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Here we are, two weeks further into this process, a process that few, if any of us, can define, a collective transformation. Sometimes I feel a certain fatigue in all of this and maybe you do, too. I remind myself that all I can do, really, is express – through how I live, what I do, what I say and my own being- the values that I want to see in the world.
In that spirit, I offer you a little bit of humor and sweetness in today’s story, a Czech folk tale called “Clever Manka.”
“Peace begins with a smile.” Mother Teresa
Transcript of “A moment of respite: Clever Manka”
Hello, everyone, and welcome to Myth Matters, storytelling and conversation about mythology, and why myth matters to our lives today. I’m your host and personal mythologist Catherine Svehla. Wherever you may be, in this wide, beautiful, crazy world of ours, you are part of this story circle.
Here we are, my friend, two weeks further into this process, a process that few, if any of us, can define. One that feels very open ended. And now the news is full of calls to reopen the economy, to get back to business. I feel that longing to get back to some kind of normal, and I realized that I— and perhaps you feel this way too– I have yet to really grasp the magnitude of our experience and what’s underway.
I often feel like that man in the rowboat in the Annie Dillard story that I told you last time, the story about a man who was out in the ocean in a little rowboat and spent his whole night rowing mightily against the tide, until that same tide finally turned and carried him home, carried his boat back to his home shore. Sometimes I feel a certain fatigue in all of this, and maybe you do, too. I remind myself that all I can do, really, is express– through how I live, what I do, what I say and my own being– the values that I want to see in the world.
So, in that spirit, I want to offer you a little bit of humor and sweetness in today’s story. We only have a few minutes together, and it’s my hope that this may be a respite for you if you are also feeling that fatigue, that it might give you a smile today and in days to come. As always, I invite you to note your moment in the story and investigate that, see where it takes you. The things that attract us in a story, even a relatively simple folk tale like the one I’m about to share, can be a portal into very interesting reflection.
This folk tale is called “Clever Manka” and it’s from the Czech Republic. I found it in a collection titled” Best Loved Folktales from Around the World,” selected by Joanne Cole.
“Clever Manka”
Once upon a time, there was a rich farmer who was a very greedy and unscrupulous man. He claimed that he was very astute, but the reality is that he took advantage of his poor neighbors and exploited people’s bad luck. One of these neighbors was a modest shepherd who, in return for some service, was to receive from the farmer a heifer, when the time of payment came. However, the farmer refused to give the shepherd the heifer and the shepherd was forced to take this matter to the burgomaster, that is the local magistrate and judge.
Now, this burgomaster was a young man and he wasn’t very experienced yet in listening and weighing both sides. So he thought about the matter for a while and said, “Instead of deciding this case, I will put a riddle to you both and the man who makes the best answer, will have the heifer. Are you agreed?” The farmer and the shepherd accepted this unusual proposal and the burgomaster said, “Well, then here is my riddle. What is the swiftest thing in the world? What is the sweetest thing? What is the richest? Think out your answers and bring them to me at the same hour tomorrow.”
The farmer turned on his heel and stormed out of there. When he got home, he complained vigorously to his wife. “I don’t know what to think of this young burgomaster,” he said. “If he’d let me keep the heifer, well, I would have sent him a bushel of pears. But now it’s quite possible that I’m going to lose the heifer and I don’t have any answers to this foolish riddle. The old burgomaster would have given me the heifer without any argument, but this young man thinks he’s going to decide this case by asking us riddles!”
He told his wife the riddle, and she smiled and said, “Oh, don’t, don’t worry. Don’t worry because I know the answers. It’s obvious, my husband”, she said, “that our gray mare must be the swiftest thing in the world. I mean, you know yourself that nothing ever passes us on the road. As for the sweetest thing in the world, well, did you ever taste honey that was any sweeter than ours? And I’m sure that there is nothing richer than our chest of golden coins that we’ve been saving up for these past 40 years.” The farmer was delighted. “Why, by God, my wife, you’re right,” he said. “You are right that heifer is going to remain ours now.”
When the shepherd went home, he was downcast and sad. He didn’t feel any better equipped to answer the burgomaster’s riddle. When he got home, he was met by his daughter, a clever girl named Manka. She met him at the door and saw his clouded face and said, “What is it, Father? What did the burgomaster say?” “Oh my,” said the shepherd, “I’m afraid that I’ve lost my claim to the heifer. The burgomaster has set us a riddle, and I’ll never guess it.”
Well, maybe I can help you,” Manka said. “What’s the riddle?” The shepherd told her, and the next day, when he was getting ready to leave for the burgomaster’s, Manka told him what answers to make. When he reached the burgomaster’s house, the farmer was already there, rubbing his hands with glee and beaming with self importance. The burgomaster repeated the riddle and asked the farmer for his answers. “Well, okay,” said the farmer. “The swiftest thing in the world, my dear sir, is my gray mare of course, for no other horse ever passes us on the road. The sweetest, well, honey from my beehives to be sure. The richest– what can be richer than my chest of golden coins? The farmer smiled and squared his shoulders.
“Hmm,” said the young burgomaster. He turned to the shepherd. “And what answers does the shepherd make?” The shepherd bowed politely and said, “The swiftest thing in the world is thought, for thought can run any distance in the twinkling of an eye. The sweetest thing of all is sleep, for when a person is tired and sad, what could be sweeter? The richest thing is the earth, for out of the earth come all of the riches of the world.” “Good, good,” the burgomaster cried. “That’s wonderful! The heifer goes to the shepherd.”
The farmer stormed off and as the shepherd was getting ready to leave, the burgomaster took him by the arm and said,” Now wait, tell me. Now tell me who gave you those answers? I’m pretty sure that you didn’t think of that yourself.” At first, the shepherd tried not to tell, but the burgomaster pressed him and pressed him and so he confessed that in fact it was his daughter Manka, who answered the riddle. The burgomaster thought he might like to make another test of Manka’s cleverness. He sent for 10 eggs and gave them to the shepherd. “Take these eggs to your daughter Manka,” he said, “and tell her to have them hatched out by tomorrow and to bring me the chicks.”
The shepherd went home and gave Manka the eggs and the burgomaster’s message. She laughed and said, “Take a handful of millet and go right back to that burgomaster. Say to him, “my daughter sends you this millet. She says that if you plant it, grow it and have it harvested by tomorrow, she’ll bring you the ten chicks and you can feed them the ripe grain.” When the burgomaster heard this, he laughed and laughed and laughed. “Your daughter is a very clever girl,” he said to the shepherd. “If she’s as beautiful as she is clever, I might be interested in marrying her. Tell her to come and see me, but tell her that she must come neither by day nor by night, neither riding nor walking, neither dressed nor undressed.”
When Manka received this message, she waited until the next dawn, when night was gone and day had not yet arrived. Then she wrapped herself in a fish net, and throwing one leg over a goat’s back and keeping one foot on the ground, she went to the burgomaster’s house. Now you see, was she dressed? Of course, she wasn’t dressed because the fish net isn’t clothing. But she wasn’t undressed either because she was covered with a fishnet. Clearly, she didn’t walk to the burgomaster’s because she went with one leg thrown over a goat. But she didn’t ride either, because she did have one foot on the ground.
When she reached the burgomaster’s house, she called out, “Here I am Mr. Burgomaster and I have come neither by day nor by night, neither riding nor walking, neither dressed nor undressed.” Well, this young burgomaster was so delighted with Manka’s cleverness, and he was so pleased with the way that she looked, that he proposed to her at once, and in a short time she accepted and they were married. There was one condition, however. The burgomaster said, “You do understand, my dear Manka, that you are not to use any of that cleverness of yours at my expense. I won’t have you interfering in any of my cases. In fact, if you ever give advice to anyone who comes to me for judgment, I will turn you out of my house at once and send you back home to your father.”
Well, all went well for a while. In fact, they were very happy together, and Manka busied herself with her housekeeping, and she was careful not to interfere in any of the burgomaster’s cases. And then one day, two farmers came to the burgomaster to have a dispute settled. One of the farmers owned a mare that had foaled in the marketplace, and the colt had run under the wagon of the other farmer. Whereupon the owner of the wagon claimed that the colt was now his property.
The burgomaster was a little bit preoccupied that morning. And because he was thinking of other things, he said rather carelessly, “Well, okay, the man who found the colt under his wagon is, of course, the owner of the colt.” This man left with a great smile, but the owner of the mare was rather upset and as he was leaving the burgomaster’s house, he happened to run into Manka, and she could see this, and she paused, and the man proceeded to tell her about the case.
Manka was ashamed of her husband for making such a foolish decision. And so she said to the farmer, “Um, come back this afternoon with a fishing net and stretch it across the dusty road in front of our house. When the burgomaster sees you, he will come out and ask you what you are doing. Tell him that you are catching fish. And when he asks you how you can expect to catch fish in a dusty road, you must tell him that it’s just as easy for you to catch fish in a dusty road as it is for a wagon to foal. Then I believe he’ll see the injustice of his decision and have the colt returned to you. But one more thing, and don’t forget this. You must not let him find out that it was I who told you to do this.”
That afternoon, the burgomaster chanced to look out the window and he saw a man stretching a fishnet across the dusty road. He went out to him and said, “What are you doing?” “Fishing.” “You’re fishing in a dusty road. Seriously?” “Well,” said the man, “It’s just as easy for me to catch fish in a dusty road as it is for a wagon to foal.” And then, yes, the burgomaster recognized the man as the proper owner of the colt, and he had to confess that he’d made a mistake. “Of course, the colt belongs to you and it needs to be returned to you,” he said, “We will make that right. But now tell me who put you up to this? I don’t think you came up with this plan yourself.”
The farmer hemmed and hawed and tried to obfuscate. He really did everything to try not to tell. But the burgomaster questioned him very persistently, and he did eventually find out that Manka was at the bottom of it. And this made him very angry. He went into the house and called his wife. “Manka,” he said, “did you forget what I told you would happen if you went interfering in any of my cases? It was really pretty clear, and I know I know what you did. So I’m sorry, but I’m sending you home. You are going back home to your father this very day and I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to hear any excuses. We had an arrangement. The matter is settled. You may, however, take with you the one thing that you like best in my house, because I’m not going to have people saying that I treated you shabbily.”
Manka listened to all of this. She didn’t attempt to defend herself. She didn’t make any outcry. “Very well, my dear husband. I shall do as you say. I shall go home to my father’s cottage, and I will take with me the one thing that I like best in your house. But don’t make me go until after we’ve had supper. I mean, we have been very, very happy here together, and I should very much like to eat one last meal with you. So let’s not talk about it anymore. Let’s just be kind to each other as we’ve always been and enjoy a meal and part as friends.” The burgomaster agreed to this, and Manka prepared a fine supper of all of his favorite dishes, and on his part, he opened his choicest wine and drank to Manka’s health.
And then he started eating, and the supper was so good that he ate and ate and ate. And the more he ate, the more of that fine wine he drank, until at last he got very drowsy, and in fact, he fell asleep right in this chair. Without awakening him. Manka had him carried out to the wagon that was waiting in the yard to take her home to her father.
The next morning, when the burgomaster opened his eyes, he found himself lying in the shepherd’s cottage. “What does this mean?” he said, “What am I doing here?” “Oh, well, nothing, nothing my dear husband,” Manka said. “You know, you told me that I might take with me the one thing I like best in your house. So of course I took you. That’s all.” For a moment, the burgomaster rubbed his eyes in amazement, and then he laughed and laughed and laughed at how Manka had outwitted him. “Manka,” he said, “you are too clever for me. Come on, my dear, my beloved, let’s go home.” So they climbed back into the wagon and drove home, and the burgomaster never again scolded his wife. But thereafter, whenever a very difficult case came up, he always said, “I think we better consult my wife. You know, she’s a very clever woman.”
A very clever woman. That was the folk tale from the Czech Republic called “Clever Manka,” and I hope you find as much to smile about in that story as I do. I know it’s simple. The pleasures in it are simple, and yet our ability to reconnect with the simple pleasures that are the foundation of life is one of the opportunities of this time, don’t you think?
And that’s it for me on the story front. But before I go, I want to read you a poem that was sent to me, for you, by Maxine Bowden. It’s titled “Ithaca” and it was written by Constantine Cavafy.
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Keep Ithaca always in your mind, my friends. Each of us has such a place, and it may be more real and more attainable now than it ever has been before. Thank you so much, Maxine, for sending me that poem, and I invite you to send me a poem that you would like to hear read, or send me recordings of yourself reading a poem that you like, and it will make its way, like this one, into a future podcast.
I also welcome your comments and questions. It’s wonderful to hear from you. You will find contact information at the Mythic Mojo website. I also post transcripts of podcast episodes on the website, along with links to other material that you might find useful. Thank you so much for your support of this podcast– for sharing it with other people or giving it a thumbs up review on Google play or I heart radio or wherever you’re listening. If you have the means to support Myth Matters financially, then please find me on Patreon. I know finances may feel precarious right now, so there’s no need to stress about it.
I plan to meet you here on the digital airwaves, no matter what, in this space that is no place and every place, we are together. Take good care of yourself, my friend, and until next time, happy myth-making and keeps the mystery in your life alive.
Links to resources:
Find a copy of Best-Loved Folktales of the World by Joanna Cole at Powell’s City of Books: https://www.powells.com/book/-9780385189491
Learn more about poet Constantine Cavafy: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/c-p-cavafy
