Jungian therapy and analysis. Anima and animus: week 3

Well, they came to her place to do the spinning. The ball of thread she kept in readiness. Her sweetheart was keeping her waiting. The others began teasing her: 'Your sweetheart is going to let you down, Ibronka!'

'To be sure, he won't. He will come; only some business is now keeping him away.'

They hear the door open. They stop in silence and expectation: who is going to open the door? It is Ibronka's sweetheart. He greets them all and takes a seat at her side. And as is the custom of the young, they make conversation, each having something to tell the other. Amid such talk the time passes.

'Lets be going home, it must be close to midnight.'

And they file off and leave the room, one after the other. Outside the house a final goodbye was said, and each went his way and was soon bound homeward.

And the pair drew closer to each other and were talking about this and that. And she was manipulating the thread until she got the end knotted around a tuft of wool in his sheepskin cape. Well, they did not make long with their conversation as they began to feel the chill of the night. 'You better go in now, my dear' he said to Ibronka, 'or you'll catch cold. When the weather turns mild we may converse at greater leisure. '

And they embraced. 'Goodnight,' he said.

'Goodnight,' she said to him.

And he went his way. And she began to unwind the ball as he was walking away. Fast did the thread unwind from the ball. And she began to speculate how much more there would be still to come but, no sooner than this thought came into her head, than it stopped. For a while she kept waiting. But no more thread came off the ball. Then she started to rewind it. And bravely she followed the track of the thread as she went winding it into a ball again. Rapidly the ball was growing in her hand. And she was thinking to herself that she would not have to go very much further. But where would the thread be leading her? It led her straight to the church.

'Well,' she thought, 'he must have passed this way.'

But the thread led her further on, straight to the churchyard. And she walked over to the door. And through the keyhole the light shone from the inside. And she bent down and peeped through the keyhole. And whom does she behold there? Her own sweetheart. She keeps her eye on him to find out what he was doing. Well, he was busy sawing the head of a dead man in two. She saw him separate the two parts, just the same way we cut a melon in two. And then she saw him feasting on the brains from the halved head. Seeing that, she grew even more horrified. She broke the thread and, in great haste, made her way back to the house.

But her sweetheart must have caught sight of her and briskly set out after her. No sooner had she reached home in great weariness and bolted the door safely on the inside, than her sweetheart was calling through the window, 'Pretty Maid Ibronka, what did you see looking through the keyhole?'

She answered, 'Nothing did I see.'

'You must tell me what you saw, or your sister will die.'

'Nothing did I see. If she dies, we'll bury her.'

Then her sweetheart went away.

First thing in the morning she went to the old woman. In great agitation did she appeal to her, as her sister had died. 'Oh mother, I need your advice.'

'What about?'

'Well, I did what you advised me to do.'

'What happened then?'

'Oh, just imagine, he was sawing a dead man's head in two, just the same way we'd go about cutting up a melon. And there I stayed and kept my eye on him, to see what he'd be doing next. And he set to feasting on the brains from the severed head I was so horrified that I broke the thread and in great haste made my way back home. But he must have caught sight of me, because as soon as I had the door safely bolted on the inside, he was calling me through the window, "Pretty Maid Ibronka, what did you see looking through the keyhole?" "Nothing did I see." "You must tell me what you saw, or your sister will die." I said then, "If she dies, we will bury her, but nothing did I see through the keyhole." '

'Now listen,' the old woman said, 'take my advice and put your dead sister in the outhouse.'

Next evening she did not dare to go spinning with her friends, but her sweetheart was calling again through her window, ‘Pretty Maid Ibronka, what did you see through her window, ‘Pretty Maid Ibronka, what did you see through the keyhole?’

‘Nothing did I see.’

‘You must tell me what you saw,’ he said, ‘or your mother shall die.’

‘If she dies, we will bury her, but nothing did I see looking through the keyhole.’

He turned away from the window and was off. Ibronka was preparing for a night’s rest. When she rose in the morning, she found her other dead. She went to the old woman. ‘Oh, mother, what will all this lead to? My mother too--she’s dead.’

‘Do not worry about it, but put her corpse in the outhouse.’

In the evening her sweetheart came again. He was calling her through the window, ‘Pretty Maid Ibronka, tell me, what did you see looking through the keyhole?’

‘Nothing did I see.’

‘You must tell me what you saw,’ he said, ‘or your father shall die.’

‘If he dies, we wil bury him, but nothing did I see looking through the keyhole.’

Her sweetheart turned away from the window and was off, and she retired for the night. But she could not help musing over her lot; what would come of all this? And she went on speculating until she felt sleepy and more at ease. But she could not rest for long. Soon she lay wide awake and was pondering over her fate. ‘I wonder what the future keeps in store for me?’ And when the day broke she found her father dead. ‘Now I am left alone.’

She took the corpse of her father into the outhouse, and then she went as fast as she could to the old woman again. ‘Oh, mother, mother! I need your comfort in my distress. What is going to happen to me?’

‘You know what’s going to happen to you? I may tell you. You are going to die. Now go and ask your friends to be there when you die. And when you die, because die you will for certain, they must not take out the coffin either through the door or the window when they carry it to the churchyard.’

‘How then?’

‘They must cut a hole through the wall and must push the coffin through that hole. But they should not carry it along the road but cut across through the gardens and the bypaths. And they should not bury it in the burial ground but in the ditch of the churchyard.’

Well, she went home. Then she sent word to her friends, the girls in the village, and they appeared at her call.

In the evening her sweetheart came to the window. ‘Pretty Maid Ibronka, what did you see looking through the keyhole?’

‘Nothing did I see.’

‘You must tell me at once,’ he said, ‘or you shall die.’

‘If I die, they will bury me, but nothing did I see through the keyhole.’

He turned away from the window and took off.

Well, for a while she and her friends kept up their conversation. They were only half inclined to believe that she would die. When they grew tired they went to sleep. But when they awoke, they found Ibronka dead. They were not long in bringing a coffin and cutting a hole through the wall. They dug a grave for her in the ditch of the churchyard. They pushed the coffin through the hole in the wall and went off with it. They did not follow the road, but went cross-country, cutting through the gardens and the bypaths. When they came to the churchyard they buried her. Then they returned to the house and filled in the hole they had cut through the wall. It so happened that before she died, Ibronka enjoined them to take care of the house until further events took place.

Before long, a beautiful rose grew out of Ibronka’s grave. The grave was not far from the road, and a prince, driving past in his coach, saw it. So much was he taken by its beauty that he stopped the coachman at once. ‘Hey! Rein in the horses and get me that rose from the grave. Be quick about it!’

At once the coachman came to a halt. He jumps from the coach and goes to fetch the rose. But when he wants to break it off, the rose will not yield. He is pulling harder now, but still it does not yield. He is pulling the rose with all his might, but all in vain.

‘Oh, what a dummy you are! Haven’t you got the brains to pick a rose? Come on here, get back on the coach and let me go and get a flower.’

The coachman got back on to his seat, and the prince gave him the reins, which he had been holding while the other went for the rose. The prince then jumped down from the coach and went to the grave. No sooner had he grasped the rose, than it came off at once and he was holding it in his hand.

‘Look here, you idiot, with all your tearing and pulling you could not get me this rose, and hardly did I touch it and off it came into my hand.’

Well, they took off, driving back home at great speed. The prince pinned the rose on his breast. At home, he found a place for it in front of the dining-room mirror so that he should be able to look at it even while he was having his meals.

There the rose stayed. One evening some leftovers remained on the table after supper. The prince left them there. ‘I may eat them some other time.’

This happened every now and again. Once the servant asked the prince, ‘Did your majesty eat the leftovers?’

‘Not I,’ said the prince. ‘I guessed it was you who finished off what was left.’

‘No, I did not,’ he says.

‘Well, there’s something fishy about it.’

Says the servant, ‘I am going to find out who’s in this--the cat, or whoever.’

Neither the prince nor the servant would have guessed that the rose was eating the remains.

‘Well,’ said the prince, ‘we must leave some more food on the table. And you will lie in wait and see who’s going to eat it up.’

They left plenty of food on the table. And the servant was lying in wait, but never for a moment did he suspect the rose. And the rose alighted from her place by the mirror, and shook itself, at at once it turned into such a beautiful maiden that you could not find a second to her, not in all Hungary, not in all the wide world. Well, she sat down on a chair at the table and supped well off the dishes. She even found a glass of water to finish off her supper. Then she shook herself a little and back again she was in her place in front of the mirror, in the shape of a rose.

Well, the servant was impatiently waiting for day to break. Then he went to the prince and reported, ‘I’ve found it out, your royal majesty, it was the rose.’

‘This evening you must lay the table properly and leave plenty of food on it. I am going to see for myself whether you are telling me the truth.’

And as they were lying in wait, the prince and the servant, they saw the rose alight from her place. She made a slight movement, then shook herself and at once turned into a fine and beautiful maiden. She takes a chair, sits down at the table, and sups well on the dishes. The prince was watching her as he sat under the mirror. And when she finished her supper and poured herself a glass of water and was about to shake herself into a rose again, the prince clasped his arms round her and took her into his lap.

‘My beautiful and beloved sweetheart. You are mine, and I am yours for ever, and nothing but death can us part.’

‘Oh, it cannot be so,’ said Ibronka.

‘To be sure, it can be,’ he says, ‘And why not?’

‘There is more to it than you think.’

Well, I just remember a slip I have made in the story. Here goes then. On the day she was buried, her sweetheart appeared at her window as usual. He called in to her. But no answer came. He goes to the door and kicks it open. ‘Tell me, you door, was it through you they took out Ibronka’s coffin.’

‘No, it was not.’

He goes then to the window. ‘Tell me, you window, was it through you they took the coffin out?’

‘No it was not.’

He take himself off to the road. ‘Tell me, you road, was it this way they took the coffin?’

‘No, it was not.’

He goes to the churchyard. ‘Tell me, you churchyard, was it in your ground they buried Pretty Maid Ibronka?’

‘No, it was not.’

Well, that is the missing part.

Fervently the prince is now wooing her and tries to win her consent to their marriage. But she resorts to evasion. And finally she made her condition, ‘I will marry you only if you never compel me to go to church.’

Said the prince, ‘Well then, we could get along without you going to church. Even if I sometimes go myself. I shall never compel you to come with me.’

Here is another part of the story I missed telling in its proper order. As he did not get any the wiser from the answer of the road, and the churchyard either, her sweetheart said to himself, ‘Well, I see I must get myself a pair of iron moccasins and an iron staff and then I shall not stop until I find you, Pretty Maid Ibronka, even if I have to wear them away to naught.’

The time comes when Ibronka is expecting a child. The couple are living happily, only she never goes along with him to church. Day follows day, the years slip by. Again she is with child. They have already two children, and they are no longer babes, but a boy of five and six years of age. And it is their father who takes them to church. True enough, he himself had found it strange enough that only his children went with him while all other folks appeared together with their wives. And he knew that they rebuked him for it and said, ‘Why does not your majesty bring along the queen?’

He says, ‘Well, that is the custom with us.’

But all the same he felt embarrassed after this rebuke, and next Sunday, when he was getting ready with the boys to go to church, he said to his wife, ‘Look here, missus, why won’t you come with us too?’

She answered, ‘Look her, husband, don’t you remember your promise?’

‘How then? Must we stick to it for ever and aye? I’ve been hearing their scorn long enough. And how could I give up going to church when the kids want me to go with them? Whatever we were saying then, let us forget about it.’

‘All right, let it be as you wish, but it will give rise to trouble between us two. However, as I see you’ve set your mind on it, I am willing to go with you. Now let me go and dress for church.’

So they went, and it made the people rejoice to see them together. ‘That is the right thing, your majesty,’ they said, ‘coming to church with your wife.’

The mass is drawing to a close, and when it ends, a man is walking up to the couple wearing a pair of iron moccasins worn to holes, and with an iron staff in his hand. He calls out loudly, ‘I pledged myself, Ibronka, that I would put on a pair of iron moccasins and take an iron staff, and go out looking for you, even if I should wear then to naught. But before I had worn them quite away, I found you. Tonight I shall come to you.’

And he disappeared. On their way home the king asked his wife, ‘What did that man mean by threatening you?’

‘Just wait and see, and you will learn what will come of it.’

So both were anxiously waiting for the evening to come. The day was drawing to a close. Suddenly there was someone calling through the window, ‘Pretty Maid Ibronka, what did you see through the keyhole?’

Pretty Maid Ibronka then began her speech: ‘I was the prettiest girl in the village, but to a dead and not a living soul am I speaking--and all the other girls had a sweetheart--but to a dead and not a living soul am I speaking. Once I let it out, I wish God would give me one, even if one of the devils he were. There must have been something in the way I said it, because that evening, when we gathered to do our spinning, there appeared a young lad in a sheepskin cape, and a hat graced with a feather of a crane. He greet us and takes a seat at my side and we are conversing, as is the custom of the young. And then it so happened--but to a dead and not a living soul am I speaking--that my spindle slipped from my hand. I bent to pick it up and so did my sweetheart, but as my groping hand touched his foot, I felt at once--but to a dead and not to a living soul am I speaking--that it was a cloven hoof. And I recoiled in horror that God had given me a devil for a sweetheart--but to a dead and not a living soul am I speaking.’

And he is shouting at the top of his voice through the window. ‘Pretty Maid Ibronka, what did you see looking through the keyhole?’

‘But when at the parting, as is the custom with the young, we embraced, my hand went straight through his flesh. At that I grew even more horrified. There was a woman in the village, and I went to ask for her advice. And she put me wise--but to a dead and not a living soul am I speaking.’

And he kept shouting through the window, ‘Pretty Maid Ibronka, what did you see looking through the keyhole?’

‘And then my sweetheart took leave and went away. And I wished he would never come again--but to a dead and not a living soul am I speaking. The woman said, I was to try and do the spinning at some other place, once here, once there, so that he might not find me. But wherever I went, there he came. And again I went for advice to the woman--but to a dead and not a living soul am I speaking.’

And he was shouting through the window, ‘Pretty Maid Ibronka, what did you see looking through the keyhole?’

‘Then the woman advised me to get myself a ball of thread, which I was to fasten on to his sheepskin cape. And when he asked me and I said “Nothing did I see,” he said, “Tell me at once, or your sister shall die,” “If she dies, we will bury her, but nothing did I see looking through the keyhole.” And he came again next evening and asked me what I had seen through the keyhole--but to a dead and not a living soul am I speaking.’

And all the while he never stops shouting through the window.

‘And my sister died. And the next evening he came again and was calling to me through the window--but to a dead and not to a living soul am I speaking. “Tell me what you saw, or your mother shall die.” “If she dies, we will bury her.” Next evening he is calling to me again, “Pretty Maid Ibronka, what did you see looking through the keyhole?”--but to a dead and not a living soul am I speaking. “Tell me what you saw, or your father shall die.” “If he dies, we will bury him, but nothing did I see looking through the keyhole.” On that day I sent word to my friends, and they came and it was arranged that when I died they would not take my coffin either through the door or the window. Nor were they to take me along the road to bury me in the churchyard.’

And he went on shouting through the window, ‘Pretty Maid Ibronka, what did you see looking through the keyhole?’

‘And my friends cut a hole through the wall and went along the road when they took me to the churchyard where they buried me in the ditch--but to a dead and not to a living soul am I speaking.’

And he collapsed under the window. He uttered a shout which shook the castle to its bottom, and it was he who died then. Her mother and her father and her sister rose from their long sleep. And that is the end of it.