And all the while the emperor’s sons were growing up. And such sons! All three like the morning stars in the sky!
Florea, the eldest, was so tall and broad-shouldered that no man in the kingdom could approach him.
Costan, the second, was quite different. Small of stature, and slightly built, he had a strong arm and stronger wrist.
Petru, the third and youngest, was tall and thin, more like a girl than a boy. He spoke very little, but laughed and sang, sang and laughed, from morning till night. He was very seldom serious, but then he had a way when he was thinking of stroking his hair over his forehead, which made him look old enough to sit in his father’s council!
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`You are grown up, Florea,’ said Petru one day to his eldest brother; `do go and ask father why one eye laughs and the other weeps.’
The EMPEROR Whose RIGhT eye LaUGHeD while his LeFT eye wept
But Florea would not go. He had learnt by experience that this question always put the emperor in a rage.
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Petru next went to Costan, but did not succeed any better with him.
`Well, well, as everyone else is afraid, I suppose I must do it myself,’ observed Petru at length. No sooner said than done; the boy went straight to his father and put his question.
`May you go blind!’ exclaimed the emperor in wrath; `what business is it of yours?’ and boxed Petru’s ears soundly.
Petru returned to his brothers, and told them what had befallen him; but not long after it struck him that his father’s left eye seemed to weep less, and the right to laugh more.
`I wonder if it has anything to do with my question,’ thought he. `I’ll try again! After all, what do two boxes on the ear matter?’
So he put his question for the second time, and had the same answer; but the left eye only wept now and then, while the right eye looked ten years younger.
`It really must be true,’ thought Petru. `Now I know what I have to do. I shall have to go on putting that question, and getting boxes on the ear, till both eyes laugh together.’
No sooner said than done. Petru never, never forswore himself.
`Petru, my dear boy,’ cried the emperor, both his eyes laughing together, `I see you have got this on the brain. Well, I will let you into the secret. My right eye laughs when I look at my three sons, and see how strong and handsome you all are, and the other eye weeps because I fear that after I die you will not be able to keep the empire together, and to protect it from its enemies. But if you can bring me water from the spring of the Fairy of the Dawn, to bathe my eyes, then they will laugh for evermore; for I shall know that my sons are brave enough to overcome any foe.’
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Thus spoke the emperor, and Petru picked up his hat and went to find his brothers.
The three young men took counsel together, and talked the subject well over, as brothers should do. And the end of it was that Florea, as the eldest, went to the stables, chose the best and handsomest horse they contained, saddled him, and took leave of the court.
`I am starting at once,’ said he to his brothers, `and if after a year, a month, a week, and a day I have not returned with the water from the spring of the Fairy of the Dawn, you, Costan, had better come after me.’ So saying he disappeared round a corner of the palace.
For three days and three nights he never drew rein. Like a spirit the horse flew over mountains and valleys till he came to the borders of the empire. Here was a deep, deep trench that girdled it the whole way round, and there was only a single bridge by which the trench could be crossed. Florea made instantly for the bridge, and there pulled up to look around him once more, to take leave of his native land Then he turned, but before him was standing a dragon — oh! such a dragon! — a dragon with three heads and three horrible faces, all with their mouths wide open, one jaw reaching to heaven and the other to earth.
At this awful sight Florea did not wait to give battle. He put spurs to his horse and dashed off, where he neither knew nor cared.
The dragon heaved a sigh and vanished without leaving a trace behind him.
A week went by. Florea did not return home. Two passed; and nothing was heard of him. After a month Costan began to haunt the stables and to look out a horse for himself. And the moment the year, the month, the week, and the day were over Costan mounted his horse and took leave of his youngest brother.
`If I fail, then you come,’ said he, and followed the path that Florea had taken.
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The dragon on the bridge was more fearful and his three heads more terrible than before, and the young hero rode away still faster than his brother had done.
Nothing more was heard either of him or Florea; and Petru remained alone.
`I must go after my brothers,’ said Petru one day to his father.
`Go, then,’ said his father, `and may you have better luck than they’; and he bade farewell to Petru, who rode straight to the borders of the kingdom.
The dragon on the bridge was yet more dreadful than the one Florea and Costan had seen, for this one had seven heads instead of only three.
Petru stopped for a moment when he caught sight of this terrible creature. Then he found his voice.
`Get out of the way!’ cried he. `Get out of the way!’ he repeated again, as the dragon did not move. `Get out of the way!’ and with this last summons he drew his sword and rushed upon him. In an instant the heavens seemed to darken round him and he was surrounded by fire — fire to right of him, fire to left of him, fire to front of him, fire to rear of him; nothing but fire whichever way he looked, for the dragon’s seven heads were vomiting flame.
The horse neighed and reared at the horrible sight, and Petru could not use the sword he had in readiness.
`Be quiet! this won’t do!’ he said, dismounting hastily, but holding the bridle firmly in his left hand and grasping his sword in his right.
But even so he got on no better, for he could see nothing but fire and smoke.
`There is no help for it; I must go back and get a better horse,’ said he, and mounted again and rode homewards.
At the gate of the palace his nurse, old Birscha, was waiting for him eagerly.
`Ah, Petru, my son, I knew you would have to come
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back,’ she cried. `You did not set about the matter properly.’
`How ought I to have set about it?’ asked Petru, half angrily, half sadly.
`Look here, my boy,’ replied old Birscha. `You can never reach the spring of the Fairy of the Dawn unless you ride the horse which your father, the emperor, rode in his youth. Go and ask where it is to be found, and then mount it and be off with you.’
Petru thanked her heartily for her advice, and went at once to make inquiries about the horse.
`By the light of my eyes!’ exclaimed the emperor when Petru had put his question. `Who has told you anything about that? It must have been that old witch of a Birscha? Have you lost your wits? Fifty years have passed since I was young, and who knows where the bones of my horse may be rotting, or whether a scrap of his reins still lie in his stall? I have forgotten all about him long ago.’
Petru turned away in anger, and went back to his old nurse.
`Do not be cast down,’ she said with a smile; `if that is how the affair stands all will go well. Go and fetch the scrap of the reins; I shall soon know what must be done.’
The place was full of saddles, bridles, and bits of leather. Petru picked out the oldest, and blackest, and most decayed pair of reins, and brought them to the old woman, who murmured something over them and sprinkled them with incense, and held them out to the young man.
`Take the reins,’ said she, `and strike them violently against the pillars of the house.’
Petru did what he was told, and scarcely had the reins touched the pillars when something happened — how I have no idea — that made Petru stare with surprise. A horse stood before him — a horse whose equal in beauty