Hungarian Heritage Review, 1988 (17. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)
1988-05-01 / 5. szám
®{je folklore of Tlmtgarg WHITESHIRT Once there was a poor man. He had about thirty-six sons. But all of them were feeble bodied, as they had been brought into the world by threes and fours at a birth by their poor mothers. Poor folks they were, indeed. One day the man said to his wife, “I’ll leave you now to take service with one of the farmers. Maybe I can earn a little money to buy some food for the children. That’s what they are always crying for.” The poor man went away and took service with a farmer in the next village but one. The farmer promised to pay him two hundred forints at the end of the year. A year was three days. The poor man was working hard. When the year was over, the farmer said to him, “I say, my poor fellow, I haven’t got any money. But look here! I have a cow and it is worth more than two hundred forints. If you are willing to accept the cow instead of money, you can have it.” “Very well. I’ll take the cow, guv’nor." And feeling himself rather lucky, he slung a rope over the cow’s neck and was going with it back to his village. When they came to the outskirts of the next village they found all the village folks gathered round the gallows. They were about to hang a young boy, not more than thirteen years old, and were waiting now for the magistrate to give the final orders for the hanging. And just as the poor man with his cow was walking up to the crowd, the magistrate arrived. The poor man stepped up to him and asked, “Why is this child to be hanged, guv’nor?" “Because he had cheated his fellow villagers out of two hundred forints, fleecing them in turn. It was a piece of rascality, and he must swing for it.” The boy wore a greasy white shirt and gatya [white linen trousers] of the peasants and as he had no other garments the name “Greasy Whiteshirt" stuck to him. The poor man said to the magistrate, “Look here. I did a year’s work for two hundred forints. But instead of the money I have been given this cow. And this cow is worth more than two hundred forints. Here, take the cow and let me have the child." “That’s a deal,” the magistrate said. The man gave him the cow and took the child by the hand. “Come on, boy,” he said to him, and the two went away together. When he arrived home, his own children, all the lot of them, came running up to him. “Well, father, have you brought us something to eat?" “I’ve brought you nothing,” he said. His wife then said, “What the dickens made you bring that child home to us?" “Leave him alone, woman, It's right that the poor wretch should go on living. They wanted to hang him. I got a cow for a year’s hire, and I gave it away to save the child." “Oh, you blithering fool!” the woman said. “Haven't you enough children already? I can hardly scrape together anything to feed our own kids.” “It’s no use getting cup up, woman. It would be just as well if you put up with it, as he’s going to stay with us,” said the man. They supped and went to bed. But before they went to sleep, Whiteshirt said to the poor man, “Tell me, father — I might as well call you father since you’ve saved my life — isn’t there a rich man in this village here?” “Of course there’s one, son. Our next neighbor is the village rich man; he’s very rich farmer indeed. There’s no wealthier man in the village.” “Well, have your night’s rest, father,” said the boy. And soon they were sleeping. At halfpast-eleven the boy went over to their neighbor’s house. The rich farmer kept a couple of damned big watchdogs in the courtyard. But they let the boy pass without so much as a growl. The boy walked up to the pantry door and stuck his little finger through the keyhole. The lock burst open at once, and the boy stepped through the door into the pantry. Neatly placed on the shelves were eight big loaves, and the meat and lard of five pigs, sackfuls of beans, and sackfuls of the finest flour and bread stuffs. And soon the boy was carrying the whole lot over to the poor man’s house. And he piled up that lot of food in his kitchen, and there was hardly room enough to hold all the flitches of bacon, the hams, the strings of sausage, and the plump chitterlings. Next morning, when the poor man rose and went into the kitchen, he was beside himself with joy at the sight of such a lot of food. He ran back to the room and woke his wife, “Come, come, missus!” And she goes into the kitchen, and there she beholds the heaps of food. And what a joy it is for her to see such plenty. And before long the children came into the kitchen too. And they fell on the food and stuffed themselves so ravenously that by noon six of them were dead. And at their neighbor’s house, in the morning, the rich farmer’s wife goes into the pantry to bring some bread and sausage for their breakfast. And what a shock it is to see that all their provisions were gone. She runs back into the house, lamenting bitterly, “Oh, dear, oh, dear! All of it is gone. Oh, oh, oh! Who has robbed us of it?” That day, the rich farmer’s mother said to her son, “Oh, my son, I am very ill Let’s send for the doctor.” The doctor was called to the old woman. He said, “You’d better stay around her, because she might die this very day or tomorrow.” And toward evening the old woman died. They laid her out. At about midnight, Whiteshirt up and goes over to the rich farmer’s house. There he slipped his little finger into the lock of the cellar door. He turned the lock and the door sprang open. The boy stepped into the cellar. And what he had found there, he carried over to the poor man’s house. He took the wine and the potatoes and the peas, and all that was in the cellar. As he was collecting the last batch of peas, he beheld a chest stowed away under them. He opened the chest. It was filled with money. He took all the money as well to the poor man's house. Then he pulled out the tap from each cask, except one. In that one cask he left some wine. Then he went into the room where the old woman was laid out. He carried the corpse down into the cellar and there he placed her in a position just as if she were standing at the cask in which he had left a little wine. Then he drew out the bung and, fixing it in the hand of the dead woman, let the wine run through the hole in a thin stream onto the ground. This done, he left the cellar and locked the door. In the morning when the rich farmer woke, he said to his wife, “Go and take the jug and get me some wine from the cellar.” She goes to the cellar and as she opens the door didn’t she nearly drop down dead with horror, seeing her mother-in-law letting the wine run off, all over the cellar floor. Wailing desperately, she ran back to her husband, “Oh, for Heaven’s sake, come at once and see what your mother’s doing!” And her husband goes back to the cellar with her and Lord! there’s his mother, letting the wine run out of the cask and all over the cellar floor. With a leap he got to the cask and put the tap back into its place. Then he got hold of his dead mother and laid her on the ground in the middle of the cellar. Then he went from cask to cask to see what was left. But all of them were empty. “I dare say, mother, you’ve taken it out of us,” he said. Up and he went over to his poor neighbor. “Listen, my poor friend. You’re blessed with a lot of children to help you. Get my mother buried, and 111 pay you for your trouble.” Whiteshirt leapt forth at once. “I can do that.” He went with the rich farmer back to his house. The he looked about. At the foot of a strawstack he dug a deep hole. When he got it done, he went into the cellar and brought out the corpse. But instead of burying the old woman in the grave he had dug, he pushed her —continued next page 22 HUNGARIAN HERITAGE REVIEW MAY 1988
