The Golden Nightingale — A Turkish Folk Tale
ℹ️ This is an English translation of a Turkish oral folk tale. The regional dialect of the source text could not be fully preserved in translation. Read the Turkish original here.
“The Golden Nightingale” is a Turkish folk tale from the Türk Masalları collection prepared by Naki Tezel. It begins with a padishah who builds a great mosque for his country, and with the one thing a passing old man tells him it still lacks.
ℹ️ This is an English translation of a Turkish oral folk tale. Read the Turkish original here: ALTIN BÜLBÜL.
The Golden Nightingale
There was one, there was none. In times long past, when the sieve was in the straw,1 there was a padishah.
This padishah, who had three sons, had a very great mosque built for his country.
The mosque was so dazzling that its white minarets rising into the heavens could be seen even from distant cities, its gilded domes glittered like the sun, and through the coloured glass of its hundreds of windows all manner of lights came seeping in.
Among those who came to the mosque to pray on Fridays was Hızır Dede as well, but nobody was aware of it.2
Once again, as the Friday prayer was ending, Hızır Dede drew near the padishah. Having greeted him, he said:
“My padishah, may God be pleased with you. You have given the country a great mosque. But it has one thing wanting.”
The padishah did not understand what this white-bearded old man with the light in his face meant.
He asked:
“Tell me then, old man, what is the mosque lacking?”
Hızır Dede answered:
“My padishah, beyond Mount Kaf there is a Golden Nightingale.3 If you have this golden nightingale brought and set upon the dome of the mosque, your work will be complete.”
Just as the padishah was about to ask what this golden nightingale might be, Hızır Dede vanished from sight.
Then the padishah understood that this old man with the light in his face was Hızır Dede. He understood — but what was there to be done?
He fell to thinking. Though he thought and turned it over for days together, he could find no way of having the Golden Nightingale brought from beyond Mount Kaf.
His sons, seeing that their father had been full of care for days, found an opportunity and came to him.
The eldest son said:
“Dear father, for days you have been full of care. All three of us are grieved at this state of yours. Will you not tell us the reason? Perhaps we may find a remedy.”
The padishah, pleased at this concern of his children’s, said:
“Bless you, my children. Since you have taken an interest in my trouble, let me tell you my sorrow. Beyond Mount Kaf, they say, there is a Golden Nightingale. By hook or by crook I want to have this bird brought to our country. I shall have it set upon the dome of the mosque I have newly built. But I cannot think how it is to be got.”
At this the padishah’s youngest son broke in:
“Dear father, do not trouble yourself at all. Give us leave; we shall go and fetch the Golden Nightingale.”
The padishah said:
“My child, it is not so easy a matter as that. To this day no one has gone beyond Mount Kaf and come back. Do you suppose you can go to those parts and get hold of the Golden Nightingale without trouble?”
The youngest boy pressed on again:
“Do not give it a thought, dear father. Give us leave, and whatever it takes we shall get the Golden Nightingale and come home safe and sound.”
Having no help for it, the padishah gave them leave.
The three brothers began their preparations. They had iron clothes made for their backs and iron sandals for their feet. And they took iron staves in their hands as well.4
They went and kissed the hands of their father the padishah and their mother the sultana and received their blessing, and then mounted the horses that had been made ready for them and set out.
They went a little, they went far; they went over valley and hill and level ground.5 Towards noon they came to the head of a spring.
They dismounted. They ate a little food and drank their fill of water from the spring.
Then they rose and mounted their horses again.
When they had gone a little way from the spring, three roads came out before them. Two of the roads were good; one was a bog.
As they were talking among themselves about which road to take, the youngest boy said:
“To my mind, let each of us turn down one road. For we do not know which of these roads goes beyond Mount Kaf.”
At that the eldest boy said:
“Very well, but I am not going by the boggy road.”
The middle boy said:
“Nor shall I go by that road.”
This time the youngest boy answered:
“Well, what is to be done — the boggy road falls to me then. I am content with my lot. Come, fare you well!”
He spurred his horse and turned down the boggy road. After him, the eldest boy rode down one of the travelled roads and the middle boy down the other.
As all three went on their ways, the roads of the eldest and the middle boy came together. They travelled on together until evening. As evening drew near they came to a city.
They found an inn and settled in.
They gave up going on with the journey and stayed in this city for days. The money in their hands ran out. They could no longer find the courage in themselves to take up the road again. For want of money they sold their iron clothes and their horses. And when they had eaten up the money from those too, one of them became a servant to the innkeeper and the other an apprentice to the cook.6
Let us come to the youngest boy.
As the youngest boy was making his way along that boggy road with a thousand and one difficulties, he came upon a white-bearded old man with the light in his face, at the head of a fountain.
The youngest boy, understanding that this old man was Hızır Dede, greeted him and dismounted.
Hızır Dede said:
“Come then, my son, where do you come from and where are you going?”
The boy said:
“I am going beyond Mount Kaf to get hold of the Golden Nightingale, my Hızır Dede.”
At that Hızır Dede said:
“My child, the road to Mount Kaf is very long. And it is ringed about with impassable mountains and hills and thorny thickets. There are devs on every side.7 Come, give up this business!”
The boy said:
“If my father the padishah cannot set that Golden Nightingale upon the dome of his new mosque, he will die of grief. I gave my father my word. Come what may, I shall reach the far side of Mount Kaf, and I shall take the Golden Nightingale and carry it to my father.”
This time Hızır Dede said:
“Well done, my son. This is how a man should be — daunted by nothing. Come closer and let me see you.”
He came up close to Hızır Dede. Hızır Dede rose to his feet, and when he had stroked his back three times he said:
“Off with you then. May your road be open and your fortune and your luck be bright!”
The boy kissed Hızır Dede’s hand and sprang onto his horse and took to the road.
He went a little, he went far; over valley and hill and level ground, by night and by day he went, and came out into a desert.
There was not a man, not a village, not a spring to be seen.
Worn out with hunger and thirst, he went on his way.
When he had crossed a little hill, a huge palace came out before him. This palace, whose roof rose into the heavens, stood within a garden.
As he came near the palace a fountain caught his eye in front of the garden. He dismounted at once and ran up to it. He looked, and water was flowing from the fountain in plenty. He drank his fill of the water and washed his face and eyes.
Then he went round all four sides of the palace to find its door, but he saw nothing resembling a door.
At this he sat down on a stone and said to himself:
“O my God, I am all but dying of hunger. Is there no human being here?”
Then one of the great windows of the palace opened. A very beautiful girl put her head out and called:
“Heeeey, son of man! I can fill your belly, but this is a dev’s palace. He will be here any moment now, and he will eat you and me both.”
The boy said:
“No matter. You fill my belly, and if the dev eats me, let him at least eat me full and not hungry!”
The beautiful girl drew back from the window, and a little later appeared in the garden with food in her hands. She brought the food and gave it to the boy, and then turned and went and was gone.
When the boy had eaten his meal and was making ready to mount his horse, he looked, and there was the dev coming from far off, making a noise like thunder. The dev was so huge that with one hand he was catching the birds flying in the sky and with the other gathering up the snakes and centipedes on the ground.
The boy sprang onto his horse at once. He took his lance in his hand and turned the animal towards the dev.
When the dev saw this he gave a laugh that made earth and sky groan, and bellowed:
“What business has the son of man in these parts?”
The boy shouted his answer back at once:
“I am going to take the Golden Nightingale from beyond Mount Kaf. My road fell in with yours. Is it forbidden to pass through these parts?”
The great dev gave another laugh that shook earth and sky to rattling, and said:
“What did you think? Of course it is forbidden! If fools like you fall into these parts, I swallow them in one mouthful!”
The boy shouted:
“Come on then — let us see you swallow me!”
No sooner had he said it than he drove his horse at full gallop straight at the dev.
And the great dev came on towards the boy, raising the dust in clouds.
The boy, with his horse flying like lightning, hurled the lance in his hand with all his strength just as he came well up to him.
The lance drove into the great-bodied dev exactly at the place where his heart was, and drove in so that the gushing blood covered everything in an instant. At the dev’s cry of mortal pain the wolves and the birds fled this way and that.
The great creature first staggered where he stood, and as he tried, bellowing, to fling himself upon the youngest boy, he suddenly collapsed to the ground. And a little while after that he lay lifeless.
The boy dismounted and went up to the dev. He took his knife from his breast and cut off the dev’s ears and put them in his saddlebag.8
As he was turning and coming back towards the palace, he saw the beautiful girl in front of the garden.
The girl said to him:
“What a formidable young man you turn out to be — you brought down the seven-lived dev at one stroke!”9
At this the beautiful girl took the boy into the palace garden, and going ahead of him opened a door. The young man and the beautiful girl went in through this door, which opened out of a place where he had never expected one.
The beautiful girl, having filled the boy’s belly at once with all sorts of food she had prepared, said to him at one point:
“Well then, young man, tell me: where do you come from like this, and where are you going?”
The boy answered:
“I am going beyond Mount Kaf. There is a Golden Nightingale there. I am going to take it and set it on the dome of the mosque my father has newly built.”
The beautiful girl laughed and said:
“To go beyond Mount Kaf, and then to come back once you have gone, is a very hard business. They call that road the road one goes by and does not return. Eight-lived and nine-lived devs do not give the sons of men passage.”
The boy said:
“I am not daunted by such things. Is the man who killed the seven-lived dev going to be afraid of an eight-lived or a nine-lived one? And I am tired now. Show me a place to lie down.”
The beautiful girl got up and opened a door. She called the boy and showed him his bed. And then she withdrew, saying, “May God give you rest.”
When morning came the beautiful girl brought the boy his breakfast.
When the boy had breakfasted he said to the girl:
“I thank you very much. You have done me a kindness. I shall never forget your goodness. From this time on you are my eldest brother’s betrothed and my sister-in-law.10 I shall take you with me on my way back. Come, fare you well!”
He went down, sprang onto his horse and took to the road.
He went a little, he went far; over valley and hill and level ground he went, and travelled three days and three nights.
The food the beautiful girl had put in his saddlebags ran out. Though he went on without stopping, he came upon neither a spring nor a lake nor a stream. At a moment when his strength was failing from hunger and thirst he came in front of a palace.
This too, like the first, was a palace rising into the heavens, set in a garden, shining bright in the sun.
As he was going round it wondering where the door might be, he saw a fountain. He ran straight up to it and looked, and water was flowing in plenty. He bent down and drank his fill and washed his hands and face.
He withdrew and sat down upon a stone. He said to himself:
“O my God, is there no son of man here to give me a slice of bread? My knees have come untied with hunger.”
No sooner had he said this than a door opened in the palace. A smiling, beautiful girl came out and said:
“Welcome, young man. I shall fill your belly now. And then I must hide you. For the eight-lived dev will be here any moment. If he sees you here he will eat us both.”
The young man laughed and said:
“You just fill my belly and do not think about the rest. The eight-lived dev can do nothing to me.”
The beautiful girl said:
“As you please!”
and went inside. A little later she came out to the boy with a tray of food.
The boy filled his belly well, and just as he was rising from his place he looked, and something was coming from far off, raising the dust in clouds.
The beautiful girl said suddenly:
“Oh — the dev is coming!” and snatching up the food tray she went into the palace and shut the door.
The young man leapt onto his horse at once. Taking his lance in his hand he drove his horse in that direction.
The dev, drawing swiftly towards the palace with growls like thunder, made out the boy from a distance.
He began to come on, springing where he stood and hopping and roaring with laughter for joy.
Without a trace of fear the young man whipped his horse towards the dev. As the horse went like lightning at the eight-lived dev, the boy raised his lance and swung it so that the lance drove into the great dev exactly in the middle of the head.
With blood spouting from his head like a water-channel, the dev was bellowing so that earth and sky groaned and thundered, and lunging this way and that to lay hold of the boy.
A little later the young man took his bow in his hand on horseback, and this time he held the dev in a rain of arrows. Arrows with poisoned tips began to drive into the dev’s chest, his legs, his arms, his head. At last, with two arrows driven into his eyes as well, the great dev slowly lost his strength and collapsed where he stood.
The boy dismounted at once, cut off the dev’s right ear and put it in his saddlebag. He turned and came to the palace.
The beautiful girl, who had watched what happened outside from the palace window, met the young man in the garden. She said to him:
“Truly, I have never yet come upon a son of man as brave as you. Who are you, whose people are you? Why have you come to these parts?”
The young man answered:
“I am a padishah’s son. My father has had a new mosque built. He wants to set the Golden Nightingale from beyond Mount Kaf upon the dome of this mosque. And so I am going to take this Golden Nightingale.”
At that the beautiful girl said:
“Give up this business, my brave one. They call these roads the road one goes by and does not return. To this day no one has been seen to reach the far side of Mount Kaf and come back. Further on there is a nine-lived mother of devs. Neither lance nor arrow has any effect on her. This dev has seven sons. Her seven sons’ seven cauldrons boil. When the nine-lived mother of devs rises to her feet she throws her breasts over her back. Her breasts are so great that they touch the ground. If you go quietly up to her and drink your fill of milk from her breasts, she will take pity on you and do you no harm. But if you cannot bring this off, count yourself gone that instant!”11
The young man, who had listened carefully to the beautiful girl’s words, said:
“Thank you, beautiful girl; I am grateful to you for teaching me these things. You seem to be a good-hearted person. From this time on you are my middle brother’s betrothed and my sister-in-law. Fare you well for now! Watch for me on the road.”
The brave boy sprang onto his horse and took to the road.
He went a little, he went far; over valley and hill and level ground he went, and came to the skirts of a high mountain. And he looked, and seven huge cauldrons were boiling. And a mother of devs, with a body as thick as a pine tree,12 was breaking up trees and throwing them under the cauldrons. And the snakes and centipedes she gathered off the ground she was gulping down one after another.
The young man tied his horse to a tree and crawled up to the mother of devs through the bushes, and without showing himself he suddenly sprang and fastened onto the dev’s breasts and began to drink his fill.
The mother of devs, understanding that a son of man had come and begun to drink at her breasts, was very pleased at it. She called out:
“O son of man, come round in front of me and let me see you. You seem to be a very brave, very fearless person.”
The young man let go of the mother of devs’ breasts and came round in front of her.
The mother of devs said:
“Well done, young man. You began to drink at my breasts without showing yourself to me. I have come to love you well. From this time on you too are my child. But come now, let me hide you between my legs. My seven sons will be back any moment. Do not let them see you.”
The young man went in and sat down between the mother of devs’ legs, each as thick and as long as the trunk of a tree.
Before long the mother of devs’ seven sons came. They said to their mother:
“There is a son of man here. Let us find him this minute and eat him.”
The mother of devs said:
“Wait now, let me see; do not be hasty. If a son of man were to come and drink his fill of my milk at my breasts, what would you say to him?”
The seven boys answered at once:
“We would call him brother.”
Then the mother of devs brought out the young man from between her legs and said:
“Here is your brother.”
At this one of the dev boys said:
“This brother of ours cannot eat what we eat. Let us go and find him a sheep.”
The seven dev boys went off all together. A little later they came back with three sheep in their hands.
One of them said:
“Come, brother, take these sheep, kill and cook them as you know how, and fill your belly!”
The young man killed one of the sheep at once and skinned it. Then he roasted it under one of the boiling cauldrons. He filled his belly well.
Evening came. The mother of devs showed him a place to sleep. The young man lay down there without any fear. He slept well until morning.
Morning came. The seven dev brothers said goodbye and went off hunting. The young man was left there alone with the mother of devs.
Then the mother of devs said:
“Tell me then, my son, who are you? Where do you come from and where are you going?”
The young man answered:
“Dear mother, I am a prince. My father the padishah has had a great mosque built for the country. He wants to set the Golden Nightingale from beyond Mount Kaf upon the dome of this mosque. I am going beyond Mount Kaf to get hold of it.”
The mother of devs said:
“Come, my son, do not go to those parts. That road is hard to cross. There are streams and lakes and seas on every side.”
The young man laughed and said:
“I have given my father my word once and for all, dear mother. Come what may, I shall get the Golden Nightingale.”
When she understood that the boy would not turn from his decision, the mother of devs said:
“Then listen to me well. If you do as I tell you, you will reach the far side of Mount Kaf and get the Golden Nightingale. After you leave here you will come to the shore of a sea. There is a marble stone there. You will lift it. Underneath it you will find a bridle-bit. You will take that bit and strike the sea three times with it. A sea-horse will come out of the sea.13 You will fit the bit into the horse’s mouth and spring onto its back. The sea-horse will put you ashore on the far side. There too you will find a marble stone. You will lift the stone and hide the bit under it. You will go on, and on. A green tree and a scarlet tree will come out before you.14 You will cut a branch from the green tree and a branch from the scarlet tree; and again you will walk, and walk. Two gates will come out in front of you. One of these gates is green, the other scarlet. You will strike the green gate with the green branch and the scarlet gate with the scarlet branch. The gates will open. You will go inside. You will begin to walk. The road is covered with thorny thickets. Though your clothes be torn and your hands and feet run with blood, you will walk on without minding it at all. You will pluck a single leaf from each thicket and say, ‘What lovely leaves,’ and put them in your pocket. Further on you will see a spring. Its water runs very muddy. Paying no heed to its being muddy, you will say, ‘What clear water,’ and drink your fill and wash your hands and face. Then again you will take to the road. Before long you will come upon a lion and a tiger. You will go up to them without fear and put the grass that lies in front of the tiger in front of the lion, and the meat that lies in front of the lion in front of the tiger.15 There you will see a palace. This is the palace of the padishah of the peris.16 You will go inside. You will find the daughter of the padishah of the peris asleep. On her four sides a candle burns at each. And the Golden Nightingale is at her bedhead. You will change the places of the candles, take the Golden Nightingale and turn back!
“Off with you now; may your heart be fearless and your road be open!”
When the young man had listened to the mother of devs’ words with all his ears, he said:
“I thank you very much, dear mother. I shall keep to your words exactly. I shall call here again on my way back.”
He went and found his horse and mounted it and took to the road.
He went a little, he went far; over valley and hill and level ground, by night and by day, six months and an autumn he went,17 and came to the shore of a sea. He dismounted and began to look about him.
He had no difficulty in finding the marble stone the mother of devs had spoken of. When he lifted the stone the bit came into view. He took the bit and struck the sea with it three times. A little later the waters swelled and swelled, and a huge sea-horse came out and came and stood before the boy. He fitted the bit into the sea-horse’s mouth at once and sprang onto its back himself.
The sea-horse swam and swam and carried the boy over to the far shore. He got down from the horse and hid the bit under the marble stone he found there. And the sea-horse sank into the waters and was gone.
Then he began to walk. He went and went and went. Somewhere a green tree and a scarlet tree came out before him. He cut a branch from each of them and took to the road again.
Again he went and went and went. At one point two gates came out before him. One of the gates was green, the other scarlet. With the green branch in his hand he struck the green gate, and with the scarlet branch the scarlet gate. The gates opened all at once. He went inside and began to walk.
The road was covered over with thorny thickets. His clothes were being torn, his hands and feet were being scratched, and every part of him was left running with blood. From each thicket he plucked a single leaf and threw it into his pocket, saying, “What lovely leaves.”
In this way he made a good deal of road. At a moment when there was no strength left in his knees and his mouth and his tongue had gone quite dry, he saw a spring.
He ran up to it, and it had very muddy water. He bent down at once and said, “What clear water,” and drank his fill, and washed his hands and face well.
Again he began to walk. After he had gone some way he came upon a tiger and a lion. He went straight up to them and put the grass in front of the tiger in front of the lion, and the meat in front of the lion in front of the tiger.
When he raised his head he saw the palace of the padishah of the peris.
The palace was beautiful enough to dazzle the eyes. Every part of it was ablaze with brightness, and there was no telling whether it was made of gold or of silver or of glass.
He went forward slowly. There was not a soul to be seen. He went in through the palace door. As he was looking about to see which way the peri sultana’s bedchamber lay, a black cat appeared at his feet. The cat rubbed itself against the young man’s feet and then went and passed in through an open door.
The young man went at once in that direction too, and looked in through the open door, and there was the peri sultana lying asleep. As the mother of devs had said, four candles were burning on her four sides. And the Golden Nightingale stood at the peri sultana’s bedhead.
Going forward on the tips of his toes he changed the places of the candles. Then he gently took the Golden Nightingale that stood at the peri sultana’s bedhead. He went out of the room. And as he was going towards the garden, did the Golden Nightingale not find its tongue and begin to sing most bitterly?18
The young man was at a loss for a moment what to do. Holding the Golden Nightingale tight he began to run. He came out into the garden. Out of breath, he flung himself out of the palace garden.
Just at that moment a noise was heard in the palace. Footsteps were heard. Before long the soldiers of the padishah of the peris appeared all around.
The young man was running and looking behind him at the same time. Just as he drew near the lion and the tiger the soldiers began to shout:
“Lion! Tiger! Hold that boy!”
The lion and the tiger answered:
“We will not hold him. For seven years you have been feeding meat to one of us and grass to the other. He helped us. He changed the places of the meat and the grass. We cannot do evil in return for good!”
And so the young man passed easily in front of the lion and the tiger. Again he began to run.
A little later he drew near the spring. The soldiers shouted again from behind:
“Muddy spring! Muddy spring! Let your waters go, so the roads fill up and this boy drowns!”
The muddy spring found its tongue and answered the soldiers:
“I shall not let my waters go. You never once drank my water, calling it filthy. Whereas this brave lad said, ‘What clear water,’ and drank it to his heart’s content and washed his face and eyes. Let him pass. May his road be open.”
With the Golden Nightingale in his hand the young man passed easily in front of the spring too. He was running, out of breath, and getting further and further from the soldiers.
Soon he came to the place where the thorny thickets were.
The soldiers called out again from a distance:
“Thorny thickets! Thorny thickets! Do not let that boy go! Tangle his feet!”
The thorny thickets found their tongue and answered the soldiers:
“We will not touch this young man. He took a piece from each one of us, saying, ‘What lovely leaves,’ and put them in his pocket, and won our hearts. Whereas you, when you were hunting in these parts and the partridges hid among us, offended us by saying, ‘Thicket, may your root wither.’ We shall give this brave lad passage.”
At this the thickets lay down on the ground and drew aside towards the edges and helped the young man to get away easily. And when the soldiers came they straightened up again and would not give them passage. When the soldiers plunged into the thickets to catch up with the boy, their clothes began to be torn and their hands and feet to run with blood.
The young man got clear of the thickets easily. The soldiers were left a long way behind. Just as he drew near the green gate and the scarlet gate the soldiers shouted again:
“Scarlet gate, green gate, shut!”
The gates found their tongue, and when each had given a great laugh they answered:
“We will not shut! We will not shut! For seven years you left us closed. We could not see the face of the world. Spiders covered us all over. Whereas this brave lad opened us. It was as though we woke from a long sleep. It was as though we came into the world anew. We cannot do him any harm.”
The young man passed easily through the open gates as well. After he had passed, the gates shut.
He came running to the seashore. He lifted the marble stone and took out the bit from under it. He struck the sea three times. A little later the waters stirred. The sea-horse appeared.
The boy fitted the bit into the sea-horse’s mouth and mounted it. The huge animal, going like a bird, brought the young man to the far shore in an instant.
After he had got down from the horse he hid the bit under the marble stone there. Then he went and sprang onto his own horse, which was standing at the foot of a tree, and took to the road.
He went a little, he went far; over valley and hill and level ground he went, six months and an autumn he went, and came to the mother of devs. He left his horse somewhere and drank the milk at the mother of devs’ breasts. The mother of devs was very pleased at it. Understanding that the young man had come, she said:
“Welcome, my son. I am glad you have come back without mishap or misfortune.”
A little later the seven dev brothers came. When they saw the young man among them again they rejoiced.
The boy stayed three days as a guest with the mother of devs. The devs did not know how to make enough of him.
Three days later the young man took his leave of the mother of devs and set out. The seven dev brothers came along with him so that the wolves and the birds should do him no harm. The boy went on horseback and the dev brothers walked at his side. As they went along the road they fed him the fruit they gathered, and put the birds they caught with their hands into his saddlebag so that he could cook and eat them when he was hungry.
When they had travelled in this way for three days and three nights they reached a hilltop. Then the dev brothers said:
“Our country reaches this far. Beyond this we have no say. Come, may your road be open, brother.”
The young man thanked the dev brothers and went on his way.
After travelling for days he came to the place where he had killed the eight-lived dev.
The girl, seeing that the young man had come, went straight down and took him into the palace. They went upstairs. They ate together. The young man told her one by one all the things that had happened to him.
Evening came. They went to bed. The next morning they gathered up all the precious things there were in the palace and loaded them on the animals. The beautiful girl mounted a horse too. They set out together.
They went a little, they went far, halting along the way and passing through lakes and streams and brooks and forests, and reached the country of the seven-lived dev.
The beautiful girl there saw them from the palace window. She went down and met them both and took them inside.
The young man introduced his middle brother’s betrothed to his elder brother’s betrothed. They ate together. Then the boy told this beautiful girl too all the things that had happened to him.
Night came and they lay down and slept. The next morning they gathered up all the precious things there were in the palace. They loaded the burdens on the animals. And setting the girl on a horse as well, the three of them set out together.
Without stopping, without resting, caring nothing for night or day, nothing for desert or stream, they went and went.
At last they came to the fountain where the young man had met Hızır Dede.
The young man looked, and there was Hızır Dede with the light in his face and his white beard. He dismounted at once and went up to him and kissed his hand.
Hızır Dede said:
“Welcome, my son. I am pleased to see you again safe and sound. Tell me then, what have you done?”
When the young man had told him one by one everything that had happened to him, he showed Hızır Dede the Golden Nightingale. And then he introduced to him his eldest brother’s and his middle brother’s betrothed.
The beautiful girls ran at once and clasped Hızır Dede’s hands.
When they had told their stories the young man said:
“My Hızır Dede, I entrust the Golden Nightingale, my brothers’ betrothed and their goods to you. If you will give me leave, let me go and find my brothers.”
Hızır Dede stroked the young man’s back three times and said:
“Go then, and go in peace. I shall guard them. Only do not be too long!”
The young man mounted his horse and swiftly drew away and was lost from sight.
He drove his horse along the boggy road with great difficulty, passing on and on over streams and hills.
When he had made a good deal of road he came to the spring where he and his brothers had first stopped. Though he was very thirsty he did not dismount, so as not to lose time. When he came to the meeting of the three roads he drove his horse down one of the travelled roads.
This time he was going at full gallop, and thinking, meanwhile: where shall I catch up with my brothers?
The road went on and on, and somewhere joined the other travelled road. Again he made his way without stopping, without resting.
At last towards evening he reached a city. He dismounted in front of the inn in the city. Just then a servant came up to him to take his horse to the stable. And he looked, and this was his eldest brother. He made no sound at all. Because his hair and his beard had grown very long, his brother did not recognise him either. His brother’s clothes were torn and his hands and face were filthy and grimy. He was terribly grieved at the state of him.
He went up from there to his room. His brother brought his saddlebag up after him. Then he took a gold piece out of his pocket and said:
“Friend, take this; bring me some food. I am very hungry. Keep the change!”
When his brother took the money he went and found his brother in the cook’s shop. He said to him:
“Brother, a fine young fellow has just come to our inn. He gave me a gold piece and asked for food. He said, keep the change. He seems to be a rich man. Take him some of your good dishes and perhaps he will give you a tip as well.”
The middle boy put some of the best dishes in the shop on a tray. He went straight to the inn with his brother. They set the food before their youngest brother.
The young man, understanding that his middle brother did not recognise him either, said:
“Friends, you seem to be men who are strangers here. I too am a stranger. Come, sit down like this and tell me the things that have happened to you. And then I shall tell mine.”
At this his eldest brother said:
“I am a padishah’s son, and this is my brother. We had a youngest brother as well. Our father had a great mosque built in our country. He wanted to set the Golden Nightingale from beyond Mount Kaf upon the dome of this mosque. We three brothers set out to get hold of this Golden Nightingale. We came to the head of a spring. There three roads came out before us. Each of us turned down one road. This brother’s road and mine came together. We reached this city. Our money ran out. We sold our clothes and our horses. And we ate up the money from those as well. Then I became a servant to the innkeeper and my brother went as apprentice to the cook. We do not know what became of our youngest brother.”
The youngest boy rose from his place and said:
“I am that youngest brother of yours.”
He went and embraced first his eldest brother and then his other brother. All three of them wept for joy.
Then they all got up together and went out to the market. Their youngest brother bought each of them a suit of clothes and a horse.
The next day they mounted their horses and set out.
As they went along the road the youngest boy told his brothers one by one the things that had happened to him, and the more he told, the more their envy grew. And when they learned that he had got hold of the Golden Nightingale, they were altogether dumbfounded.
Well! After travelling for days they came to the head of the spring. There they dismounted and drank water, and when they had rested a little they turned down the boggy road and began to go on again.
Making their way with great difficulty along the boggy road, they came to Hızır Dede.
The youngest boy introduced his brothers first to Hızır Dede and then to their betrothed. He took the Golden Nightingale from Hızır Dede. They loaded the girls’ goods on the animals. Then the youngest boy kissed Hızır Dede’s hand. And he stroked the boy’s back three times.
His brothers, however, forgot to kiss Hızır Dede’s hand and mounted their horses.
As they were all setting out together, Hızır Dede called after the youngest boy:
“Go then, and go in peace, my brave son. May God prosper your affairs.”
When they took to the road the eldest brother and the middle brother rode their horses in front, and their youngest brother followed behind them with his sisters-in-law.
As they went along like this the eldest brother said to the middle brother at his side:
“Our father the padishah always loved him more than us, calling him a very clever child. Now, if he learns that it was he who brought the Golden Nightingale, he will love him still more. We shall be of no worth at all. Come, let us throw him down a precipice.”
His middle brother said:
“You are right, but it will not do to kill him. Afterwards our betrothed will give us away. Let us think of some other means.”
They were making their way without stopping, trying to get clear of the boggy ground. Before long the boggy road came to an end and they came out onto level road. After going on a little further they came to the head of a well.
The youngest boy said to his brothers:
“I am very thirsty. Let us stop here a while.”
The others said:
“Let us stop, but we are not thirsty. If you like, we shall let you down into the well and you can drink your water. Then we shall pull you up.”
All three of them took the sashes from their waists. They tied them end to end. And winding one end round the youngest boy’s waist and tying it, they let him down into the well.
The eldest brother was holding the end of the sash in his hand. After making a sign with his eye to his middle brother he gently let go of the end of the sash. And after it he shouted:
“Alas, the sash has slipped out of my hand!” The girls each gave a cry. And the middle brother made a show of alarm.
The youngest boy was standing upright at the bottom of the well, with his feet on the stones. When he saw the sash fall into the well he understood his brothers’ purpose. Calling up from below he said:
“Do not be troubled at all. God tangles the feet of the one who does evil!19 I shall surely find some way of getting out of here.”
The two brothers, having left their youngest brother in the well, took the Golden Nightingale as well and mounted their horses with their betrothed and set out.
Until that time the Golden Nightingale had sung often; after that it fell silent. From then on it would not sing at all.
These men, going without stopping and travelling night and day, reached their country.
They went up to their father at once and kissed his hand. Giving him the Golden Nightingale, they said:
“We brought this from Mount Kaf.”
Then, pointing to the beautiful girls with them, they said:
“And these we saved from the hands of the seven-lived dev and the eight-lived dev. They are our betrothed.”
The padishah called his grand vizier and gave him the Golden Nightingale. He ordered it to be set at once upon the dome of the mosque.
Then, turning to his children, he asked:
“And where is my youngest son?” The eldest boy said:
“After we left here we came to the head of a spring. There were three roads there. Each of us went down one road. After that we do not know what became of our youngest brother.”
When the padishah could get no news of his youngest son he was deeply distressed. His eldest son and his middle son left his presence.
The days went by, and the Golden Nightingale on the dome of the mosque kept silent.
The padishah was terribly vexed at the Golden Nightingale’s silence, and could not understand the reason for it.
Several more days went by.
The youngest boy, who had stayed a good while inside the dark well, drank water without stopping, for he could find no food, and tried not to die.
At a moment when he had given up hope of being saved he heard a voice at the head of the well. When he raised his head he saw a man letting a pail down.
When the pail came down into the well he took hold of it at once. Slowly he came up to the top.
The man at the head of the well, wondering what could be coming up in the pail that had grown so very heavy, was taken aback when he saw a young man come out of it.
The boy was in a state of collapse from hunger and from want of air. The man took food out of his saddlebag and filled his belly.
Then they sat down. The boy told the man the things that had happened to him.
Now, the man turned out to be a villager. Coming back to his village from the city with this and that, he had grown thirsty, and had let a pail down into the well both to drink water himself and to water his animal.
When the boy had told his story and rested a little, he bought the villager’s horse from him. Thanking him for saving his life, he took to the road.
As he was drawing near his own country he came upon a shepherd. He dismounted and gave him a gold piece and bought a sheep. He had the sheep killed. He left the animal’s skin and meat to him. He himself took its stomach. And then he changed his clothes.
He went to the side of a stream. He washed the sheep’s stomach well and dried it and drew it over his head. He had become a Keloğlan.20
Again he took to the road. A short while later he entered the city. He went to an inn and had his horse taken to the stable.
He said to the innkeeper:
“I am a Keloğlan with nobody of my own. Will you take me on as a servant?”
The innkeeper said:
“I will take you, Keloğlan, but I can pay you little.”
Then he said:
“I want no money or anything of the sort. In return for the work I do, only fill my belly; that is enough for me!”
The innkeeper was very pleased at this offer of the boy’s. From that day on the boy began to work as a servant at the inn.
One day the innkeeper fell ill and took to his bed. The boy went and brought him a physician. When the physician had examined the innkeeper he said:
“There is one remedy for curing your illness. If you have water brought from the ablution fountain in the courtyard of the mosque our padishah has newly built,21 and drink three glasses of it, there will be nothing left wrong with you; you will get well!”
Then the boy said:
“Why, my lord physician, what is easier than that? I shall go and bring it this minute.”
The innkeeper, who was greatly cheered by the physician’s words, said:
“Off with you, Keloğlan, run quickly.”
The boy took a pail in his hand and ran to the mosque. As he was filling it from the ablution fountain and coming out of the mosque, did the Golden Nightingale on the dome not begin to sing? Until the boy came out of the mosque door it sang so beautifully, so beautifully, that all the people of the city were struck with wonder at its lovely voice. Men ran to the palace at once and brought the padishah word that the Golden Nightingale had sung.
The padishah was delighted at this news. He said to himself:
“There is something in this. Why should the Golden Nightingale, which has never sung to this day, suddenly begin to sing? Can it have seen someone it knows well?”
At this the padishah decided to go to the mosque on Friday and have every single person in the city pass through the mosque courtyard one by one.
From the next day on the criers began to go about the city and proclaim the padishah’s order.
On Friday morning the padishah got into his carriage and went to the mosque and took his place in the courtyard. The people of the city, gathered outside, began to pass through the courtyard one by one.
The padishah was waiting excitedly, thinking, “Now the Golden Nightingale will sing — now it will sing.”
Though those gathered outside passed through the mosque courtyard until not a single person was left, the Golden Nightingale did not sing.
The padishah grew angry and shouted:
“Is there nobody else in the city? Search everywhere, ask! Whoever is left who has not come here, bring them at once!”
The padishah’s viziers, his aides, his stewards and his servants ran off at once and scattered through the city and searched everywhere.
Then they came to the padishah and said:
“We have searched every place. We have found one person who has not come here. And that is the innkeeper’s servant, Keloğlan.”
The padishah said:
“Bring him here at once.”
They went and found Keloğlan and brought him.
The moment Keloğlan entered the mosque courtyard, did the Golden Nightingale not suddenly begin to sing? It was singing so beautifully, so merrily, that the padishah and all those present forgot everything in an instant and gave themselves up to listening to the Golden Nightingale with delight.
Then the padishah, coming to himself, turned to Keloğlan and said:
“Come closer and let me see you, Keloğlan.”
The boy had already been much moved at seeing his father. When he said, “Come closer to me,” he saw no need to hide himself any longer. Suddenly he cried:
“Dear father!” and ran and clasped his hands.
And the padishah, knowing his youngest son by his voice, said:
“My dear child,” and took him by the hands and raised him up and wanted to embrace him.
Then the boy took the stomach off his head and said:
“Dear father, if you will give me leave, let me go and clean myself and change my clothes, and give the innkeeper his keys back, and come at once.”
While those around were watching father and son find each other again with tears in their eyes, the padishah gave his son leave.
The boy ran to the inn. He handed the keys over to the innkeeper. He said goodbye and left. He went and went into a bath-house. After washing there he put on the new clothes sent from the palace and came out.
He went straight to the palace. When he had found his mother and kissed her hand and thrown his arms about her neck, the padishah asked:
“Well then, my son, tell me: where have you been all this time?”
The youngest boy began to tell his father one by one the things that had happened to him.
While they were talking like this, beyond Mount Kaf the daughter of the padishah of the peris woke from her sleep. And she looked, and the places of the candles had been changed. And the Golden Nightingale that stood at her bedhead had been stolen.
She flew into a terrible rage. She began to shout and cry out.
All the peri maidens gathered round her. She gave them her order:
“Find out for me at once who stole the Golden Nightingale.”
The peri maidens left the sultana’s presence. They went and asked the lion and the tiger, who stood in a place near the garden gate of the palace, and the muddy spring, and the thorny thickets, and the scarlet gate and the green gate. Then they returned at once and went to the Peri Sultana and said:
“A young man stole the Golden Nightingale. This young man was a padishah’s son. If you wish, let us go and find him.”
The Peri Sultana gave her order:
“Make ready at once. We shall go to that padishah’s country this instant. If the prince tells the truth about how he carried off the Golden Nightingale, well and good. But if he lies, we shall burn and destroy that country. We shall bring the palace down on the heads of the padishah and his son alike!”
The peri maidens made their preparations. Looking in the magic mirror they learned which country the Golden Nightingale was in. Then, with the Peri Sultana at their head, they mounted white clouds and flew and came to the padishah’s country.
They came down to the ground and pitched forty tents outside the city.
The Peri Sultana wrote the padishah a paper saying, “Whoever stole the Golden Nightingale from my palace and brought it here, let him come to me,” and sent it to the palace with a peri maiden.
When the padishah read the Peri Sultana’s paper he was afraid. Calling his eldest son and his middle son to him as well, he asked all three together:
“Which of you took the Golden Nightingale from the Peri Sultana’s palace?”
Just as the youngest boy was making ready to say “I took it,” the eldest boy broke in at once and said:
“I took it, dear father.”
The padishah said:
“Then the Peri Sultana is waiting for you. Go and see what she will say.”
The peri maiden took the eldest prince with her and brought him to her Peri Sultana.
The Peri Sultana said:
“Young man, give me a true answer. Was it you who took the Golden Nightingale from my palace?”
The eldest prince answered:
“Yes, my sultana, I took it.”
This time the Peri Sultana asked:
“Very well — did you see nothing at all on the road as you came to my palace? Did you get into my palace very easily?”
The prince said:
“I saw nothing whatever on the road, and I had no difficulty getting into your palace. I walked into your room swinging my arms, took the Golden Nightingale and came back.”
The Peri Sultana, terribly vexed at this answer of his, shouted:
“You are lying. I shall have your head cut off this minute. Be off with you at once. Let whoever took the Golden Nightingale come!”
The eldest prince turned back with the peri maiden and came to the palace.
The peri maiden said to the padishah:
“It is not this son of yours who brought the Golden Nightingale. Our sultana was very angry with him for lying and sent him back. Whichever son of yours brought the Golden Nightingale, she wants him.”
The padishah, learning that his eldest son had lied, was very angry with him, but did not show it at all. He said to the peri maiden:
“There has been some mistake, I suppose. Do not take it amiss. We shall find out now which son of mine brought the Golden Nightingale.”
He turned and asked his middle son and his youngest son:
“Which of you brought the Golden Nightingale?”
Just as the youngest prince was making ready to say “I brought it,” this time the middle prince got in ahead of him and said:
“Dear father, my brother and I went into the Peri Sultana’s palace together, but it was I who took the Golden Nightingale from the palace. My brother must have forgotten.”
The padishah said:
“Very well then, off you go.”
The middle prince and the peri maiden left the padishah’s presence and went to the Peri Sultana’s tent.
The Peri Sultana asked:
“Was it you who took the Golden Nightingale from my palace?”
The middle prince answered:
“Yes, my sultana, I took it.”
This time the Peri Sultana said:
“Very well — did you meet with nothing at all on the road as you came to my palace? Did you get into the palace very easily?”
Without thinking at all, the middle prince said:
“I saw nothing on the road, and I got into your palace easily. I took the Golden Nightingale and came back without meeting anyone.”
At this answer of his the Peri Sultana’s face fell:
“You are lying. You are not the one who took the Golden Nightingale. Go from here at once, or I shall have your head cut off. Whoever took the Golden Nightingale, let him come to me!”
The middle prince left the Peri Sultana’s tent at once. He came to the palace with the peri maiden. The peri maiden went up to the padishah and said:
“It is not this son of yours either who brought the Golden Nightingale. He is lying. Our sultana is very angry. Whoever brought the Nightingale, she wants him.”
The padishah, who had not yet been able to hear his youngest son’s story to the end and so had not learned who brought the Golden Nightingale, turned to the youngest prince and said:
“My son, you go as well and let us see.”
The youngest prince left his father’s presence. He went with the peri maiden to the Peri Sultana’s tent.
Before the Peri Sultana could find time to ask anything, he said:
“My sultana, what is it you want? It is I who took the Golden Nightingale from your palace and brought it here. It is I who killed the seven-lived dev and the eight-lived dev and cut off their ears. And it is I who went to the nine-lived dev and drank the milk at her breasts. Is there anything else you wish to know?”
The boy took the devs’ ears out of his pocket and threw them on the ground. The Peri Sultana said:
“Very well, it is you; I believe you. But how did you cross the sea?”
The youngest prince answered and said:
“There was a marble stone at the edge of the sea. I lifted it. I took the bit from underneath it. I struck the sea three times. The waters stirred and a sea-horse came out. I sprang onto its back and crossed to the other side. I hid the bit under the marble stone there. I walked a little, and two trees came out before me, one scarlet and the other green. I cut a branch from each of them. Again I walked. Two gates came before me, one green and the other scarlet. With the scarlet branch I struck the scarlet gate, and with the green branch the green gate. The gates opened and I passed through. I came in among the thorny thickets. From each of them I took a single leaf, saying, ‘What lovely leaves,’ and put them in my pocket. I walked on. I came to the head of the muddy spring. I said, ‘What clear water,’ and drank plentifully, and went on my way. I came upon a lion and a tiger. I changed the places of the meat and the grass in front of them and passed by there too. I came and entered your palace. I found your room, and after changing the places of the candles I took the Golden Nightingale and went out. That is how I got hold of the Golden Nightingale. And if you are angry with me for having done these things, I have no fear of you at all.”
The Peri Sultana laughed and said:
“No, my prince, I am not angry. On the contrary, I have come to admire you greatly for not lying and for being a brave young man. But I cannot live without my Golden Nightingale. If you are willing, I shall become your wife.”
This time the youngest prince said:
“Come, let us go together to my father the padishah.”
The Peri Sultana turned to the peri maidens and said:
“I am staying here. I shall not go back beyond Mount Kaf. Off with you now!”
The peri maidens gathered up the tents and in an instant were lost from sight.
After they had gone, the Peri Sultana and the youngest prince went straight to the palace and up to the padishah.
The youngest prince introduced the Peri Sultana to his father.
The Peri Sultana said:
“My padishah, the brave lad who took the Golden Nightingale from my palace and brought it here is this son of yours. Your other sons lied.”
At these words of hers the padishah said:
“I had understood all along that it was my youngest son who brought the Golden Nightingale. When he came into the mosque courtyard, the Golden Nightingale gave such a song as I cannot describe.”
Then, turning to his youngest son, he said:
“You were telling me the things that happened to you. What happened after you met Hızır Dede? Tell me, let us hear!”
The youngest prince told his father one by one everything that had happened to him from the moment he met Hızır Dede until he returned to his country.
When he learned the truth of the matter the padishah was terribly angry. Calling his eldest son and his middle son to him, he said:
“I have learned what you did to your brother. And on top of that, you lied both to me and to the Peri Sultana, saying that you brought the Golden Nightingale. I do not want sons who leave their own brother in a well to kill him, and who lie to their father besides. You will leave the country now. From this time on you are not my children. Go, and earn your living working in other countries. I do not wish to see your faces!”
The two brothers left their father’s presence weeping. They went and took their leave of their mother and went away from the country.
After they had gone the padishah turned to his youngest son and said:
“My son, I have grown old now. You are an upright, hard-working and courageous young man. From this time on you shall be padishah of the country in my place!”
When he had finished speaking he looked at the Peri Sultana and said:
“My sultana, and you I betroth to my son. You too shall be sultana of this country. You will live happily together.”
From that day on the wedding preparations were made. The marriage of the youngest prince and the Peri Sultana was celebrated with festivities that lasted forty days and forty nights.22
Later the padishah pleaded his old age and left his place to his son.
The young padishah, seeing the reward of his courage and his uprightness, worked on the one hand for the advancement of his country, and on the other led a happy life with his beautiful wife the Peri Sultana.23
Translator’s Notes
1. The tale opens with a rhyming formula: Bir varmış, bir yokmuş. Evvel zaman içinde, kalbur saman içinde — “there was one, there was none; in times long past, the sieve in the straw.” The second half means nothing at all; it is there because zaman rhymes with saman, and its work is to tell the listener that the story has left ordinary time. The sense, such as it is, has been kept and the rhyme lost. ↩
2. Hızır (Khidr) is the immortal helper of Turkish and wider Islamic tradition, who appears without warning in the shape of an old man, gives what is needed, and vanishes before he can be questioned; Dede, “grandfather,” is the affectionate title people give him. The detail that he prays in the mosque every Friday without anyone noticing is the whole of his character in one line. The blessing he gives three times by stroking the hero’s back is his standing gesture in the tales. ↩
3. Kafdağı, Mount Kaf (Qāf), is the mountain at the edge of the world in Islamic cosmography: the rim beyond which the ordinary world stops and the country of the peris and the devs begins. “Beyond Mount Kaf” is the standard Turkish way of saying unreachably far. A metal bird on the dome of a mosque is not a fancy of the tale’s own: the alem, the finial crowning a dome or minaret, is a real and conspicuous piece of a mosque, and the tale’s golden nightingale takes that place. ↩
4. Clothes of iron, sandals of iron and a staff of iron are the standing outfit for a journey without end: in many tales the hero is told that he must wear out so many pairs of iron shoes and so many iron staves before he arrives. Here the brothers have them made before setting out, which tells the listener at once how long the road is — and makes it the more pointed when two of them sell the iron for food money. ↩
5. Az gitmiş uz gitmiş, dere tepe düz gitmiş — “he went a little, he went far, he went valley, hill, flat.” Another rhyming formula, used to pass over travel that does not need describing; in Turkish it rhymes and scans, and the words mean almost nothing apart. It recurs a dozen times in this tale, each time slightly varied, and each time the rhyme is lost in English. ↩
6. Biri hancıya uşak olmuş, öteki de ahçıya çırak — “one became servant to the innkeeper, the other apprentice to the cook.” Uşak and çırak rhyme, and the pair is a set phrase for falling to the bottom; the rhyme has not survived. ↩
7. A dev is the ogre of Turkish and Persian tale — man-shaped, enormous, living apart from people beyond the edge of the settled world. “Giant” is the closest single English word but carries the wrong associations, and the word has been left as it stands. The archive holds several other tales of devs. ↩
8. Cutting off and keeping the dead monster’s ears is a proof-token: the hero will produce them much later, in front of the Peri Sultana, as evidence that the deeds were his. The tale is careful about this — he takes both ears of the first dev and the right ear of the second, and all of them come out of his pocket at the end. ↩
9. Yedi canlı, “seven-lived” — a dev with seven lives, and so one who must be killed seven times over, or killed in some particular way. The series rises through the tale: seven-lived, eight-lived, and finally the nine-lived mother of devs, on whom “neither lance nor arrow has any effect” — which is the point. The last of the three cannot be fought at all, and must be dealt with by a different means entirely. ↩
10. Yenge is specifically a brother’s wife, and it is a word with no single English equivalent; “sister-in-law” has been used throughout, but the Turkish is narrower and warmer. Turkish also ranks brothers in a way English does not: ağabey is an elder brother, and the hero’s küçük ağabey, literally “little elder brother,” is the middle of the three — he is the youngest himself, so he has no younger brother at all. It is rendered here as “middle brother.” The hero’s way of settling the question of the rescued girls — assigning each to a brother on the spot, before he has even met the second one — is a piece of ordinary household arithmetic for the tale, and it is also what makes the brothers’ later behaviour unforgivable rather than merely greedy: he had already given them everything he found. ↩
11. The suckling scene is the hinge of the tale and the one thing in it that needs explaining to a reader from outside the tradition. Milk creates kinship: a child fed at a woman’s breast becomes her child and the milk-brother of her other children, with the same prohibitions and the same claims as blood kin — a relationship recognised in Islamic law and still spoken of in Turkish as süt kardeşliği, “milk-brotherhood.” By drinking at the mother of devs’ breast the hero makes himself her son and her sons’ brother, and the seven devs say so themselves without being prompted: “We would call him brother.” He is not tricking her; he is invoking a rule that binds them both, and the monster who cannot be killed by weapons is bound by it absolutely. ↩
12. The Turkish as printed reads bir gam ağacı kadar iri gövdeli. Gam ağacı is not a tree; the reading taken here is çam ağacı, “pine tree,” an obvious slip of one letter in a comparison that otherwise makes no sense. [Verification needed] against the printed source. ↩
13. Denizatı means “sea-horse,” and in Turkish, as in English, it is also the name of the little fish; here it is the other thing, the horse that lives in the sea and is called up out of it. The bridle-bit (gem) hidden under a marble stone on each shore is the whole mechanism: whoever holds the bit commands the animal, and the hero carefully puts it back under the stone each time. Nothing is said about who left it there. ↩
14. Al is a strong red — scarlet or crimson — and in the tales it is a colour with weight of its own, not simply a shade. The matching of branch to gate by colour is a password rather than a key: the green branch opens the green gate and the scarlet the scarlet, and either one alone would be useless. ↩
15. The peris had set the grass before the tiger and the meat before the lion, and the hero simply reverses the two. The animals explain the grievance themselves — “for seven years you have been feeding meat to one of us and grass to the other” — but the tale never says why the reversed arrangement is any better, since both beasts are meat-eaters; the point is that the hero troubled himself at all. This is the first of the four grateful helpers — beasts, spring, thorns and gates — and the pattern is the same in every case: the peris have mistreated or neglected them, the hero has shown them one small courtesy, and when the chase comes each refuses the order it is given. ↩
16. Peri are the spirit-folk of Turkish and Persian tradition: beautiful, able to fly, organised into kingdoms with their own padishahs, sultanas, armies and maidens-in-waiting. They are not the fairies of English folklore and the word has been left untranslated, as elsewhere in this archive. The Peri Sultana’s own conduct at the end — she tests the three brothers, catches two of them out in their lies, and then proposes marriage to the third herself — is the sharpest characterisation in the tale. ↩
17. Altı ay bir güz gitmiş — “he went six months and an autumn.” An expression of a long journey, not a measurement; the extra autumn is there for the rhythm. ↩
18. The bird’s singing is the tale’s whole system of justice, and it works without anyone operating it. It cries out when it is taken; it sings on the road while the true winner carries it; it falls silent from the moment he is dropped down the well, and stays silent on the dome through all the days of the brothers’ triumph; and it breaks into song the instant he walks into the courtyard disguised as a bald scullion. The padishah’s search of the whole city is set in motion by a bird, and the recognition is complete before a word is said. ↩
19. Kötülük yapanın Allah ayağına dolaştırır — “God tangles it round the feet of the one who does evil,” that is, the harm a man does comes back to trip him. It is an everyday Turkish saying, and here it is also a prediction: the brothers are undone in the end by the lie they tell about this very moment. ↩
20. Keloğlan, “the bald boy,” is the great stock figure of the Turkish tale: scald-headed, poor, slighted, working in someone else’s kitchen, and victorious by the last page. Here the hero does not become him by misfortune but puts him on — a sheep’s cleaned and dried stomach (işkembe) drawn over the head makes a convincing bald scalp — and the disguise works because everyone knows what a Keloğlan is and nobody looks twice at one. The archive holds many tales of the real thing. ↩
21. The şadırvan is the fountain in a mosque courtyard where the faithful perform their ablutions before prayer, usually a basin ringed with taps and seats under a canopy. Water from it is holy enough, in the physician’s prescription, to be a cure — and ordinary enough for an innkeeper’s servant to be sent to fetch it in a pail. ↩
22. “Forty days and forty nights” is the standard length of a wedding in these tales, as forty is the standard number for anything that takes a long time; it is not a count. ↩
23. The tale as printed in the source ends here, with the young padishah’s happy reign. The closing rhyme that belongs with it — Onlar ermiş muradına, biz çıkalım tavan arasına, “they attained their heart’s desire; let us climb up to the attic” — appears in the source material attached to the citation block rather than to the end of the text, and so does not appear in the Turkish page in this archive either. It has not been added to the body here. [The Turkish original needs checking on this point.] ↩
On the tale as a whole. Offered by the translator and not taken from the source: this is a Turkish form of the international tale-type usually catalogued as ATU 550, “The Golden Bird” — a king sends his three sons after a marvellous bird, the youngest succeeds with supernatural help while the elder two fall by the wayside, and the brothers rob him of the credit on the road home. Grafted onto it is the betrayal at the well and the hero’s return in disguise, which belongs with ATU 301. The source is a popular collection and gives no classification; nothing has been entered in the type field of this record.
On the register. The Turkish is the plain written style of a collection prepared for general readers rather than a field transcription: the frame verbs are the oral -mış past that marks reported, unwitnessed narration from beginning to end, and the dialogue is set out with dashes in the manner of printed Turkish fiction. English has no equivalent of the -mış past and nothing has been substituted for it. The repetitions — the same formulas, the same questions, the hero’s full itinerary recited twice over at the end — are in the original and have been kept; they are how the tale is built.
