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The Russian Grandmother's Wonder Tales. Louise Seymour Houghton
Читать онлайн.Название The Russian Grandmother's Wonder Tales
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isbn 4064066217907
Автор произведения Louise Seymour Houghton
Жанр Языкознание
Издательство Bookwire
“Tell me a story, little grandmamma!”
The grandmother ceased the song she had been singing, and answered:
“Shall I tell you about the Wolf that wanted to be a Roman?”
“Oh, yes, yes!” exclaimed the little boy. “Tell me about the wolf!”
So the grandmother began.
THE WOLF AS A ROMAN
Once upon a time, Isegrim, the Wolf, sat in the forest and thought to himself, “Why should I be a wolf and go around devouring the other beasts? It would be much better for me to go out into the world. What if I should go to Rome? Yes, that’s it, I will be a Roman!”
Off he set in the best of spirits, and on the way he met a Sow. The Sow bristled up in terror, but Isegrim cried out, “Don’t be frightened, Gruntelind! I am done with Gruntelinds forever. I am going to be a Roman.”
Not long after he met a He-goat. The He-goat was greatly frightened when he saw Isegrim, but the Wolf cried out, “Don’t be frightened, Longbeard! I’m not bothering myself with Longbeards. I am going to be a Roman.”
Next he met an old Mare. She was horribly frightened, but he quieted her, saying, “Don’t be frightened, Skinny-bones! I don’t waste my time with old jades like you. I am going to be a Roman.”
On went the Wolf for two whole days, when he began to feel a mighty hunger. So he turned back, and presently he came to the pasture where he had met the old Mare. Now was the Mare terrified. She quaked with fear, and well she might, for the Wolf said to her, “Mare, I am going to devour you!”
“How dare you say so!” exclaimed the Mare. “You told me you were a Roman.”
“Roman here or Roman there,” snarled Isegrim, “I am going to gnaw your bones.”
“Very well,” returned the Mare; “if there is no help for it, come again by and by, when I am plumper and juicier.”
So the Wolf went on his way. Presently he met the He-goat. “Ho, Longbeard,” cried he, “your time has come!”
“I dare you to touch me!” replied the He-goat. “You are not a Wolf; you are a Roman.”
“Roman here or Roman there,” retorted the Wolf, “I shall dine on you to-day.”
“What must be, must,” replied the He-goat; “but since you are bound to eat me, just grant me life till the woods are green again.”
The Wolf was beguiled, and on he went till he met the Sow. “Listen to me, Gruntelind,” said he; “I am going to make short work with you now.”
“You daren’t do it,” replied the Sow. “You are no Wolf; you are a noble Roman.”
“Roman here or Roman there,” said the Wolf, “I am bound to eat you.”
“Very well,” replied the Sow; “since you insist, come another day, when I am fatter.”
The Wolf consented, and away he went to look for that Mare again.
“Listen now, Skinny-bones,” said he; “you are to die on the spot.”
“If your mind is really made up,” replied the Mare, “I have nothing to say; but first look at my left hind hoof, for my master had me shod the other day, and the smith marked my age upon the horseshoe. Read how old I am, and then you will be able to boast what an old Mare you have eaten.”
The Wolf thought this a fine plan, and he drew near. Then the Mare raised her hoof and dealt Isegrim so smart a blow on the head that he ran off with a cracked crown, as fast as his heels could carry him.
On the way he met the Sow. “See here, Gruntelind,” he said to her, “there is no escape this time.”
“Very well,” replied the Sow; “since there is no help for it, just lead me around by the ear until I say good-by to all my kith and kin.”
Isegrim seized her by the ear, when she set up so shrill and piteous a squealing that the Swine all rushed to the spot from far and near, and falling upon Cousin Isegrim they almost tore him in pieces. Mangled and bleeding, he made his escape, and meeting the He-goat, he said, “Your time has come.”
“If that is the case,” replied the He-goat, “just stand in the middle of the field, with your mouth wide open, and my brothers and I will jump down your throat, one after the other. Then you won’t be hungry again for many a long day.”
This plan greatly pleased Isegrim, and he took his place in the middle of the field, with his mouth wide open. Then all the He-goats ran against him, butting at him, before and behind, till he could neither hear nor see, and it was all he could do to escape to the nearest wood.
There he spied a Cock, and said to him, “Now, see here, Gockeling, I am not to be fooled by you, at any rate.”
The Cock replied, “Just look at me once, how thin I am and what big feathers I have. Why should you bother to pluck me? It would save you a world of trouble if I got up into this tree and just flew down your throat.”
Isegrim thought this a fine idea. So Gockeling flew up into the tree. He hopped from branch to branch until he was in perfect safety, and then crowed loud and lustily to proclaim his escape.
At this the Wolf sank into deep thought. “My father lived comfortably,” he said to himself, “and was never a Roman; neither should I have been one—it has served me right. My father was no expert in Mares’ paces, yet he lived in peace and happiness; neither should I have been one—it has served me right. My father was no Swine musician, but he lived well for all that; neither should I have been one—it has served me right. My father never measured a field with He-goats, but he grew gray honorably for all that; only one thing rankles—that this scoundrel up in the tree crows over me so. It would be none too good for me if some one should jump from behind the tree and knock me over the head.”
Took his place in the middle of the field, with his mouth wide open
As luck would have it, a moujik was standing behind the tree, and he fetched the Wolf a blow on the head with his axe. Then Isegrim cried out with his last breath, “Well, I vow, on this blessed day one can’t even talk to himself without being made sorry for it!”
The little boy was thoughtful for a few minutes. “Did you know that Wolf, little grandma?” he asked at length.
“No, not I,” replied the grandmother; “it was my great-great-grandmother who knew him.”
CHAPTER II
THE MOTHER’S FÊTE-DAY
It was the fête-day of the little boy’s mother, and she was dressed in the beautiful clothes that had been her mother’s and her grandmother’s festival clothes. Her gown, which she called her sarafam, was of a lovely light-blue stuff, and on her head she wore a diadem of gold, all studded with little pearls. Many of the village