Hungarian Heritage Review, 1990 (19. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)
1990-04-01 / 4. szám
The Folklore of Hungary 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 mother. 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 around the gallows. They were about to hand 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 handed, 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 peasant 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. “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 cut up, woman. It would be just as well if you up with it, as he’s going to stay wit 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 a very rich farmer indeed. There’s no wealthier man in the village.” “Well, have you night’s rest, father,” said the boy. And soon they were sleeping. At half-past-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. 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.” 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.”- continued next page APRIL 1990 HUNGARIAN HERITAGE REVIEW 27
