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Main > Czechoslovak folktale > Fairy tale "The Golden Duck: The Story of Prince Raduz and the Faithful Ludmila"

The Golden Duck: The Story of Prince Raduz and the Faithful Ludmila

“Just wait till I put on my slippers.”

Then old Yezibaba awoke. “Ludmila!” she cried. “Get up, you lazy girl, and hand me my skirt and bodice.”

“In a minute! In a minute!” the kerchief answered.

“What’s the matter?” Yezibaba scolded. “Why are you so long dressing?”

“Just one more minute!” the kerchief said.

But Yezibaba, who was an impatient old witch, sat up in bed and then she could see that Ludmila’s bed was empty. That threw her into a fine rage and she called out to her husband:

“Now, old man, what have you got to say? As sure as I’m alive that good-for-nothing boy is gone and that precious daughter of yours has gone with him!”

“No, no,” the old man said. “I don’t think so.”

Then they both got up and sure enough neither Raduz nor Ludmila was to be found.

“What do you think now, you old booby!” Yezibaba shouted. “A mighty good and loyal and obedient girl that daughter of yours is! But why do you stand there all day? Mount the black steed and fly after them and when you overtake them bring them back to me and I’ll punish them properly!”

In the meantime Raduz and Ludmila were fleeing as fast as they could.

Suddenly Ludmila said: “Oh, how my left cheek burns! I wonder what it means? Look back, dear Raduz, and see if there is any one following us.”

Raduz turned and looked. “There’s nothing following us,” he said, “but a black cloud in the sky.”

“A black cloud? That’s the old man on the black horse that rides on the clouds. Quick! We must be ready for him!”

Ludmila struck the ground with Yezibaba’s wand and changed it into a field. She turned herself into the growing rye and made Raduz the reaper who was cutting the rye. Then she instructed him how to answer the old man with cunning.

The black cloud descended upon them with thunder and a shower of hailstones that beat down the growing rye.

“Take care!” Raduz cried. “You’re trampling my rye! Leave some of it for me.”

“Very well,” the old man said, alighting from his steed, “I’ll leave some of it for you.

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