OLD FALKA AND THE SLEEPING GIANTS
In the valley of Koscielisko, on the way to the Smytnia meadow, is a high peak called the Pisana. People tell different stories about it, but Falka’s tale is the best of all.
One day a stranger came to Falka’s forge and asked him if he would make golden horseshoes. “Why not? After all, I am a blacksmith!” And so Falka set to work, making many horseshoes and nails. Then the strange put everything in a sack and asked Falka to follow him.
As they approached Pisana peak, he turned and said, “Don’t be afraid. Just walk as quietly as possible and don’t say a word.”
Falka followed, along a mountain grove and into an opening in the side of the hill. They walked and walked, to the center of the mountain. All around were soldiers with beards down to their belts. Falka whispered, “Who are they?”
“Shh! They are the knights of King Boleslaw, waiting to be called to defend Poland. The horses must be kept shod and ready to serve their masters.”
The knights were dressed in battle armor with their swords and lances in their hands. The horses too, had breastplates and frontal pieces and stood motionless, with their riders.
Soon the blacksmith was hard at work, fitting horseshoes to the hooves and hammering in the golden nails. Time stood still as Falka worked quietly on the horses. The stranger stood by, saying nothing.
At last, all were finished and Falka looked at the man.
He took some gold shavings from the floor, and asked Falka to fill his sack with them. “While you’re at it, clean up the horse droppings, too.”
Falka looked cross and grumbled to himself, “So this is the pay I get for all that work, Some small gold shavings and big horse droppings!”
When his sack was full and the floor cleaned up, the stranger motioned the way out of the cave. They walked silently down the mountain path until they came to the meadows. “You can find your way now,” the stranger said. “You did an excellent job and I hope to find you next year.” With that, he vanished.
Falka sat down by the roadside, for the sack was heavy. There’s no need for me to carry all those horse droppings any farther, he thought, and spilled the contents on the ground, being careful to keep the gold shavings.
When he arrived home, his wife was amazed. “Where have you been for three days?
“I didn’t know where the time had flown. I t seemed like a short while,” he explained. “And look what I’ve got-- a few gold shavings.” And then--clunk, clunk two huge gold nuggets dropped out.
“Well. I’ll be,” declared Falka. “Those were the horse droppings I picked up!” And he settled down to tell his wife of the strange adventure. When they hurried back to the meadow, the horse droppings were nowhere in sight.
“I won’t be so dumb next time!”
And sure enough, the stranger came the following year and asked him to make the golden horseshoes and follow him to the secret mountain cave. Falka as only too happy to do so, and gathered the horseshoes, nails and tools in a very large sack and followed the stranger.
Time seemed to stand still as Falka shod horse after horse, looking at the horse dropping and gold shavings on the floor. When he was finished, the stranger asked him to clean up and Falka swept the floor with his hands, until suddenly he caught a sliver in is finger.
“Psiakrew!” he cried.
“What? Did you call?” Some of the knights near him began to waken.
But the stranger said, “No, no one called. Not yet. Sleep on!” He gave Falka a dirty look and they hurried out of the cave.
When Falka arrived home that evening he was to excited to be tired. “Look,” he cried to is wife, “Look at the full bag I have this time!” And he turned the bag out on the floor. Horse dropping and gold shavings fell out. A large amount of horse droppings, for that is what Falka gathered most of all! The gold shavings looked tiny in that large pile. He had been punished for breaking the silence and was never called back again.
Commentary
Many years later, the King of Poland, seeing the country was in grave trouble, decided to call King Boleslaw’s Sleeping Knights to the rescue. But no one knew where the cave was.
He called on an old prophetess who declared that three brothers—to whom she had given a portion of a flute—should travel over seven mountains and seven rivers until they came to a certain peak in the Carpathians. There they must put the pieces together and blow. In response, King Boleslaw and his armored knights would waked from their sleep and come forth once more to defend their country.
The brothers, representing Aristocracy, Bourgeois and Peasantry, traveled the land but when they came to the peak, could not agree who should blow the flute. Each thought himself entitled to that honor.
The knights sleep on, for no call was ever heard.
Psiakrew—literally-dog’s blood—a curse.
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