but didn’t tell her sister, “Take a whiff!”
The next day Holena was sitting beneath the stove and she suddenly felt like having some strawberries. She called out, “Marienka, go and bring me some strawberries from the mountain.”
“My Lord, dear sister, what has come over you! Who ever heard of strawberries growing beneath the snow?”
“Oh, you trollop, you clod, you! How dare you talk back when I give you an order! Go quickly, and if you don’t bring me strawberries, I’ll kill you!” Holena threatened. Her stepmother pushed Marienka out, banged the door behind her, and closed the lock.
The girl started off, weeping, for the mountain. There were walls of snow and nowhere even a human footstep. She wandered and wandered for a long time. Hunger tormented her, the cold crushed her; and she begged the gods rather to take her from this world. Then she spotted in the distance
the same light as the day before. The glow led her again to the bonfire. The twelve men—twelve months—sat around it again today. Great January, white and bearded, the highest, with a cudgel in his hand.
“Good people of my gods, let me warm myself please! The cold has crushed me to smithereens,” Marienka begged them.
Great January nodded his head and asked her, “And wherefore come you again, my child, and what seek you?”
“I have come for strawberries,” the girl answered,
“Oh, but it is winter, and strawberries do not grow on snow,” said Great January.
“Oh, I know that,” said Marienka sadly. “But my sister Holena and my stepmother ordered me to gather strawberries. If I don’t bring them some, they’ll kill me. I beg of you kindly, uncles, tell me where can I gather them?”
With that Great January rose, went to the month sitting opposite him, gave him the cudgel and said, “Brother June, now you seat yourself in my place!”
The month June sat on the highest stone and waved the cudgel over the bonfire. The fire flared up three times higher, the snows melted off in a moment, the trees unfolded their leaves, the birds chirped and sang all around, and the flowers were everywhere—it was summer. The undergrowth
looked as though it had been strewn with white stars, and the white stars changed perceptibly into strawberries and ripened until they were fully ripe. Even as Marienka looked on, it was as if blood had been poured over the ground.
“Gather them quickly, Marienka, quickly,” June instructed. Delighted, Marienka soon gathered an apronful of strawberries. She thanked the months nicely and hurried home.
Holena was amazed and her stepmother, too, when they saw her hurrying home with strawberries. They opened the door to her and the smell of strawberries filled the entire house.
“Wherever did you gather them?” asked Holena defiantly.
And Marienka simply answered quietly, “Oh, high up on the mountain they are growing beneath the bushes. There’s really quite a lot of them!”
Holena took the strawberries and ate until she was sated. Her stepmother ate her fill as well, but they didn’t say to Marienka, “Take one.”
Holena was developing a sweet tooth and on the third day she felt like biting into an apple. “Go, Marienka, go to the mountain and bring me some red apples,” she ordered.
“My Lord, dear sister, what has come over you! Who ever heard of apples ripening in the winter?”
“Oh, you trollop, you clod, you! How dare you talk back when I give you an order! Go quickly to the mountain, and if you don’t bring me some red apples, I will certainly kill you!” Holena threatened. Her stepmother pushed Marienka out, banged the door behind her, and closed the lock.
The girl started off, weeping, for the mountain. There were walls of snow and nowhere even a footstep. She wandered and wandered for a long time. Hunger tormented her, the cold crushed her; and she begged the gods rather to take her from this world. Then she caught sight in the distance of the same light and the glow led her again to the bonfire. The twelve men— twelve months—were sitting around it, sitting as though welded to the spot. Great January, white and bearded, sat the highest with a cudgel in his hand.
“Good people of my gods, let me warm myself please! The cold has crushed me to smithereens,” Marienka begged them.
Great January nodded his head and asked, “And wherefore come you again, my child?”
“I have come for red apples,” answered the girl.
“It is winter, red apples do not ripen in winter,” Great January said.
“I know that,” said Marienka sadly. “But Holena and my stepmother threatened me that if I don’t bring red apples from the mountain, they will kill me. I beg of you, uncles, help me just once more.”
With that Great January rose, went to one of the older months, placed the cudgel in his hand and said, “Brother September, take my place!”
The month September sat on the highest stone and waved the cudgel over the bonfire. The fire blazed up, the snow disappeared, but the leaves didn’t unfold on the trees, rather the yellow slowly retreated from them—it was autumn. Marienka didn’t see any spring flowers this time. She wouldn’t even have looked for them. Instead she looked over the trees, and in fact there was an apple tree and high on the ends of its branches were red apples.
“Pluck them, Marienka, pluck quickly!” September instructed.
Marienka shook the apple tree and an apple fell; she shook again and another fell. “Grab them, Marienka, grab them quickly and run home!” September called out. She snatched the two apples, thanked the months nicely, and really did hurry home.
Holena was amazed and her stepmother, too, when Marienka arrived home. They opened for her and she gave them two apples. “And wherever did you pick them?” asked Holena.
“High up on the mountain they are growing, and there’s really quite a lot of them,” Marienka said.
Well, she had to say no more to Holena than that there were a lot of them there.
“And you trollop, you clod, you! Why didn’t you bring more? Or perhaps you ate them along the way?” Holena lashed out at her.
“Oh, dear sister, I didn’t even eat a smidgen. When I first shook the tree, one fell; when I shook it again, another fell, and they didn’t let me shake anymore. They called to me to go home,” Marienka said.
“May Perun slay you!” Holena swore and tried to strike Marienka. And her stepmother, who wasn’t idle, took after her with a stick. Marienka didn’t want to let herself be beaten and ran into the kitchen and hid herself somewhere beneath the stove.
The sweet-toothed Holena soon stopped cursing and devoted her attention to her apple, giving one to her mother as well. They had never in their lives eaten such sweet apples. Only now did they really develop an appetite.
“Mom, give me my fur coat! I am going alone to the mountain! That trollop would just eat them along the way again. I’ll find the place sure enough, even if it were in hell, and I’ll pluck them all, if there are so many, though the devil himself call to me!”
Holena hollered in this way, and her mother dissuaded her in vain. She took her fur coat for her body, a covering for her head, wrapped herself up like a granny, and started off for the mountain. Her mother just wrung her hands on the threshold, looking after her, wondering what the girl was in for. Holena walked to the mountain.
There were walls of snow and nowhere even a footstep. She wandered and wandered and her desire for apples kept pressing her on as if it was chasing her. Then she spotted a light in the distance. She started after it and came to a bonfire where twelve men—the twelve months—were sitting all around. But she didn’t pay her respects to them, didn’t ask them, but simply stretched out her palms to the fire and warmed herself, as though the fire was just for her.
“Wherefore have you come and what do you seek?” asked Great January, becoming vexed at her.
“Why do you question me, you old fool, you? You have no need to know why I come or where I am going!” Holena said curtly. She started off into the forest as if the apples were ready and waiting for her there.
Great January wrinkled his brow and waved the cudgel over his head. At that instant the heavens clouded over, the bonfire died, the snow fell thickly, and a cold wind blew. Holena couldn’t see even a step ahead. The further she went, the larger were the snowdrifts into which she stumbled. She
cursed Marienka and the gods. Her muscles stiffened, her knees gave, and she collapsed.
Her mother was waiting for Holena, looking out the window, even stepping out the door to look. Hour followed hour, but Holena simply didn’t come.
“Doesn’t she want to leave the apples, or what is going on? I’ll have to have a look for myself.” the mother said to herself. She took her fur coat,
wound herself into her shawl, and went after the girl.
The snow was falling thicker and thicker, the wind colder and colder, the snowdrifts like walls. She stumbled through them and called out to the girl, but not a soul answered her. She became lost, no idea where she was, and began to curse Holena and the gods. Her muscles stiffened, her knees gave,
and she, too, collapsed.
At home Marienka cooked dinner, fed and milked the cow, but neither Holena nor her stepmother returned.
“Where are those two amusing themselves for so long?” worried Marienka, sitting down that evening at the distaff. She sat there until night, her spindle long filled, but not a word came of those two.
“Oh gods, what happened to them!” the girl grieved and anxiously peered out the window. There wasn’t a soul to see out there, just the twinkling of the stars after the blizzard, the light of the earth from the snow, and the snapping of the roofs from the cold. Sadly she shut the window and prayed for her sister and mother. In the morning she waited with breakfast and lunch, but she’ll never wait out Holena or her stepmother. Both froze to death on the mountain.
The hut and cow and garden and fields and meadows around the house remained after them for Marienka. Before spring came round, a caretaker was found for all of this: a bonnie laddie who married Marienka, and they both lived well and in peace.
