From the Horn, There's Plenty of Everything

Once upon a time, there lived an old man and an old woman. They lived poorly, as is often the case with the elderly: they couldn’t work or earn much, and all they had was what they managed to gather through begging.

They waited for spring to come. People began to sow their fields.

Then the old woman said to the old man:

“You should sow some millet, old man. I’ve hidden away a small pot of seeds for planting. Then we could cook some porridge, because these hard crackers are too tough for our teeth.”

“Alright,” said the old man, “I’ll sow some.”

He dug up a small patch of land near some bushes and sowed the millet.

The millet sprouted and grew. The sun warmed it, and the rain watered it. The old man rejoiced at his millet, overjoyed at its growth.

One day, he went to check on his millet. He saw a crane striding through it.

“Shoo, shoo, get out of here!” the old man shouted at the crane. “Look where you’ve found a place to wander!”

The crane flapped its wings and flew away.

The old man looked, but all his millet was ruined—trampled and beaten down...

The old man grew sad. He returned home and said to the old woman:

“The millet was growing well, but now there’s trouble: a crane has taken to flying into it—it’s completely trampled and ruined by its long legs. There’ll be nothing to harvest.”

The old woman grieved for a while, then said:

“You used to be a good hunter, old man. And your gun is lying around in the attic. Take it and go shoot that good-for-nothing crane. At least we’ll have some meat instead of porridge.”

The old man listened, fetched his gun from the attic, cleaned it, loaded it with shot, and went to his little field.

When he arrived, he saw the crane trampling the millet again. The old man grew furious, took aim, and was about to shoot the thief.

But the crane lifted its head and spoke in a human voice:

“Wait, old man! What are you planning to do?”

“I’m going to shoot you!” said the old man. “You’ve trampled all my millet with your long legs.”

The crane replied:

“I didn’t know, old man, that this was your millet. I thought it belonged to the lord. Forgive me.”

“Forgive you, you say!” said the old man. “I have nothing else, and my only hope was this millet. Now, because of you, I’ll have to starve.”

The crane listened to the old man’s complaint.

“Well, since you’re so poor,” it said, “wait a little. I’ll bring you a gift in return for your millet.”

It flapped its wings and flew off behind the bushes.

The old man stood there with his gun, thinking, “It seems the crane has tricked me. I should have shot it. What will I tell the old woman?”

But just as he thought this, he saw the crane flying back from behind the bushes, holding a small bag in its beak.

It flew up to him and handed the bag to the old man.

“Here,” it said, “old man, for your millet.”

The old man glanced at the bag—it was just a simple beggar’s pouch!

He shook his head and said:

“What do I need this for? I already have plenty of my own. I’m a beggar. And a beggar’s pouch, as you know, is all his wealth.”

“Take it, old man: you don’t have one like this. It’s a magic pouch. Just place it in front of you and say, ‘Pouch, unroll, unfold, give me food and drink,’ and everything will appear in an instant. And when you’ve eaten, say, ‘Pouch, roll up, fold up, take away the food and drink,’ and the pouch will return to how it was.”

“Thank you, if that’s the case,” said the old man, and he headed home with the pouch.

The old man couldn’t wait to see if the crane had told the truth about the pouch. He sat down by the road, placed the pouch on his knees, and said:

“Pouch, unroll, unfold, give me food and drink!”

And a miracle! Instantly, a table laden with such rich food appeared before the old man that even the lords wouldn’t have seen its like: pies and loaves of bread, roasted and stewed dishes, sweets, and various wines...

“The crane’s a good one—it didn’t trick me!” the old man rejoiced.

He ate and drank his fill, then told the pouch to roll up, tucked it into his coat, and cheerfully went on his way. When he arrived home, he said:

“Are you alive, old woman? Are you well?”

“Alive, alive! And you? You were gone so long. I thought the wolves had eaten you or the bears had dragged you into the moss and covered you with brushwood.”

“No, old woman, the wolves didn’t eat me, and the bears didn’t drag me away. I’ve brought bread and salt—enough for the rest of our lives. Sit down, old woman, at the table.”

The old man took the pouch from his coat, placed it on the table, and said the necessary words.

The old woman’s eyes nearly popped out of her head: not only did everything appear on the table, but even their little hut seemed to brighten...

“Where did you get this, old man?”

“The crane gave it to me—the one you told me to shoot.”

“Oh, oh!” the old woman clutched her head. “Why would you shoot such a fine crane?”

The old woman ate and drank her fill, then said to the old man:

“Let’s invite some guests.”

“What guests?”

“All those who have nothing to eat.”

“Invite them,” the old man agreed.

The old woman went through the village and called all the poor folk.

The guests loved the magic pouch. Every day, they began to visit the old man and woman to feast.

The lord’s steward heard about the magic pouch and told the lord.

“It can’t be that some beggar eats and drinks better than I do!” the envious lord fumed.

He hitched his horses to a carriage and rode to the old man’s house.

“Is it true,” he asked, “that you have a pouch that feeds you by itself?” The old man didn’t know how to lie and told the truth.

“Show it to me.”

The old man placed the pouch on the table and told it to unfold.

The lord was dumbfounded—even his cooks couldn’t prepare such roasted and boiled dishes!

“Give me that pouch,” the lord begged the old man. “Why do you need such lordly dishes? Even princes come to visit me. I’ll use it to entertain them.”

“No,” said the old man, “I can’t give it away: who will feed me and the old woman then?”

The lord said:

“I’ll send you a whole cart of simple food: bread, potatoes, lard...”

The lord pestered the old man until there was nothing he could do.

“If you don’t give it willingly, I’ll take it by force, and you’ll get a whipping too.”

Well, there’s no arguing with a lord. So the old man agreed and gave him the pouch.

The lord returned to his estate, lived there in luxury, and entertained guests every day: the pouch served him faithfully. But he never gave a thought to the old man and woman.

The old man waited and waited for the lord to pay for the pouch, but he never did.

“Maybe he forgot about our agreement,” said the old woman. “Go, old man, remind the lord.”
The grandfather went to the lord, but the lord—where was he!—didn’t even want to talk.

“I have no bread for you. Go beg for alms!”

“If that’s the case, then give me back my bag,” said the grandfather.

“Ah, you scoundrel!” shouted the lord. “I’ll show you a bag! Hey, servants, give this beggar twenty-five lashes so he won’t come back here again!”

The servants seized the grandfather, beat him, and threw him out the gate.

The grandfather returned home. He told his wife about the payment he had received from the lord. The old woman grieved, cursed the lord, and said to her husband:

“Go, old man, and look for that kind crane. Maybe he’ll give you another bag like that one.”

The grandfather got ready and went out into the field. He sat down in a clearing and waited. Suddenly, he saw a crane flying by. The grandfather approached it.

“So, brother crane,” he said, “the lord took your wonderful bag from me. And his servants beat me with whips. How am I supposed to live with my wife now? Maybe you could give me another bag like that?”

The crane thought for a moment and said:

“No, I won’t give you another bag. I’ll give you something better—a horn.”

The crane flew off somewhere behind the bushes, then returned with a silver horn in its beak.

“Here,” it said, “take this instead of the bag.”

“What am I supposed to do with it?” asked the grandfather.

“Go to the lord with this horn and say, ‘From the horn, everything in abundance!’ And when you’ve satisfied the lord, say, ‘Oh, everything back into the horn!’”

With that, the crane flapped its wings and flew away.

The grandfather turned the silver horn over in his hands and thought, “It seems the crane has given me something tricky. But I hope I don’t earn another beating because of this horn...”

As he walked home, the old man kept thinking about the horn—should he take it to the lord or not? On the way, he ran into the lord’s steward.

“Where have you been, old man?” asked the steward.

“I went to see a friendly crane,” replied the grandfather.

“What did it give you?”

“A silver horn.”

“Show it to me.”

The grandfather took the horn out of his pocket and showed it to the steward.

“What do you do with it?” asked the steward.

“Nothing,” answered the grandfather.

“What do you mean, nothing? You’re hiding something from me. Maybe gold pours out of it?”

“Maybe it does... Who knows.”

“Then command it to pour out gold,” the steward insisted.

“You can command it yourself, sir.”

“How?”

“Say, ‘From the horn, everything in abundance!’”

“From the horn, everything in abundance!” shouted the greedy steward.

Suddenly, twelve young men with whips jumped out of the horn and began beating the steward.

The steward howled and begged:

“Stop them, old man, or they’ll beat me to death!”

But the grandfather just laughed:

“Don’t be so nosy and envious. Don’t stick your nose into someone else’s business!”

The young men beat the steward until he was covered in bruises.

Then the grandfather said:

“Oh, everything back into the horn!”

And all the young men instantly disappeared back into the horn.

“Ah, now I know why the kind crane gave me this horn!” the grandfather chuckled to himself and headed to the lord’s estate.

When he arrived, the lord was hosting a grand feast. The guests were drinking and celebrating. The grandfather’s bag lay on the table.

“Well, old man, what do you have to say?” asked the lord.

“I’ve come for my bag, sir,” replied the grandfather.

“Ha-ha-ha!” laughed the lord, putting his hands on his hips. “Have you ever seen such an old fool? He wants another beating! Hey, servants, give him twenty-five lashes in front of all my guests!”

The servants grabbed the grandfather and threw him to the floor. But the grandfather quickly pulled out the silver horn and shouted:

“From the horn, everything in abundance!”

Out jumped twelve young men with whips, and they began lashing the servants, the lord, and his guests.

The lord got the worst of it—the grandfather stood to the side and commanded:

“At the servants—one! At the guests—two!! At the lord—three!!!”

The young men obeyed the grandfather’s every word.

The lord groaned and groaned, but soon realized there was no escape.

“Take the bag, old man, just call off your men!”

“You should have said that sooner, sir,” the grandfather smirked. “But now one bag won’t be enough.”

“What else do you want? I’ll give you a horse, a cow...”

“No, sir, that’s not enough.”

“Ah, ah, ah!” wailed the lord. “Tell me what you want, or they’ll beat me to death!”

“If you want to live,” said the grandfather, “give your estate to the poor and run away wherever your eyes take you!”

The lord cried out even louder:

“Oh, how can I live without my estate?”

“If you don’t want to, that’s your choice,” said the grandfather. “Hey, lads, give the lord all the lashes!”

The young men stopped beating the guests and servants and turned their attention to the lord.

The lord twisted and turned under the whips like a fish on a hot skillet, and finally he couldn’t take it anymore:

“I’ll give it, I’ll give the estate!”

“Good. But don’t try to cheat me, or I have a way to deal with you,” the grandfather laughed. “Oh, everything back into the horn!”

And the young men instantly disappeared back into the horn. The grandfather put the horn in his pocket and said:

“I’ll come back tomorrow to check. If you’re still here, I’ll unleash my helpers again!”

And the grandfather went home happy—with his bag and the horn.

The next day, at the crack of dawn, the lord fled the estate, fearing the grandfather might return with his young men.

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From the Horn, There's Plenty of Everything

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