the Princess to be made to laugh. The councilors were wise about state matters but not one of them could suggest a means of amusing the Princess. The Master of Ceremonies did indeed begin to say something about a nice young man but instantly the Tsar roared out such a wrathful, “Wow! Wow!” that the Master of Ceremonies coughed and pretended he hadn’t spoken.
Then the Tsar called together the scholars and the teachers and the first lady-in-waiting. He glared at them savagely and roared:
“Wow! Wow! A nice lot you are! I put you in charge of my daughter and not one of you has sense enough to know that the poor child needs a little amusement! I have a good mind to have you all thrown into the dungeon!”
“But, Your Majesty,” quavered one poor old scholar, “I was not employed as a buffoon but as a teacher of astrology!”
“And I,” another said, “as a teacher of languages!”
“And I as a teacher of philosophy!”
“Silence!” roared the Tsar. “Between you all you have about killed my poor child! Now I ask you: With all your learning doesn’t one of you know how to make a young girl laugh?”
Apparently not one of them did, for no one answered.
“Not even you?” the Tsar said, looking at the first lady-in-waiting.
“When you called me to Court,” the first lady-in-waiting answered, drawing herself up in a most refined manner, “you said you wished me to teach your daughter etiquette. As you said nothing about amusement, quite naturally I confined myself to the subject of behavior. If I do say it myself, no one has ever been more devoted to duty than I. I am constantly saying to her: ‘That isn’t the way a princess should act!’ In fact for years there has hardly been a moment in the day when I haven’t corrected her for something!”
“Poor child!” groaned the Tsar. “No wonder she wants a change! Oh, what fools you all are in spite of your learning! Don’t you know that a young girl is a young girl even if she is a Princess!”
Well, the scholars weren’t any more help to the Tsar than the councilors, and finally in desperation he sent heralds through the land to announce that to any one who could make the Princess laugh he would give three bags of gold.
Three bags of gold don’t grow on the bushes every day and instantly all the youths and men and old men who had stories that their sweethearts and their wives and their daughters laughed at hurried to the castle.
One by one they were admitted to the Princess’s chamber. They entered hopefully but when they saw the Tsar sitting at one side of the door muttering, “Wow! Wow!” in his beard, and the old first lady-in-waiting at the other side of the door watching them scornfully, and the Princess herself in bed with her lovely hair spread out like a golden fan on the pillow, they forgot their funny stories and hemmed and hawed and stammered and had finally, one after another, to be turned out in disgrace.
One day went by and two and three and still the Princess refused to eat. In despair the Tsar sent out his heralds again. This time he said that to any one who would make the Princess laugh he would give the Princess’s hand in marriage and make him joint heir to the kingdom.
“I had expected to wed her to the son of some great Tsar,” he sighed, “but I’d rather marry her to a farmer than see her die of starvation!”
The heralds rode far and wide until every one, even the people on the most distant farms, had heard of the Tsar’s offer.
“I won’t try again,” said Mihailo, the oldest son of the farmer I’ve already told you about. “When I went there the day before yesterday I began telling her a funny story out of my Latin book but instead of laughing she said: ‘Oh, send him away!’ So now she’ll have to starve to death for all of me!”
“Me, too!” said Jakov, the second son. “When I tried to tell her that funny story of how I traded the moldy oats for the old widow’s fat pig, instead of laughing she looked me straight in the face and said: ‘Cheat!’”
“Stefan ought to go,” Mihailo suggested. “Maybe she’d laugh at him! Everybody else does!”
He spoke sneeringly but Stefan only smiled.
“Who knows? Perhaps I will go. If I do make her laugh then, O my brothers, the laugh will be on you for I shall become Tsar and you two will be known as my two poor brothers. Ho! Ho! Ho! What a joke that would be!”
Stefan laughed loud and heartily and his little sister joined him, but his brothers looked at him sourly.
“He grows more foolish all the time!” they told each other.
When they were gone to bed, Militza slipped over to Stefan and whispered in his ear:
“Brother, you must go to the Princess. Tell her the story that begins: In my young days when I was an old, old man.... I think she’ll just have to laugh, and if she laughs then she can eat and she must be very hungry by this time.”
At first Stefan said no, he wouldn’t go, but Militza insisted and finally, to please her, he said he would.
So early the next morning he dressed himself in his fine Sunday shirt with its blue and red embroidery. He put on his bright red Sunday sash and his long shiny boots. Then he mounted his horse and before his brothers were awake rode off to the Tsar’s castle.
There he awaited his turn to be admitted to the Princess’s chamber. When he came in he was so young and healthy and vigorous that he seemed to bring with him a little of the freshness of outdoors. The first lady-in-waiting looked at him askance for without doubt he was a farmer lad and his table manners probably were not good. Well, he was a farmer lad and for that reason he didn’t know that she was first lady-in-waiting. He glanced at her once and thought: “What an ugly old woman!” and thereafter he didn’t think of her at all. He glanced likewise at the Tsar and the Tsar reminded him of a bull of his own. He wasn’t afraid of the bull, so why be afraid of the Tsar?
Suddenly he saw the Princess lying in bed with her lovely hair spread out on the pillow like a golden fan and for a moment he couldn’t speak. Then he knelt beside the bed and kissed her hand.
“Princess,” he said, “I’m not learned and I’m not clever and I don’t suppose I can succeed where so many wise men have failed. And even if I do make you laugh you won’t have to marry me unless you want to because the reason I really came was to please Militza.”
“Militza?”
“Yes, Princess, my little sister, Militza. She loves me very much and so she thinks the stories I tell are funny and she laughs at them. Last night she said to me: ‘Stefan, you must go to the Princess and tell her the story that begins: In my young days when I was an old, old man.... I think she’ll just have to laugh and if she laughs then she can eat and she must be very hungry by this time.’”
“I am,” the Princess said, with a catch in her voice. Then she added: “I think I like that little sister of yours and I think I like you, too. I wish you would tell me the story that begins: In my young days when I was an old, old man....”
“But, Princess, it’s a very foolish story.”
“The foolisher, the better!”
Just here the first lady-in-waiting tried
