Pretty Maid Ibronka

[smokingboot]

So the fog is making strange shapes at the window, and winter is here and night has come. If we were together, long ago, you and I, we would have told each other stories to entertain ourselves. Now we watch them, and that's great, but I am in a writing mood and I have a story to tell, about demon lovers and how to deal with them.

It isn't my story. Pretty Maid Ibronka is an old Hungarian folk tale. I've come across it several times in print, and once, very luckily, in full traditional flow from a Hungarian story-teller. Be warned that though this is a highly truncated version, these stories were designed to be long and meandering* so this is for when you've done all the memes, posted comments to everybody, and still can't be bothered with going to bed.



Once upon a time, in a tiny village in Hungary far far away, there was a beautiful girl called Pretty Maid Ibronka. She was the most beautiful girl for miles around, and yet she had no sweetheart. Every time the girls would gather in a house to sew together, and the young men would come in and sit by their sides, she would sit alone; and this made her very sad.

'If only I had a lover!' she cried out one night, under the moon; 'I should not care if he was a very devil if only he was my own, devoted to me!'

That night, she went to join the others in the house where the maidens sat and sewed, and the young men came in and sat by them and said pleasant things to them. And shortly after midnight, the door swung open and there was a very handsome young man, with a cap of crane feathers on his head, and he smiled at everyone and came and sat by Pretty Maid Ibronka.


He was a very charming man, and once, when he smiled, she was so forgetful of her sewing she dropped a bobbin, which fell near his feet. She groped for the bobbin, only to find something hard and cleft between her fingers; something that felt like a cloven hoof!** She was so startled, she drew back. He bent down, scooped up the bobbin and handed it to her with such a loving smile she was sure she had to be mistaken about his feet.

That night, when all the young men walked their sweethearts home, the young man walked by Pretty Maid Ibronka's side, and when they embraced to say goodnight, she felt his skin through his clothes, hard and very hot, and she was a little afraid. Still, they parted on good terms, the young man to go to wherever such as he go, and she to run to the local wise woman for advice.

The local wise woman nodded. 'Here is how you will find out all you need to know,' she said, 'Next time, when you are embracing, slip a needle threaded to a spool of thread into the back of his cloak; then as he leaves, follow the thread and wind it up...'

Come the very next sewing night, the stranger arrived again, and sat by Pretty Maid Ibronka all night and walked her home. Pretty Maid Ibronka did just as the wise woman had told her. And when he went away, the spool span and dipped in her hands, and the thread ran so fast, she had to run to keep up with it.


It led a long way, back down through the town and past the houses, into the churchyard, and into the very church itself, under the great wooden doors. Pretty Maid Ibronka found the doors locked, and so she stared through the iron keyhole.

There, on the altar, was the body of a dead man. Behind the altar stood her lover. He bent over the dead man's head, and split it down the middle like a melon; in each brain pan there lay quivering heaps of a soft grey jelly. He lifted each one to his lips and sucked it dry, and then he crunched on the pans as though they were pigs-ear crackling; and as he finished, he lifted his head and fixed his eyes on the keyhole. His gaze met Pretty Maid Ibronka's and she jumped back, broke the thread and ran back through the graveyard and the town, back away home, but the wind howling all around her told her that he was not far behind; and she ran into her house and slammed the door shut, and ran up to her bedroom to hear a voice float up from below her casement:

'Pretty Maid Ibronka, what did you see
when you spied through the keyhole that has no key?'

'Nothing did I see!' She shouted, 'Nothing!'

'Pretty Maid Ibronka, if you tell a lie,
Your mother and father and sister shall die!'

'If they die, I'll bury them!' She screamed, 'But nothing, nothing did I see!'

The voice faded away that night. Then morning came, and she went to wake her mother and father and sister, but they would not wake. She went to see the wise woman for advice.
'Bury them in the cellar for they are dead, pretty maid Ibronka,' said the wise woman, 'And you do not want them in the churchyard to feed your lover. Now listen to me well. Before you die, for die you surely will, you must leave instructions for what is to be done; when they take out your coffin, they must not take it out through the door or the window, but make a hole in the wall; Nor must they take it by the poor road or the rich road, but through the gardens and fields, nor must they take it to the churchyard, no; they must bury you in the ditch outside the churchyard. And that is all.'

That very night, while she lay trying to sleep, she heard his voice again:

'Pretty Maid Ibronka, what did you see
When you spied through the keyhole that has no key?'

Once again she screamed that she had seen nothing, but the gentle, insinuating voice did not believe her.

'Pretty Maid Ibronka, if you tell a lie,
Before break of day you will surely die!'

And Pretty Maid Ibronka said nothing then, for she was too afraid. And come the first light of morning, she was as dead as the rest of her family. But she had given instructions as the wise woman said, and when the demon lover came that night, he looked at the doors and windows of the house:

'Doors and windows of this little house,' He said, 'Did they take Pretty Maid Ibronka out through you?'

'No,' whispered the doors and windows, 'She did not go away through us...'

He spoke to the rich road and he spoke to the poor road. 'Did Pretty Maid Ibronka travel over you this morning?' and both roads said, 'No, we do not know where Pretty Maid Ibronka went.'

So finally he went to the Churchyard; 'Churchyard!' He called out; 'Does Pretty Maid Ibronka rest here?'

'No,' the churchyard answered, 'She is nowhere to be found among our people.'

So he stood and thought, and then he said 'Very well. I shall find myself a staff of iron, and shoes of iron, and I will seek her. And by the time my shoes are worn out, I will have found my Pretty Maid Ibronka.'


Now in time, a rose grew out of the ditch. It was so exquisite that the carriage of a boyar stopped by the churchyard, and out stepped the boyar, and plucked the rose. He took it to his great palace, and steeped it in water, gazing at it while he ate; but he could not eat a great deal. Thoughts of the rose had taken his appetite away, and he left much of his food on the plate.

When he came downstairs in the morning, all the food was gone, but his servants said that they had not cleared the dining room. Two more nights of this occurred, and the boyar did not go to his bed, rather he pretended to, and hid. When the midnight hour came, his beloved rose straightened up and shimmered into the form of a beautiful woman, who tiptoed over to the plate and ate the scraps. So stunned was he by her beauty, that he stepped out and proposed to her instantly. Pretty Maid Ibronka (for of course, you know it was she) smiled and said yes, on one condition: He was never to ask her to go to church with him. And this he agreed to right willingly.

The years passed and Pretty Maid Ibronka and her boyar had two fine sons and two lovely daughters, and all was well; yet in the town below the boyar's castle, the people murmured about his beautiful wife who never went to church, and it came to the ears of the ruler. 'Do not give them matter for gossip,' he said to Pretty Maid Ibronka, 'but come to church on sunday with me.' She sighed and reminded him of his promise, but in the end agreed, 'Though no good will come of it,' she added.

That sunday, she came to church, and when the host was held high above the altar, the wind rattled the very timbers and stones, the doors burst open and in strode a man with an iron staff, and the remains of iron shoes on his feet. He began to shout:

'Pretty Maid Ibronka, what did you see
When you spied through the keyhole that has no key?'

And Pretty Maid Ibronka tried to run away, but there were too many people and her husband and children were there...and the man was bellowing:

'Pretty Maid Ibronka, what did you see
When you spied through the keyhole that has no key?'

So she began: 'My story is a sad one, she said, for I have cost the life of my mother and my father and my sister -'

'Pretty Maid Ibronka, what did you see
when you spied through the keyhole that has no key?'

...I was the prettiest girl for miles around, and yet I had no sweetheart. Every time the girls would gather in a house to sew together, and the young men would come in and sit by their sides, I would sit alone; and this made me very sad. And one night I cried out to the moon to show pity on me... but but what use are these words? For it is to a dead man that I speak them!'

'Pretty Maid Ibronka, what did you see
when you spied through the keyhole that has no key?'

'If only I had a lover!' I cried out to the moon; 'I should not care if he was a very devil if only he was my own, devoted to me!'

And that night I went to join the others in the house where the maidens sat and sewed, and the young men came in and sat by them and said pleasant things to them. And shortly after midnight, the door swung open and there was a very handsome young man, with a cap of crane feathers on his head, and he smiled at everyone and came and sat by me.

He was a very charming man, and once, when he smiled, I was so forgetful of my sewing I dropped a bobbin, which fell near his feet beneath the lacey table. I groped for the bobbin, only to find something hard and cleft between my fingers; something that felt like a cloven hoof! And I was so startled, I drew back. You bent down, scooped up the bobbin and handed it to me with such a loving smile...but what use are these words? For it is to a dead man that I speak them!'

That night, when all the young men walked their sweethearts home, you walked by my side, and when we embraced to say goodnight, I felt your skin through your clothes, hard and cold, and I was a afraid. And the wise woman told me to slip a needle into your cloak and follow the thread, and I followed you to the churchyard...

'Pretty Maid Ibronka, what did you see
when you spied through the keyhole that has no key?'

And Pretty Maid Ibronka stood very straight and looked into his eyes and said;

'I saw the altar and candles lit, and you behind it and upon it, the body of a dead man. And you bent over the head and split it like a melon, like a nut, like the cleft in your foot. And in each brain pan there lay the dead man's brains, and you supped on them as though they were wine, and chewed the brain pans like pork. And you killed my mother and my father and my sister, and then you killed me - but what use are these words? For it is to a dead man that I speak them!'

And with that last, the wind picked up and the demon began to shriek, as it whirled round him and blew holes in his hollow heart, until all that was left crumbled like old leaves, leaving only his staff and his iron shoes on the flagstones of the church.

And Pretty Maid Ibronka, her husband and their sons and daughters, went home and lived happily ever after.

It's a peculiar story for a number of reasons; first of all, what is the moral of this story? Speak out? Shut up? Avoid footsy at parties? Does telling the demon the truth destroy him? If so, why does he keep insisting on hearing it? And how does she banish him by telling him he's dead? The only person we know for sure has died is her and she's our heroine; he might just be a village lad with sweaty skin and manky feet (he wouldn't be the first, now would he?) she's the one who's resurrected in full view right out of the compost heap.

There was a time when such stories would have lots of repetition; they would be spun out, like the wise woman's spool of thread, only to end when the embers of the fire were dying, and little ones would have conked out not knowing what happened to Pretty Maid Ibronka. They might never know until they reached that age between falling asleep in the middle of the story, and forgetting the whole thing when a good looking stranger walked into the sewing circle...

The mist has lifted, and it's time to sleep. Don't go sticking pins into any strange boys now, or they'll just come back and never let you be.

Night night lj.

*That's right, it's the oral tradition that's meandering; nothing to do with me!

**Yes, yes, what did you think it was going to be?

Comments

[semyaza.livejournal.com]

It's also strange that it has a happy ending, in spite of what one has been led to expect from the story itself and from similar stories.

[smokingboot.livejournal.com]

I suppose it could be taken as an allegory for women who have to run away from their husbands, a parable about facing the abuser or something...I prefer my fairy stories without such add-ons , however worthy; shallow as I am, I would rather have the magic than the moral.

[semyaza.livejournal.com]

But an allegory of that sort sounds modern, or is this not an old fairy tale? There seem to be several layers to it, motifs from various periods, jumbled together in a way that no longer makes sense if you look closely. I agree about the add-ons, but I really like the tale, and I can imagine that one could weave a more subversive story from it.

[smokingboot.livejournal.com]

The allegory is surely modern and it doesn't convince me. I agree about the layers; there are at least three different stories locked in here, and to me they seem to conflict with each other. Re-weaving would be easy and fascinating.

It doesn't help that I find our iron-shod wanderer a damn sight more interesting than a boyar whose greatest trauma surrounds the leavings on his dinner plate.