The Laughing Prince | Page 2

for presenting any stories that may have been included somewhere among the indifferent translations to which Andrew Lang lent his name.
I am of course deeply indebted to the various people who told me these stories in the first place and to many scholarly folklorists, Jugoslav, Czechoslovak, Bulgarian, German, and English whose books and reports I have studied.
P. F.
Decoration Day, 1921.
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CONTENTS
PAGE
THE LAUGHING PRINCE: The Story of the Boy Who Could Talk Nonsense 1
BEAUTY AND THE HORNS: The Story of an Enchanted Maiden 27
THE PIGEON'S BRIDE: The Story of a Princess Who Kissed and Told 51
THE LITTLE LAME FOX: The Story of the Youngest Brother Who Found the Magic Grape-Vine and Married the Golden Maiden 73
THE ENCHANTED PEAFOWL: The Story of the Golden Apples, the Wicked Dragon, and the Magic Horse 107
THE DRAGON'S STRENGTH: The Story of the Youngest Prince Who Killed the Sparrow 139
THE LITTLE SINGING FROG: The Story of a Girl Whose Parents were Ashamed of Her 161
THE NIGHTINGALE IN THE MOSQUE: The Story of the Sultan's Youngest Son and the Princess Flower o' the World 171
THE GIRL IN THE CHEST: The Story of the Third Sister Who was Brave and Good 201
THE WONDERFUL HAIR: The Story of a Poor Man Who Dreamed of an Angel 219
THE BEST WISH: The Story of Three Brothers and an Angel 229
THE VILAS' SPRING: The Story of the Brother Who Knew that Good was Stronger than Evil 241
LORD AND MASTER: The Story of the Man Who Understood the Language of the Animals 253
THE SILVER TRACKS: The Story of the Poor Man Who Befriended a Beggar 267

THE LAUGHING PRINCE
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The Story of the Boy Who Could Talk Nonsense

THE LAUGHING PRINCE
There was once a farmer who had three sons and one little daughter. The eldest son was a studious boy who learned so much out of books that the farmer said:
"We must send Mihailo to school and make a priest of him."
The second boy was a trader. Whatever you had he would get it from you by offering you something else for it. And always what he gave you was worth less than what you gave him.
"Jakov will make a fine peddler," the farmer said. "He's industrious and sharp and some day he will probably be a rich man."
But Stefan, the farmer's youngest son, had no special talent and because he didn't spend all his time with his nose in a book and because he never made the best of a bargain his brothers scorned him. Militza, his little sister, loved him dearly for he was kind and jolly and in the evening he was always ready to tell her stories and play with her. But the farmer, of course, listened to the older brothers.
"I don't know about poor Stefan," he used to say. "He's a good boy but he talks nonsense. I suppose he'll have to stay on the farm and work."
Now the truth is the farm was a fine place for Stefan for he was strong and lusty and he liked to plow and harvest and he had a wonderful way with the animals. He talked to them as if they were human beings and the horses all whinnied when he came near, and the cows rubbed their soft noses against his shoulder, and as for the pigs--they loved him so much that whenever they saw him they used to run squealing between his legs.
"Stefan is nothing but a farmer!" Mihailo used to say as though being a farmer was something to be ashamed of.
And Jakov said:
"If the village people could see the pigs following him about, how they'd laugh at him! I hope when I go to the village to live he won't be visiting me all the time!"
Another thing the older brothers couldn't understand about Stefan was why he was always laughing and joking. He did the work of two men but whether he was working or resting you could always hear him cracking his merry jokes and laughing his jolly laugh.
"I think he's foolish!" Mihailo said.
Jakov hoped that the village people wouldn't hear about his carryings on.
"They'd laugh at him," he said, "and they'd laugh at us, too, because we're his brothers."
But Stefan didn't care. The more they frowned at him, the louder he laughed, and in spite of their dark looks he kept on cracking his merry jokes and talking nonsense. And every evening after supper his little sister, Militza, clapped her hands and cried:
"Now, Stefan, tell me a story! Tell me a story!"
"Father," Mihailo would say, "you ought to make him keep quiet! He's foolish and all he does is fill Militza's head with nonsense!"
This always made Militza very indignant and she would stamp her little foot and say:
"He isn't foolish! He knows more than any one! And he can do more things than any one else and he's the