The
Olive Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1907], at sacred-texts.com
THE
OLIVE FAIRY BOOK
EDITED
BY
ANDREW
LANG
LONGMANS,
GREEN, AND CO.
LONDON,
BOMBAY, AND CALCUTTA
[1907]
The
Olive Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1907], at sacred-texts.com
CONTENTS
[*Preface]
[*Madschun]
[*The
Blue Parrot]
[*Geirlaug
the King's Daughter]
[*The
Story of Little King Loc]
[*'A
Long-bow Story']
[*Jackal
or Tiger?]
[*The
Comb and the Collar]
[*The
Thanksgiving of the Wazir]
[*Samba
the Coward]
[*Kupti
and Imani]
[*The
Strange Adventures of Little Maia]
[*Diamond
cut Diamond]
[*The
Green Knight]
[*The
Five Wise Words of the Guru]
[*The
Golden-headed Fish]
[*Dorani]
[*The
Satin Surgeon]
[*The
Billy Goat and the King]
[*The
Story of Zoulvisia]
[*Grasp
all, Lose all]
[*The
Fate of the Turtle]
[*The
Snake Prince]
[*The
Prince and Princess in the Forest]
[*The
Clever Weaver]
[*The
Boy who found Fear at last]
[*He
Wins who Waits]
[*The
Steel Cane]
[*The
Punishment of the Fairy Gangana]
[*The
Silent Princess]
The
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[f00]
PREFACE
Many
years ago my friend and publisher, Mr. Charles Longman, presented me with Le
Cabinet des Fees ('The Fairy Cabinet'). This work almost requires a swinging
bookcase for its accommodation, like the Encyclopaedia Britannica, and in a
revolving bookcase I bestowed the volumes. Circumstances of an intimately
domestic character, 'not wholly unconnected,' as Mr. Micawber might have said,
with the narrowness of my study (in which it is impossible to 'swing a cat'),
prevent the revolving bookcase from revolving at this moment. I can see,
however, that the Fairy Cabinet contains at least forty volumes, and I think
there are about sixty in all. This great plenitude of fairy tales from all
quarters presents legends of fairies, witches, genii or Djinn, monsters,
dragons, wicked step-mothers, princesses, pretty or plain, princes lucky or
unlucky, giants, dwarfs, and enchantments. The stories begin with those which
children like best--the old Blue Beard, Puss in Boots, Hop o' my Thumb, Little
Red Riding Hood, The Sleeping Beauty, and Toads and Pearls. These were first
collected, written, and printed at Paris in 1697. The author was Monsieur
Charles Perrault, a famous personage in a great perruque, who in his day wrote
large volumes now unread. He never dreamed that he was to be remembered mainly
by the shabby little volume with the tiny headpiece pictures--how unlike the
fairy way of drawing by Mr. Ford, said to be known as 'Over-the-wall Ford'
among authors who play cricket, because of the force with which he swipes!
Perrault picked up the rustic tales which the nurse of his little boy used to
tell, and he told them again in his own courtly, witty way. They do not seem to
have been translated into English until nearly thirty years later, when they
were published in English, with the French on the opposite page, by a Mr. Pote,
a bookseller at Eton. Probably the younger Eton boys learned as much French as
they condescended to acquire from these fairy tales, which are certainly more
amusing than the Telemaque of Messire Francois de Salignac de la Motte-Fenelon,
tutor of the children of France, Archbishop Duke of Cambrai, and Prince of the
Holy Roman Empire.
The
success of Perrault was based on the pleasure which the court of Louis XIV.
took in fairy tales; we know that they were told among Court ladies, from a
letter of Madame de Sevigne. Naturally, Perrault had imitators, such as Madame
d'Aulnoy, a wandering lady of more wit than reputation. To her we owe Beauty
and the Beast and The Yellow Dwarf. Anthony Hamilton tried his hand with The
Ram, a story too prolix and confused, best remembered for the remark, 'Ram, my
friend, begin at the beginning!' Indeed, the narrative style of the Ram is
lacking in lucidity! Then came The Arabian Nights, translated by Monsieur
Galland. Nobody has translated The Arabian Nights so well as Galland. His is
the reverse of a scientific rendering, but it is as pleasantly readable as the
Iliad and Odyssey would be if Alexandre Dumas had kept his promise to translate
Homer. Galland omitted the verses and a great number of passages which nobody
would miss, though the anthropologist is supposed to find them valuable and
instructive in later scientific translations which do not amuse. Later, Persian
Tales, Tales of the Sea, and original inventions, more or less on the fairy
model, were composed by industrious men and women. They are far too long--are
novels, indeed, and would please no child or mature person of taste. All these
were collected in the vast Fairy Cabinet, published in 1786, just before the
Revolution. Probably their attempt to be simple charmed a society which was
extremely artificial, talked about 'the simple life' and the 'state of nature,'
and was on the eve of a revolution in which human nature revealed her most
primitive traits in orgies of blood.
That
was the end of the Court and of the Court Fairy Tales, and just when they were
demolished, learned men like the Grimms and Sir Walter Scott began to take an
interest in the popular tales of peasants and savages all the world over. All
the world over the tales were found to be essentially the same things.
Cinderella is everywhere; a whole book has been written on Cinderella by Miss
Cox, and a very good book it is, but not interesting to children. For them the
best of the collections of foreign fairy tales are the German stories by the
Grimms, the Tales from the Norse, by Sir G. W. Dasent, (which some foolish
'grown-ups' denounced as 'improper'), and Miss Frere's Indian stories. There
are hundreds of collections of savage and peasant fairy tales, but, though many
of these are most interesting, especially Bishop Callaway's Zulu stories (with
the Zulu versions), these do not come in the way of parents and uncles, and
therefore do not come in the way of children. It is my wish that children
should be allowed to choose their own books. Let their friends give them the
money and turn them loose in the book shops! They know their own tastes, and if
the children are born bookish, while their dear parents are the reverse, (and
this does occur!), then the children make the better choice. They are
unaffected in their selections; some want Shakespeares of their own, and some
prefer a volume entitled Buster Brown. A few--alas, how few!--are fond of
poetry; a still smaller number are fond of history. 'We know that there are no
fairies, but history stories are true!' say these little innocents. I am not so
sure that there are no fairies, and I am only too well aware that the best
'history stories' are not true.
What
children do love is ghost stories. 'Tell us a ghost story!' they cry, and I am
able to meet the demand, with which I am in sincere sympathy. Only strong
control prevents me from telling the last true ghost story which I heard
yesterday. It would suit children excellently well. 'The Grey Ghost Story Book'
would be a favourite. At a very early age I read a number of advertisements of
books, and wept because I could not buy dozens of them, and somebody gave me a
book on Botany! It looked all right, nicely bound in green cloth, but within it
was full of all manner of tediousness.
In
our Fairy Cabinet, which cannot extend to sixty volumes, we have aimed at
pleasing children, not 'grown-ups,' at whom the old French writers directed
their romances, but have hunted for fairy tales in all quarters, not in Europe
alone. In this volume we open, thanks to Dr. Ignaz Kunos, with a story from the
Turks. 'Little King Loc' is an original invention by M. Anatole France, which
he very kindly permitted Mrs. Lang to adapt from L'Abeille.
Major
Campbell, as previously, tells tales which he collected among the natives of
India. But the sources are usually named at the end of each story, and when
they are not named children will not miss them. Mrs. Lang, except in cases
mentioned, has translated and adapted to the conditions of young readers the
bulk of the collection, and Mrs. Skovgaard-Pedersen has done 'The Green Knight'
from the Danish. I must especially thank Monsieur Macler for permitting us to
use some of his Contes Armeniens (Paris: Ernest Leroux, Editeur).
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[f01]
MADSCHUN
Once
upon a time there lived, in a small cottage among some hills, a woman with her
son, and, to her great grief, the young man, though hardly more than twenty
years of age, had not as much hair on his head as a baby. But, old as he
looked, the youth was very idle, and whatever trade his mother put him to he
refused to work, and in a few days always came home again.
On
a fine summer morning he was lying as usual half asleep in the little garden in
front of the cottage when the sultan's daughter came riding by, followed by a
number of gaily dressed ladies. The youth lazily raised himself on his elbow to
look at her, and that one glance changed his whole nature.
'I
will marry her and nobody else,' he thought. And jumping up, he went to find
his mother.
'You
must go at once to the sultan, and tell him that I want his daughter for my
wife,' he said.
'WHAT?'
shouted the old woman, shrinking back into a corner, for nothing but sudden
madness could explain such an amazing errand.
'Don't
you understand? You must go at once to the sultan and tell him that I want his
daughter for my wife,' repeated the youth impatiently.
'But--but,
do you know what you are saying?' stammered the mother. 'You will learn no
trade, and have only the five gold pieces left you by your father, and can you
really expect that the sultan would give his daughter to a penniless bald-pate
like you?'
'That
is my affair; do as I bid you.' And neither day nor night did her son cease
tormenting her, till, in despair, she put on her best clothes, and wrapped her
veil about her, and went over the hill to the palace.
It
was the day that the sultan set apart for hearing the complaints and petitions
of his people, so the woman found no difficulty in gaining admission to his presence.
'Do
not think me mad, O Excellency,' she began, 'though I know I must seem like it.
But I have a son who, since his eyes have rested on the veiled face of the
princess, has not left me in peace day or night till I consented to come to the
palace, and to ask your Excellency for your daughter's hand. It was in vain I
answered that my head might pay the forfeit of my boldness, he would listen to
nothing. Therefore am I here; do with me even as you will!'
Now
the sultan always loved anything out of the common, and this situation was new
indeed. So, instead of ordering the trembling creature to be flogged or cast
into prison, as some other sovereigns might have done, he merely said: 'Bid
your son come hither.'
The
old woman stared in astonishment at such a reply. But when the sultan repeated
his words even more gently than before, and did not look in anywise angered,
she took courage, and bowing again she hastened homeward.
'Well,
how have you sped?' asked her son eagerly as she crossed the threshold.
'You
are to go up to the palace without delay, and speak to the sultan himself,'
replied the mother. And when he heard the good news, his face lightened up so
wonderfully that his mother thought what a pity it was that he had no hair, as
then he would be quite handsome.
'Ah,
the lightning will not fly more swiftly,' cried he. And in another instant he
was out of her sight.
When
the sultan beheld the bald head of his daughter's wooer, he no longer felt in
the mood for joking, and resolved that he must somehow or other shake himself
free of such an unwelcome lover. But as he had summoned the young man to the
palace, he could hardly dismiss him without a reason, so he hastily said:
'I
hear you wish to marry my daughter? Well and good. But the man who is to be her
husband must first collect all the birds in the world, and bring them into the
gardens of the palace; for hitherto no birds have made their homes in the
trees.'
The
young man was filled with despair at the sultan's words. How was he to snare
all these birds? and even if he did succeed in catching them it would take
years to carry them to the palace! Still, he was too proud to let the sultan
think that he had given up the princess without a struggle, so he took a road
that led past the palace and walked on, not noticing whither he went.
In
this manner a week slipped by, and at length he found himself crossing a desert
with great rocks scattered here and there. In the shadow cast by one of these
was seated a holy man or dervish, as he was called, who motioned to the youth
to sit beside him.
'Something
is troubling you, my son,' said the holy man; 'tell me what it is, as I may be
able to help you.'
'O,
my father,' answered the youth, 'I wish to marry the princess of my country;
but the sultan refuses to give her to me unless I can collect all the birds in
the world and bring them into his garden. And how can I, or any other man, do
that?'
'Do
not despair,' replied the dervish, 'it is not so difficult as it sounds. Two
days' journey from here, in the path of the setting sun, there stands a cypress
tree, larger than any other cypress that grows upon the earth. Sit down where
the shadow is darkest, close to the trunk, and keep very still. By-and-by you
will hear a mighty rushing of wings, and all the birds in the world will come
and nestle in the branches. Be careful not to make a sound till everything is
quiet again, and then say "Madschun!" At that the birds will be
forced to remain where they are--not one can move from its perch; and you will
be able to place them all over your head and arms and body, and in this way you
must carry them to the sultan.'
With
a glad heart the young man thanked the dervish, and paid such close heed to his
directions that, a few days later, a strange figure covered with soft feathers
walked into the presence of the sultan. The princess's father was filled with
surprise, for never had he seen such a sight before. Oh! how lovely were those
little bodies, and bright frightened eyes! Soon a gentle stirring was heard,
and what a multitude of wings unfolded themselves: blue wings, yellow wings,
red wings, green wings. And when the young man whispered 'Go,' they first flew
in circles round the sultan's head, and then disappeared through the open
window, to choose homes in the garden.
'I
have done your bidding, O Sultan, and now give me the princess,' said the
youth. And the sultan answered hurriedly:
'Yes!
oh, yes! you have pleased me well! Only one thing remains to turn you into a
husband that any girl might desire. That head of yours, you know--it is so very
bald! Get it covered with nice thick curly hair, and then I will give you my
daughter. You are so clever that I am sure this will give you no trouble at
all.'
Silently
the young man listened to the sultan's words, and silently he sat in his
mother's kitchen for many days to come, till, one morning, the news reached him
that the sultan had betrothed his daughter to the son of the wizir, and that
the wedding was to be celebrated without delay in the palace. With that he
arose in wrath, and made his way quickly and secretly to a side door, used only
by the workmen who kept the building in repair, and, unseen by anyone, he made
his way into the mosque, and then entered the palace by a gallery which opened
straight into the great hall. Here the bride and bridegroom and two or three
friends were assembled, waiting for the appearance of the sultan for the
contract to be signed.
'Madschun!'
whispered the youth from above. And instantly everyone remained rooted to the
ground; and some messengers whom the sultan had sent to see that all was ready
shared the same fate.
At
length, angry and impatient, the sultan went down to behold with his own eyes
what had happened, but as nobody could give him any explanation, he bade one of
his attendants to fetch a magician, who dwelt near one of the city gates, to
remove the spell which had been cast by some evil genius.
'It
is your own fault,' said the magician, when he had heard the sultan's story.
'If you had not broken your promise to the young man, your daughter would not
have had this ill befall her. Now there is only one remedy, and the bridegroom
you have chosen must yield his place to the bald-headed youth.'
Sore
though he was in his heart, the sultan knew that the magician was wiser than
he, and despatched his most trusted servants to seek out the young man without
a moment's delay and bring him to the palace. The youth, who all this time had
been hiding behind a pillar, smiled to himself when he heard these words, and,
hastening home, he said to his mother: 'If messengers from the sultan should
come here and ask for me, be sure you answer that it is a long while since I
went away, and that you cannot tell where I may be, but that if they will give you
money enough for your journey, as you are very poor, you will do your best to
find me.' Then he hid himself in the loft above, so that he could listen to all
that passed.
The
next minute someone knocked loudly at the door, and the old woman jumped up and
opened it.
'Is
your bald-headed son here?' asked the man outside. 'If so, let him come with
me, as the sultan wishes to speak with him directly.'
'Alas!
sir,' replied the woman, putting a corner of her veil to her eyes, 'he left me
long since, and since that day no news of him has reached me.'
'Oh!
good lady, can you not guess where he may be? The sultan intends to bestow on
him the hand of his daughter, and he is certain to give a large reward to the
man who brings him back.'
'He
never told me whither he was going,' answered the crone, shaking her head. 'But
it is a great honour that the sultan does him, and well worth some trouble.
There are places where, perhaps, he may be found, but they are known to me
only, and I am a poor woman and have no money for the journey.'
'Oh!
that will not stand in the way,' cried the man. 'In this purse are a thousand
gold pieces; spend them freely. Tell me where I can find him and you shall have
as many more.'
'Very
well,' said she, 'it is a bargain; and now farewell, for I must make some
preparations; but in a few days at furthest you shall hear from me.'
For
nearly a week both the old woman and her son were careful not to leave the
house till it was dark, lest they should be seen by any of the neighbours, and
as they did not even kindle a fire or light a lantern, everyone supposed that
the cottage was deserted. At length one fine morning, the young man got up
early and dressed himself, and put on his best turban, and after a hasty
breakfast took the road to the palace.
The
huge negro before the door evidently expected him, for without a word he let
him pass, and another attendant who was waiting inside conducted him straight
into the presence of the sultan, who welcomed him gladly.
'Ah,
my son! where have you hidden yourself all this time?' said he. And the
bald-headed man answered:
'Oh,
Sultan! Fairly I won your daughter, but you broke your word, and would not give
her to me. Then my home grew hateful to me, and I set out to wander through the
world! But now that you have repented of your ill-faith, I have come to claim
the wife who is mine of right. Therefore bid your wizir prepare the contract.'
So
a fresh contract was prepared, and at the wish of the new bridegroom was signed
by the sultan and the wizir in the chamber where they met. After this was done,
the youth begged the sultan to lead him to the princess, and together they
entered the big hall, where everyone was standing exactly as they were when the
young man had uttered the fatal word.
'Can
you remove the spell?' asked the sultan anxiously.
'I
think so,' replied the young man (who, to say the truth, was a little anxious
himself), and stepping forward, he cried:
'Let
the victims of Madschun be free!'
No
sooner were the words uttered than the statues returned to life, and the bride
placed her hand joyfully in that of her new bridegroom. As for the old one, he
vanished completely, and no one ever knew what became of him.
(Adapted
from Turkische Volksmarchen aus Stambul. Dr. Ignaz Kunos. E. J. Brill, Leiden.)
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[f02]
THE
BLUE PARROT
In
a part of Arabia where groves of palms and sweet-scented flowers give the
traveller rest after toilsome journeys under burning skies, there reigned a
young king whose name was Lino. He had grown up under the wise rule of his
father, who had lately died, and though he was only nineteen, he did not
believe, like many young men, that he must change all the laws in order to show
how clever he was, but was content with the old ones which had made the people
happy and the country prosperous. There was only one fault that his subjects
had to find with him, and that was that he did not seem in any hurry to be
married, in spite of the prayers that they frequently offered him.
The
neighbouring kingdom was governed by the Swan fairy, who had an only daughter,
the Princess Hermosa, who was as charming in her way as Lino in his. The Swan
fairy always had an ambassador at the young king's court, and on hearing the
grumbles of the citizens that Lino showed no signs of taking a wife, the good
man resolved that he would try his hand at match-making. 'For,' he said, 'if
there is any one living who is worthy of the Princess Hermosa he is to be found
here. At any rate, I can but try and bring them together.'
Now,
of course, it was not proper to offer the princess in marriage, and the
difficulty was to work upon the unconscious king so as to get the proposal to
come from him. But the ambassador was well used to the ways of courts, and
after several conversations on the art of painting, which Lino loved, he led
the talk to portraits, and mentioned carelessly that a particularly fine
picture had lately been made of his own princess. 'Though, as for a likeness,'
he concluded, 'perhaps it is hardly as good as this small miniature, which was
painted a year ago.'
The
king took it, and looked at it closely.
'Ah!'
he sighed, 'that must be flattered! It cannot be possible that any woman should
be such a miracle of beauty.'
'If
you could only see her,' answered the ambassador.
The
king did not reply, but the ambassador was not at all surprised when, the
following morning, he was sent for into the royal presence.
'Since
you showed me that picture,' began Lino, almost before the door was shut, 'I
have not been able to banish the face of the princess from my thoughts. I have
summoned you here to inform you that I am about to send special envoys to the
court of the Swan fairy, asking her daughter in marriage.'
'I
cannot, as you will understand, speak for my mistress in so important a
matter,' replied the ambassador, stroking his beard in order to conceal the
satisfaction he felt. 'But I know that she will certainly be highly gratified
at your proposal.'
'If
that is so,' cried the king, his whole face beaming with joy, 'then, instead of
sending envoys, I will go myself, and take you with me. In three days my
preparations will be made, and we will set out.'
*
* * * *
Unluckily
for Lino, he had for his neighbour on the other side a powerful magician named
Ismenor, who was king of the Isle of Lions, and the father of a hideous
daughter, whom he thought the most beautiful creature that ever existed.
Riquette, for such was her name, had also fallen in love with a portrait, but
it was of King Lino, and she implored her father to give him to her for a
husband. Ismenor, who considered that no man lived who was worthy of his
treasure, was about to send his chief minister to King Lino on this mission,
when the news reached him that the king had already started for the court of
the Swan fairy. Riquette was thrown into transports of grief, and implored her
father to prevent the marriage, which Ismenor promised to do; and calling for
an ugly and humpbacked little dwarf named Rabot, he performed some spells which
transported them quickly to a rocky valley through which the king and his
escort were bound to pass. When the tramp of horses was heard, the magician
took out an enchanted handkerchief, which rendered invisible any one who
touched it. Giving one end to Rabot, and holding the other himself, they walked
unseen amongst the horsemen, but not a trace of Lino was to be found. And this
was natural enough, because the king, tired out with the excitement and fatigue
of the last few days, had bidden the heavy coaches, laden with presents for the
princess, to go forwards, while he rested under the palms with a few of his
friends. Here Ismenor beheld them, all sound asleep; and casting a spell which
prevented their waking till he wished them to do so, he stripped the king of
all his clothes and dressed him in those of Rabot, whom he touched with his
ring, saying:
'Take
the shape of Lino until you have wedded the daughter of the Swan fairy.'
And
so great was the magician's power that Rabot positively believed himself to be
really the king!
When
the groom had mounted Lino's horse, and had ridden out of sight, Ismenor
aroused the king, who stared with astonishment at the dirty garments in which
he was dressed; but before he had time to look about him, the magician caught
him up in a cloud, and carried him off to his daughter.
Meantime
Rabot had come up with the others, who never guessed for a moment that he was
not their own master.
'I
am hungry,' said he, 'give me something to eat at once.'
'May
it please your majesty,' answered the steward, 'the tents are not even set up,
and it will be at least an hour before your supper is served! We thought----'
'Who
taught you to think?' interrupted the false king rudely. 'You are nothing but a
fool! Get me some horse's flesh directly--it is the best meat in the world!'
The
steward could hardly believe his ears. King Lino, the most polite man under the
sun, to speak to his faithful servant in such a manner! And to want horse's
flesh too! Why he was so delicate in his appetite that he lived mostly on fruit
and cakes. Well, well, there was no knowing what people would come to; and,
anyhow, he must obey at once, if he wished to keep his head on his shoulders.
Perhaps, after all, it was love which had driven him mad, and, if so, by-and-by
he might come right again.
Whatever
excuses his old servants might invent for their master, by the time the
procession reached the Swan's fairy capital there were no more horses left, and
they were forced to walk up to the palace on foot. Hiding their surprise as
best they could, they begged the king to follow them, dismounting from their
own horses, as he, they supposed, preferred to walk. They soon perceived the Swan
fairy and her daughter awaiting them on a low balcony, under which the king
stopped.
'Madam,'
he said, 'you may be surprised that I have come to ask your daughter's hand in
so unceremonious a fashion; but the journey is long, and I was hungry and ate my
horse, which is the best meat in the world; and I forced my courtiers to eat
theirs also. But for all that I am a great king, and wish to be your
son-in-law. And now that is settled, where is Hermosa?'
'Sire,'
answered the queen, not a little displeased as well as amazed at the king's
manner, which was so different from anything she had been led to expect. 'You
possess my daughter's portrait, and it can have made but little impression on
you if you don't recognise her at once.'
'I
don't remember any portrait,' replied Rabot; 'but perhaps it may be in my
pocket after all.' And he searched everywhere, while the ladies-in-waiting
looked on with astonishment, but of course found nothing. When he had finished
he turned to the princess, who stood there blushing and angry, and said:
'If
it is you whom I have come to marry, I think you are very beautiful, and I am
sure if I had even seen your portrait I should have remembered it. Let us have
the wedding as soon as possible; and, meantime, I should like to go to sleep,
for your country is very different from mine, and I can assure you that after
walking over stones and sand for days and days one needs a little rest.'
And
without waiting for a reply he bade one of the pages conduct him to his room,
where he was soon snoring so loud that he could be heard at the other end of
the town.
As
soon as he was out of their sight the poor princess flung herself into her
mother's arms, and burst into tears. For fifteen days she had had King Lino's
portrait constantly before her, while the letter from their own ambassador
speaking of the young man's grace and charm had never left her pocket. True,
the portrait was faithful enough, but how could that fair outside contain so
rough and rude a soul? Yet this even she might have forgiven had the king shown
any of the signs of love and admiration to which she had been so long
accustomed. As for her mother, the poor Swan fairy was so bewildered at the
extraordinary manners of her new son-in-law, that she was almost speechless.
Matters
were in this state when King Lino's chamberlain begged for a private audience
of her majesty, and no sooner were they alone than he told her that he feared
that his master had suddenly gone mad, or had fallen under the spell of some
magician.
'I
had been lost in astonishment before,' said he, 'but now that he has failed to
recognise the princess, and no longer possesses her portrait, which he never
would part from for a single instant, my amazement knows no bounds. Perhaps,
madam, your fairy gifts may be able to discover the reason of this change in
one whose courtesy was the talk of the kingdom.' And with a low bow he took his
departure.
The
queen stood where the chamberlain left her, thinking deeply. Suddenly her face
cleared, and going to an old chest which she kept in a secret room, she drew
from it a small mirror. In this mirror she could see faithfully reflected
whatever she wished, and at this moment she desired above all things to behold
King Lino as he really was.
Ah!
the chamberlain was right! It was not he who was lying on his bed snoring till
the whole palace shook beneath him. No, this was her real son-in-law--the man
dressed in dirty clothes, and imprisoned in one of Ismenor's strongest towers,
and kissing the portrait of Hermosa, which had escaped the wizard's notice,
owing to the young king having worn it, for better concealment, tied amongst
his hair. Calling hastily to her daughter, she bade her also look, and Hermosa
had the pleasure of gazing on Lino, who was behaving exactly as she could have
wished. The mirror was still in her hand when the door of the prison opened,
and there entered the hideous Riquette, who, from her upraised eyes, seemed to
be begging from Lino some favour which he refused to grant. Of course Hermosa
and her mother could not hear their words, but from Riquette's angry face as
she left the room, it was not difficult to guess what had happened. But the
mirror had more to tell, for it appeared that in fury at her rejection by the
king, Riquette had ordered four strong men to scourge him till he fainted,
which was done in the sight of Hermosa, who in horror dropped the mirror, and
would have fallen, had she not been caught by her mother.
'Control
yourself, my child,' said the fairy. 'We have need of all our wits if we are to
rescue the king from the power of those wicked people. And first it is
necessary to know who the man that has taken his name and his face really is.'
Then,
picking up the mirror, she wished that she might behold the false lover; and
the glass gave back a vision of a dirty, greasy groom, lying, dressed as he
was, on her bed of state.
'So
this is the trick Ismenor hoped to play us! Well, we will have our revenge,
whatever it costs us to get it. Only we must be very careful not to let him
guess that he has not deceived us, for his skill in magic is greater than mine,
and I shall have to be very prudent. To begin with, I must leave you, and if
the false king asks why, then answer that I have to settle some affairs on the
borders of my kingdom. Meanwhile, be sure you treat him most politely, and
arrange fetes to amuse him. If he shows any sign of being suspicious, you can
even give him to understand that, on your marriage, I intend to give up the
crown to your husband. And now farewell!' So saying, the Swan fairy waved her
hand, and a cloud came down and concealed her, and nobody imagined that the
beautiful white cloud that was blown so rapidly across the sky was the chariot
that was carrying the Swan fairy to the tower of Ismenor.
*
* * * *
Now
the tower was situated in the midst of a forest, so the queen thought that,
under cover of the dark trees, it would be quite easy for her to drop to earth
unseen. But the tower was so thoroughly enchanted that the more she tried to
reach the ground the tighter something tried to hold her back. At length, by
putting forth all the power she possessed, she managed to descend to the foot
of the tower, and there, weak and faint as she was with her exertions, she lost
no time in working her spells, and found that she could only overcome Ismenor
by means of a stone from the ring of Gyges. But how was she to get this ring?
for the magic book told her that Ismenor guarded it night and day among his
most precious treasures. However, get it she must, and in the meantime the
first step was to see the royal prisoner himself. So, drawing out her tablets,
she wrote as follows:
'The
bird which brings you this letter is the Swan fairy, mother of Hermosa, who
loves you as much as you love her!' And after this assurance, she related the
wicked plot of which he had been the victim. Then, quickly changing herself
into a swallow, she began to fly round the tower, till she discovered the
window of Lino's prison. It was so high up that bars seemed needless, especially
as four soldiers were stationed in the passage outside, therefore the fairy was
able to enter, and even to hop on his shoulder, but he was so much occupied
with gazing at the princess's portrait that it was some time before she could
attract his attention. At last she gently scratched his cheek with the corner
of the note, and he looked round with a start. On perceiving the swallow he
knew at once that help had come, and tearing open the letter, he wept with joy
on seeing the words it contained, and asked a thousand questions as to Hermosa,
which the swallow was unable to answer, though, by repeated nods, she signed to
him to read further. 'Must I indeed pretend to wish to marry that horrible
Riquette?' he cried, when he had finished. 'Can I obtain the stone from the
magician?'
Accordingly
the next morning, when Riquette paid him her daily visit, he received her much
more graciously than usual. The magician's daughter could not contain her
delight at this change, and in answer to her expressions of joy, Lino told her
that he had had a dream by which he had learned the inconstancy of Hermosa;
also that a fairy had appeared and informed him that if he wished to break the
bonds which bound him to the faithless princess and transfer his affections to the
daughter of Ismenor, he must have in his possession for a day and a night a
stone from the ring of Gyges, now in the possession of the magician. This news
so enchanted Riquette, that she flung her arms round the king's neck and
embraced him tenderly, greatly to his disgust, as he would infinitely have
preferred the sticks of the soldiers. However, there was no help for it, and he
did his best to seem pleased, till Riquette relieved him by announcing that she
must lose no time in asking her father and obtaining from him the precious
stone.
His
daughter's request came as a great surprise to Ismenor, whose suspicions were
instantly excited; but, think as he would, he could not see any means by which
the king, so closely guarded, might have held communication with the Swan
fairy. Still, he would do nothing hastily, and, hiding his dismay, he told
Riquette that his only wish was to make her happy, and that as she wished so
much for the stone he would fetch it for her. Then he went into the closet
where all his spells were worked, and in a short time he discovered that his
enemy the Swan fairy was at that moment inside his palace.
'So
that is it!' he said, smiling grimly. 'Well, she shall have a stone by all
means, but a stone that will turn everyone who touches it into marble.' And
placing a small ruby in a box, he returned to his daughter.
'Here
is the talisman which will gain you the love of King Lino,' he said; 'but be
sure you give him the box unopened, or else the stone will lose all its
virtue.' With a cry of joy Riquette snatched the box from his hands, and ran
off to the prison, followed by her father, who, holding tightly the enchanted
handkerchief, was able, unseen, to watch the working of the spell. As he
expected, at the foot of the tower stood the Swan fairy, who had had the
imprudence to appear in her natural shape, waiting for the stone which the
prince was to throw to her. Eagerly she caught the box as it fell from the
prince's hands, but no sooner had her fingers touched the ruby, than a curious
hardening came over her, her limbs stiffened, and her tongue could hardly utter
the words 'We are betrayed.'
'Yes,
you are betrayed,' cried Ismenor, in a terrible voice; 'and you,' he continued,
dragging the king to the window, 'you shall turn into a parrot, and a parrot
you will remain until you can persuade Hermosa to crush in your head.'
He
had hardly finished before a blue parrot flew out into the forest; and the
magician, mounting in his winged chariot, set off for the Isle of Swans, where he
changed everybody into statues, exactly in the positions in which he found
them, not even excepting Rabot himself. Only Hermosa was spared, and her he
ordered to get into his chariot beside him. In a few minutes he reached the
Forest of Wonders, when the magician got down, and dragged the unhappy princess
out after him.
'I
have changed your mother into a stone, and your lover into a parrot,' said he,
'and you are to become a tree, and a tree you will remain until you have
crushed the head of the person you love best in the world. But I will leave you
your mind and memory, that your tortures may be increased a thousand-fold.'
Great
magician as he was, Ismenor could not have invented a more terrible fate had he
tried for a hundred years. The hours passed wearily by for the poor princess,
who longed for a wood-cutter's axe to put an end to her misery. How were they
to be delivered from their doom? And even supposing that King Lino did fly that
way, there were thousands of blue parrots in the forest, and how was she to
know him, or he her? As to her mother--ah! that was too bad to think about! So,
being a woman, she kept on thinking.
Meanwhile
the blue parrot flew about the world, making friends wherever he went, till,
one day, he entered the castle of an old wizard who had just married a
beautiful young wife. Grenadine, for such was her name, led a very dull life,
and was delighted to have a playfellow, so she gave him a golden cage to sleep
in, and delicious fruits to eat. Only in one way did he disappoint her--he
never would talk as other parrots did.
'If
you only knew how happy it would make me, I'm sure you would try,' she was fond
of saying; but the parrot did not seem to hear her.
One
morning, however, she left the room to gather some flowers, and the parrot,
finding himself alone, hopped to the table, and, picking up a pencil, wrote
some verses on a piece of paper. He had just finished when he was startled by a
noise, and letting fall the pencil, he flew out of the window.
Now
hardly had he dropped the pencil when the wizard lifted a corner of the curtain
which hung over the doorway, and advanced into the room. Seeing a paper on the
table, he picked it up, and great was his surprise as he read:
'Fair
princess, to win your grace, I will hold discourse with you; Silence, though,
were more in place Than chatt'ring like a cockatoo.'
'I
half suspected it was enchanted,' murmured the wizard to himself. And he
fetched his books and searched them, and found that instead of being a parrot,
the bird was really a king who had fallen under the wrath of a magician, and
that magician the man whom the wizard hated most in the world. Eagerly he read
on, seeking for some means of breaking the enchantment, and at last, to his
great joy, he discovered the remedy. Then he hurried to his wife, who was lying
on some cushions under the tree on which the parrot had perched, and informed
her that her favourite was really the king of a great country, and that, if she
would whistle for the bird, they would all go together to a certain spot in the
Forest of Marvels, 'where I will restore him to his own shape. Only you must
not be afraid or cry out, whatever I do,' added he, 'or everything will be
spoilt.' The wizard's wife jumped up in an instant, so delighted was she, and
began to whistle the song that the parrot loved; but as he did not wish it to
be known that he had been listening to the conversation he waited until she had
turned her back, when he flew down the tree and alighted on her shoulder. Then
they got into a golden boat, which carried them to a clearing in the forest,
where three tall trees stood by themselves.
'I
want these trees for my magic fire,' he said to his wife; 'put the parrot on
that branch, he will be quite safe, and go yourself to a little distance. If
you stay too near you may get your head crushed in their fall.'
At
these words the parrot suddenly remembered the prophecy of Ismenor, and held
himself ready, his heart beating at the thought that in one of those trees he
beheld Hermosa. Meanwhile the magician took a spade, and loosened the earth of
the roots of the three trees so that they might fall all together. Directly the
parrot observed them totter he spread his wings and flew right under the middle
one, which was the most beautiful of the three. There was a crash, then Lino
and Hermosa stood facing each other, clasped hand in hand.
After
the first few moments, the princess's thoughts turned to her mother, and
falling at the feet of the magician, who was smiling with delight at the
success of his plan, she implored him to help them once more, and to give the
Swan fairy back her proper shape.
'That
is not so easy,' said he, 'but I will try what I can do.' And transporting
himself to his palace to obtain a little bottle of poisoned water, he waited
till nightfall, and started at once for Ismenor's tower. Of course, had Ismenor
consulted his books he would have seen what his enemy was doing, he might have
protected himself; but he had been eating and drinking too much, and had gone to
bed, sleeping heavily. Changing himself into a bat, the magician flew into the
room, and hiding himself in the curtains, he poured all the liquid over
Ismenor's face, so that he died without a groan. At the same instant the Swan
fairy became a woman again, for no magician, however powerful, can work spells
which last beyond his own life.
So
when the Swan fairy returned to her capital she found all her courtiers waiting
at the gate to receive her, and in their midst, beaming with happiness, Hermosa
and King Lino. Standing behind them, though a long way off, was Rabot; but his
dirty clothes had given place to clean ones, when his earnest desire was
granted, and the princess had made him head of her stables.
And
here we must bid them all farewell, feeling sure they will have many years of
happiness before them after the terrible trials through which they have passed.
(Adapted
and shortened from Le Cabinet des Fees.)
The
Olive Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1907], at sacred-texts.com
[f03]
GEIRLAUG
THE KING'S DAUGHTER
One
day a powerful king and his beautiful wife were sitting in the gardens of their
capital city, talking earnestly about the future life of their little son, who
was sleeping by their side in his beautiful golden cradle. They had been
married for many years without children, so when this baby came they thought
themselves the happiest couple in the whole world. He was a fine sturdy little
boy, who loved to kick and to strike out with his fists; but even if he had
been weak and small they would still have thought him the most wonderful
creature upon earth, and so absorbed were they in making plans for him, that
they never noticed a huge dark shadow creeping up, till a horrible head with
gleaming teeth stretched over them, and in an instant their beloved baby was
snatched away.
For
a while the king and queen remained where they were, speechless with horror.
Then the king rose slowly, and holding out his hand to his wife, led her
weeping into the palace, and for many days their subjects saw no more of them.
Meanwhile
the dragon soared high into the air, holding the cradle between his teeth, and
the baby still slept on. He flew so fast that he soon crossed the borders of
another kingdom, and again he beheld the king and queen of the country seated
in the garden with a little girl lying in a wonderful cradle of white satin and
lace. Swooping down from behind as he had done before, he was just about to
seize the cradle, when the king jumped up and dealt him such a blow with his
golden staff that the dragon not only started back, but in his pain let fall
the boy, as he spread his wings and soared into the air away from all danger.
'That
was a narrow escape,' said the king, turning to his wife, who sat pale with
fright, and clasping her baby tightly in her arms. 'Frightful,' murmured the
queen; 'but look, what is that glittering object that is lying out there?' The
king walked in the direction of her finger, and to his astonishment beheld
another cradle and another baby.
'Ah!
the monster must have stolen this as he sought to steal Geirlaug,' cried he.
And stooping lower, he read some words that were written on the fine linen that
was wound round the boy. 'This is Grethari, son of Grethari the king!'
Unfortunately it happened that the two neighbouring monarchs had had a serious
quarrel, and for some years had ceased holding communication with each other.
So, instead of sending a messenger at once to Grethari to tell him of the
safety of his son, the king contented himself with adopting the baby, which was
brought up with Geirlaug the princess.
For
a while things went well with the children, who were as happy as the day was
long, but at last there came a time when the queen could no more run races or
play at hide-and-seek with them in the garden as she was so fond of doing, but
lay and watched them from a pile of soft cushions. By-and-by she gave up doing
even that, and people in the palace spoke with low voices, and even Geirlaug
and Grethari trod gently and moved quietly when they drew near her room. At
length, one morning, they were sent for by the king himself, who, his eyes red
with weeping, told them that the queen was dead.
Great
was the sorrow of the two children, for they had loved the queen very dearly,
and life seemed dull without her. But the lady-in-waiting who took care of them
in the tower which had been built for them while they were still babies, was
kind and good, and when the king was busy or away in other parts of his kingdom
she made them quite happy, and saw that they were taught everything that a
prince and princess ought to know. Thus two or three years passed, when, one
day, as the children were anxiously awaiting their father's return from a
distant city, there rode post haste into the courtyard of the palace a herald
whom the king had sent before him, to say that he was bringing back a new wife.
Now,
in itself, there was nothing very strange or dreadful in the fact that the king
should marry again, but, as the old lady-in-waiting soon guessed, the queen, in
spite of her beauty, was a witch, and as it was easy to see that she was
jealous of everyone who might gain power over her husband, it boded ill for
Geirlaug and Grethari. The faithful woman could not sleep for thinking about
her charges, and her soul sank when, a few months after the marriage, war broke
out with a country across the seas, and the king rode away at the head of his
troops. Then there happened what she had so long expected. One night, when,
unlike her usual habit, she was sleeping soundly--afterwards she felt sure that
a drug had been put into her food--the witch came to the tower. Exactly what
she did there no one knew, but, when the sun rose, the beds of Grethari and
Geirlaug were empty. At dawn the queen summoned some of her guards, and told
them that she had been warned in a dream that some evil fate would befall her
through a wild beast, and bade them go out and kill every animal within two
miles of the palace. But the only beasts they found were two black foals of
wondrous beauty, fitted for the king's riding; it seemed a pity to kill them,
for what harm could two little foals do anyone? So they let them run away,
frisking over the plain, and returned to the palace.
'Did
you see nothing, really nothing?' asked the queen, when they again appeared
before her.
'Nothing,
your majesty,' they replied. But the queen did not believe them, and when they
were gone, she gave orders to her steward that at supper the guards should be
well plied with strong drink so that their tongues should be loosened, and,
further, that he was to give heed to their babble, and report to her, whatever
they might let fall.
'Your
majesty's commands have been obeyed,' said the steward when, late in the
evening, he begged admittance to the royal apartments; 'but, after all, the men
have told you the truth. I listened to their talk from beginning to end, and
nothing did they see save two black foals.' He might have added more, but the
look in the queen's blazing eyes terrified him, and, bowing hastily, he backed quickly
out of her presence.
In
a week's time the king came home, and right glad were all the courtiers to see
him.
'Now,
perhaps, she will find some one else to scream at,' whispered they amongst
themselves. 'She' was the queen, who had vented her rage on her attendants
during these days, though what had happened to make her so angry nobody knew.
But whatever might be the meaning of it, things would be sure to improve with
the king to rule in the palace instead of his wife. Unfortunately, their joy only
lasted a short while; for the very first night after the king's arrival the
queen related the evil dream she had dreamt in his absence, and begged him to
go out the next morning and kill every living creature he saw within two miles
of the city. The king, who always believed everything the queen said, promised
to do as she wished. But before he had ridden through the lovely gardens that
surrounded the palace, he was attracted by the singing of two little blue birds
perched on a scarlet-berried holly, which made him think of everything
beautiful that he had ever heard of or imagined. Hour after hour passed by, and
still the birds sang, and still the king listened, though of course he never
guessed that it was Geirlaug and Grethari whose notes filled him with
enchantment. At length darkness fell; the birds' voices were hushed, and the
king awoke with a start to find that for that day his promise to the queen
could not be kept.
'Well!
did you see anything?' she asked eagerly, when the king entered her apartments.
'Ah,
my dear, I am almost ashamed to confess to you. But the fact is that before I
rode as far as the western gate the singing of two strange little blue birds
made me forget all else in the world. And you will hardly believe it--but not
until it grew dark did I remember where I was and what I should have been
doing. However, to-morrow nothing shall hinder me from fulfilling your
desires.'
'There
will be no to-morrow,' muttered the queen, as she turned away with a curious
glitter in her eyes. But the king did not hear her.
That
night the king gave a great supper in the palace in honour of the victory he
had gained over the enemy. The three men whom the queen had sent forth to slay
the wild beasts held positions of trust in the household, for to them was
committed the custody of the queen's person. And on the occasion of a feast
their places were always next that of the king, so it was easy for the queen to
scatter a slow but fatal poison in their cups without anyone being the wiser.
Before dawn the palace was roused by the news that the king was dead, and that
the three officers of the guards were dying also. Of course nobody's cries and
laments were as loud as those of the queen. But when once the splendid funeral
was over, she gave out that she was going to shut herself up in a distant
castle till the year of her mourning was over, and after appointing a regent of
the kingdom, she set out attended only by a maid who knew all her secrets. Once
she had left the palace she quickly began to work her spells, to discover under
what form Geirlaug and Grethari lay hidden. Happily, the princess had studied
magic under a former governess, so was able to fathom her step-mother's wicked
plot, and hastily changed herself into a whale, and her foster-brother into its
fin. Then the queen took the shape of a shark and gave chase.
For
several hours a fierce battle raged between the whale and the shark, and the
sea around was red with blood; first one of the combatants got the better, and
then the other, but at length it became plain to the crowd of little fishes
gathered round to watch, that the victory would be to the whale. And so it was.
But when, after a mighty struggle, the shark floated dead and harmless on the
surface of the water, the whale was so exhausted that she had only strength
enough to drag her wounded body into a quiet little bay, and for three days she
remained there as still and motionless as if she had been dead herself. At the
end of the three days her wounds were healed, and she began to think what it
was best to do.
'Let
us go back to your father's kingdom,' she said to Grethari, when they had both
resumed their proper shapes, and were sitting on a high cliff above the sea.
'How
clever you are! I never should have thought of that!' answered Grethari, who,
in truth, was not clever at all. But Geirlaug took a small box of white powder
from her dress, and sprinkled some over him and some over herself, and, quicker
than lightning, they found themselves in the palace grounds from which Grethari
had been carried off by the dragon so many years before.
'Now
take up the band with the golden letters and bind it about your forehead,' said
Geirlaug, 'and go boldly up to the castle. And, remember, however great may be
your thirst, you must drink nothing till you have first spoken to your father.
If you do, ill will befall us both.'
'Why
should I be thirsty?' replied Grethari, staring at her in astonishment. 'It
will not take me five minutes to reach the castle gate.' Geirlaug held her
peace, but her eyes had in them a sad look. 'Good-bye,' she said at last, and
she turned and kissed him.
Grethari
had spoken truly when he declared that he could easily get to the castle in
five minutes. At least, no one would have dreamed that it could possibly take
any longer. Yet, to his surprise, the door which stood so widely open that he
could see the colour of the hangings within never appeared to grow any nearer,
while each moment the sun burned more hotly, and his tongue was parched with
thirst.
'I
don't understand! What can be the matter with me--and why haven't I reached the
castle long ago?' he murmured to himself, as his knees began to knock under him
with fatigue, and his head to swim. For a few more paces he staggered on
blindly, when, suddenly, the sound of rushing water smote upon his ears; and in
a little wood that bordered the path he beheld a stream falling over a rock. At
this sight his promise to Geirlaug was forgotten. Fighting his way through the
brambles that tore his clothes, he cast himself down beside the fountain, and
seizing the golden cup that hung from a tree, he drank a deep draught.
When
he rose up the remembrance of Geirlaug and of his past life had vanished, and,
instead, something stirred dimly within him at the vision of the white-haired
man and woman who stood in the open door with outstretched hands.
'Grethari!
Grethari! So you have come home at last,' cried they.
*
* * * *
For
three hours Geirlaug waited in the spot where Grethari had left her, and then
she began to understand what had happened. Her heart was heavy, but she soon
made up her mind what to do, and pushing her way out of the wood, she skirted
the high wall that enclosed the royal park and gardens, till she reached a
small house where the forester lived with his two daughters.
'Do
you want a girl to sweep, and to milk the cows?' asked she, when one of the
sisters answered her knock.
'Yes,
we do, very badly; and as you look strong and clean, we will take you for a
servant if you like to come,' replied the young woman.
'But,
first, what is your name?'
'Lauphertha,'
said Geirlaug quickly, for she did not wish anyone to know who she was; and
following her new mistress into the house, she begged to be taught her work
without delay. And so clever was she, that, by-and-by, it began to be noised
abroad that the strange girl who had come to live in the forester's house had
not her equal in the whole kingdom for skill as well as beauty. Thus the years
slipped away, during which Geirlaug grew to be a woman. Now and then she caught
glimpses of Grethari as he rode out to hunt in the forest, but when she saw him
coming she hid herself behind the great trees, for her heart was still sore at
his forgetfulness. One day, however, when she was gathering herbs, he came upon
her suddenly, before she had time to escape, though as she had stained her face
and hands brown, and covered her beautiful hair with a scarlet cap, he did not
guess her to be his foster-sister.
'What
is your name, pretty maiden?' asked he.
'Lauphertha,'
answered the girl with a low curtesy.
'Ah!
it is you, then, of whom I have heard so much,' said he; 'you are too beautiful
to spend your life serving the forester's daughters. Come with me to the
palace, and my mother the queen will make you one of her ladies in waiting.'
'Truly,
that would be a great fortune,' replied the maiden. 'And, if you really mean
it, I will go with you. But how shall I know that you are not jesting?'
'Give
me something to do for you, and I will do it, whatever it is,' cried the young
man eagerly. And she cast down her eyes, and answered:
'Go
to the stable, and bind the calf that is there so that it shall not break loose
in the night and wander away, for the forester and his daughters have treated
me well, and I would not leave them with aught of my work still undone.'
So
Grethari set out for the stable where the calf stood, and wound the rope about
its horns. But when he had made it fast to the wall, he found that a coil of
the rope had twisted itself round his wrist, and, pull as he might, he could
not get free. All night he wriggled and struggled till he was half dead with
fatigue. But when the sun rose the rope suddenly fell away from him, and, very
angry with the maiden he dragged himself back to the palace. 'She is a witch,'
he muttered crossly to himself, 'and I will have no more to do with her.' And
he flung himself on his bed and slept all day.
Not
long after this adventure the king and queen sent their beloved son on an
embassy to a neighbouring country to seek a bride from amongst the seven
princesses. The most beautiful of all was, of course, the one chosen, and the
young pair took ship without delay for the kingdom of the prince's parents. The
wind was fair and the vessel so swift that, in less time than could have been
expected, the harbour nearest the castle was reached. A splendid carriage had
been left in readiness close to the beach, but no horses were to be found, for
every one had been carried off to take part in a great review which the king
was to hold that day in honour of his son's marriage.
'I
can't stay here all day,' said the princess, crossly, when Grethari told her of
the plight they were in. 'I am perfectly worn out as it is, and you will have
to find something to draw the carriage, if it is only a donkey. If you don't, I
will sail back straight to my father.'
Poor
Grethari was much troubled by the words of the princess. Not that he felt so
very much in love with her, for during the voyage she had shown him several
times how vain and bad tempered she was; but as a prince and a bridegroom, he
could not, of course, bear to think that any slight had been put upon her. So
he hastily bade his attendants to go in search of some animal, and bring it at
once to the place at which they were waiting.
During
the long pause the princess sat in the beautiful golden coach, her blue velvet
mantle powdered with silver bees drawn closely round her, so that not even the
tip of her nose could be seen. At length a girl appeared driving a young ox in
front of her, followed by one of the prince's messengers, who was talking
eagerly.
'Will
you lend me your ox, fair maiden?' asked Grethari, jumping up and going to meet
them. 'You shall fix your own price, and it shall be paid ungrudgingly, for
never before was king's son in such a plight.'
'My
price is seats for me and my two friends behind you and your bride at the
wedding feast,' answered she. And to this Grethari joyfully consented.
Six
horses would not have drawn the coach at the speed of this one ox. Trees and
fields flew by so fast that the bride became quite giddy, and expected,
besides, that they would be upset every moment. But, in spite of her fears,
nothing happened, and they drew up in safety at the door of the palace, to the
great surprise of the king and queen. The marriage preparations were hurried
on, and by the end of the week everything was ready. It was, perhaps, fortunate
that the princess was too busy with her clothes and her jewels during this
period to pay much heed to Grethari, so that by the time the wedding day came
round he had almost forgotten how cross and rude she had been on the journey.
The
oldest men and women in the town agreed that nothing so splendid had ever been
seen as the bridal procession to the great hall, where the banquet was to be
held, before the ceremony was celebrated in the palace. The princess was in
high good humour, feeling that all eyes were upon her, and bowed and smiled
right and left. Taking the prince's hand, she sailed proudly down the room,
where the guests were already assembled, to her place at the head of the table
by the side of the bridegroom. As she did so, three strange ladies in shining
dresses of blue, green, and red, glided in and seated themselves on a vacant
bench immediately behind the young couple. The red lady was Geirlaug, who had
brought with her the forester's daughters, and in one hand she held a wand of
birch bark, and in the other a closed basket.
Silently
they sat as the feast proceeded; hardly anyone noticed their presence, or, if
they did, supposed them to be attendants of their future queen. Suddenly, when
the merriment was at its height, Geirlaug opened the basket, and out flew a
cock and hen. To the astonishment of everyone, the birds circled about in front
of the royal pair, the cock plucking the feathers out of the tail of the hen,
who tried in vain to escape from him.
'Will
you treat me as badly as Grethari treated Geirlaug?' cried the hen at last. And
Grethari heard, and started up wildly. In an instant all the past rushed back
to him; the princess by his side was forgotten, and he only saw the face of the
child with whom he had played long years ago.
'Where
is Geirlaug?' he exclaimed, looking round the hall; and his eyes fell upon the
strange lady. With a smile she held out a ring which he had given her on her
twelfth birthday, when they were still children, without a thought of the
future. 'You and none other shall be my wife,' he said, taking her hand, and
leading her into the middle of the company.
It
is not easy to describe the scene that followed. Of course, nobody understood
what had occurred, and the king and queen imagined that their son had suddenly
gone mad. As for the princess her rage and fury were beyond belief. The guests
left the hall as quickly as they could, so that the royal family might arrange
their own affairs, and in the end it was settled that half the kingdom must be
given to the despised princess, instead of a husband. She sailed back at once
to her country, where she was soon betrothed to a young noble, whom, in
reality, she liked much better than Grethari. That evening Grethari was married
to Geirlaug, and they lived happily till they died, and made all their people
happy also.
(From
Neuislandischen Volksmarchen.)
The
Olive Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1907], at sacred-texts.com
[f04]
THE
STORY OF LITTLE KING LOC
Two
or three miles from the coast of France, anyone sailing in a ship on a calm day
can see deep, deep down, the trunks of great trees standing up in the water.
Many hundreds of years ago these trees formed part of a large forest, full of
all sorts of wild animals, and beyond the forest was a fine city, guarded by a
castle in which dwelt the Dukes of Clarides. But little by little the sea drew nearer
to the town; the foundations of the houses became undermined and fell in, and
at length a shining sea flowed over the land. However, all this happened a long
time after the story I am going to tell you.
The
Dukes of Clarides had always lived in the midst of their people, and protected
them both in war and peace.
At
the period when this tale begins the Duke Robert was dead, leaving a young and
beautiful duchess who ruled in his stead. Of course everyone expected her to
marry again, but she refused all suitors who sought her hand, saying that,
having only one soul she could have only one husband, and that her baby
daughter was quite enough for her.
*
* * * *
One
day, she was sitting in the tower, which looked out over a rocky heath, covered
in summer with purple and yellow flowers, when she beheld a troop of horsemen
riding towards the castle. In the midst, seated on a white horse with black and
silver trappings, was a lady whom the duchess at once knew to be her friend the
Countess of Blanchelande, a young widow like herself, mother of a little boy
two years older than Abeille des Clarides. The duchess hailed her arrival with
delight, but her joy was soon turned into weeping when the countess sank down
beside her on a pile of cushions, and told the reason of her visit.
'As
you know,' she said, taking her friend's hand and pressing it between her own,
'whenever a Countess of Blanchelande is about to die she finds a white rose
lying on her pillow. Last night I went to bed feeling unusually happy, but this
morning when I woke the rose was resting against my cheek. I have no one to
help me in the world but you, and I have come to ask if you will take Youri my
son, and let him be a brother to Abeille?'
Tears
choked the voice of the duchess, but she flung herself on the countess's neck,
and pressed her close. Silently the two women took leave of each other, and
silently the doomed lady mounted her horse and rode home again. Then, giving
her sleeping boy into the care of Francoeur, her steward, she laid herself
quietly on her bed, where, the next morning, they found her dead and peaceful.
So
Youri and Abeille grew up side by side, and the duchess faithfully kept her
promise, and was a mother to them both. As they got bigger she often took them
with her on her journeys through her duchy, and taught them to know her people,
and to pity and to aid them.
It
was on one of these journeys that, after passing through meadows covered with
flowers, Youri caught sight of a great glittering expanse lying beneath some
distant mountains.
'What
is that, godmother?' he asked, waving his hand. 'The shield of a giant, I
suppose.'
'No;
a silver plate as big as the moon!' said Abeille, twisting herself round on her
pony.
'It
is neither a silver plate nor a giant's shield,' replied the duchess; 'but a
beautiful lake. Still, in spite of its beauty, it is dangerous to go near it,
for in its depths dwell some Undines, or water spirits, who lure all passers-by
to their deaths.'
Nothing
more was said about the lake, but the children did not forget it, and one
morning, after they had returned to the castle, Abeille came up to Youri.
'The
tower door is open,' whispered she; 'let us go up. Perhaps we shall find some
fairies.'
But
they did not find any fairies; only, when they reached the roof, the lake
looked bluer and more enchanting than ever. Abeille gazed at it for a moment,
and then she said:
'Do
you see? I mean to go there!'
'But
you mustn't,' cried Youri. 'You heard what your mother said. And, besides, it
is so far; how could we get there?'
'You
ought to know that,' answered Abeille scornfully. 'What is the good of being a
man, and learning all sorts of things, if you have to ask me. However, there
are plenty of other men in the world, and I shall get one of them to tell me.'
Youri
coloured; Abeille had never spoken like this before, and, instead of being two
years younger than himself, she suddenly seemed many years older. She stood
with her mocking eyes fixed on him, till he grew angry at being outdone by a
girl, and taking her hand he said boldly:
'Very
well, we will both go to the lake.'
*
* * * *
The
next afternoon, when the duchess was working at her tapestry surrounded by her
maidens, the children went out, as usual, to play in the garden. The moment
they found themselves alone, Youri turned to Abeille, and holding out his hand,
said:
'Come.'
'Come
where?' asked Abeille, opening her eyes very wide.
'To
the lake, of course,' answered the boy.
Abeille
was silent. It was one thing to pretend you meant to be disobedient some day, a
long time off, and quite another to start for such a distant place without
anyone knowing that you had left the garden. 'And in satin shoes, too! How
stupid boys were to be sure.'
'Stupid
or not, I am going to the lake, and you are going with me!' said Youri, who had
not forgotten or forgiven the look she had cast on him the day before.
'Unless,' added he, 'you are afraid, and in that case I shall go alone.'
This
was too much for Abeille. Bursting into tears, she flung herself on Youri's
neck, and declared that wherever he went she would go too. So, peace having
been made between them, they set out.
It
was a hot day, and the townspeople were indoors waiting till the sun was low in
the sky before they set out either to work or play, so the children passed
through the streets unperceived, and crossed the river by the bridge into the
flowery meadows along the road by which they had ridden with the duchess.
By-and-by Abeille began to feel thirsty, but the sun had drunk up all the
water, and not a drop was left for her. They walked on a little further, and by
good luck found a cherry-tree covered with ripe fruit, and after a rest and a
refreshing meal, they were sure that they were strong enough to reach the lake
in a few minutes. But soon Abeille began to limp and to say that her foot hurt
her, and Youri had to untie the ribbons that fastened her shoe and see what was
the matter. A stone had got in, so this was easily set right, and for a while
they skipped along the path singing and chattering, till Abeille stopped again.
This time her shoe had come off, and turning to pick it up she caught sight of
the towers of the castle, looking such a long way off that her heart sank, and
she burst into tears.
'It
is getting dark, and the wolves will eat us,' sobbed she. But Youri put his
arms round her and comforted her.
'Why
we are close to the lake now. There is nothing to be afraid of! We shall be
home again to supper,' cried he. And Abeille dried her eyes, and trotted on
beside him.
Yes,
the lake was there, blue and silvery with purple and gold irises growing on its
banks, and white water-lilies floated on its bosom. Not a trace was there of a
man, or of one of the great beasts so much feared by Abeille, but only the
marks of tiny forked feet on the sand. The little girl at once pulled off her
torn shoes and stockings and let the water flow over her, while Youri looked
about for some nuts or strawberries. But none were to be found.
'I
noticed, a little way back, a clump of blackberry bushes,' said he. 'Wait here
for me, and I will go and gather some fruit, and after that we will start home
again.' And Abeille, leaning her head drowsily against a cushion of soft moss,
murmured something in reply, and soon fell asleep. In her dream a crow, bearing
the smallest man that ever was seen, appeared hovering for a moment above her,
and then vanished. At the same instant Youri returned and placed by her side a
large leaf-full of strawberries.
'It
is a pity to wake her just yet,' thought he, and wandered off beyond a clump of
silvery willows to a spot from which he could get a view of the whole lake. In
the moonlight, the light mist that hung over the surface made it look like
fairyland. Then gradually the silver veil seemed to break up, and the shapes of
fair women with outstretched hands and long green locks floated towards him.
Seized with a sudden fright, the boy turned to fly. But it was too late.
Unconscious
of the terrible doom that had befallen her foster-brother, Abeille slept on,
and did not awake even when a crowd of little men with white beards down to
their knees came and stood in a circle round her.
'What
shall we do with her?' asked Pic, who seemed older than any of them, though
they were all very old.
'Build
a cage and put her into it,' answered Rug.
'No!
No! What should such a beautiful princess do in a cage?' cried Dig. And Tad,
who was the kindest of them all, proposed to carry her home to her parents. But
the other gnomes were too pleased with their new toy to listen to this for a
moment.
'Look,
she is waking,' whispered Pau. And as he spoke Abeille slowly opened her eyes.
At first she imagined she was still dreaming; but as the little men did not
move, it suddenly dawned upon her that they were real, and starting to her
feet, she called loudly:
'Youri!
Youri! Where are you?'
At
the sound of her voice the gnomes only pressed more closely round her, and,
trembling with fear, she hid her face in her hands. The gnomes were at first
much puzzled to know what to do; then Tad, climbing on a branch of the willow
tree that hung over her, stooped down, and gently stroked her fingers. The
child understood that he meant to be kind, and letting her hands fall, gazed at
her captors. After an instant's pause she said:
'Little
men, it is a great pity that you are so ugly. But, all the same, I will love
you if you will only give me something to eat, as I am dying of hunger.'
A
rustle was heard among the group as she spoke. Some were very angry at being
called ugly, and said she deserved no better fate than to be left where she
was. Others laughed, and declared that it did not matter what a mere mortal
thought about them; while Tad bade Bog, their messenger, fetch her some milk and
honey, and the finest white bread that was made in their ovens under the earth.
In less time than Abeille would have taken to tie her shoe he was back again,
mounted on his crow. And by the time she had eaten the bread and honey and
drunk the milk, Abeille was not frightened any more, and felt quite ready to
talk. 'Little men,' she said, looking up with a smile, 'your supper was very
good, and I thank you for it. My name is Abeille, and my brother is called
Youri. Help me to find him, and tell me which is the path that leads to the
castle, for mother must think something dreadful has happened to us!'
'But
your feet are so sore that you cannot walk,' answered Dig. 'And we may not
cross the bounds into your country. The best we can do is to make a litter of
twigs and cover it with moss, and we will bear you into the mountains, and
present you to our king.'
Now,
many a little girl would have been terrified at the thought of being carried
off alone, she did not know where. But Abeille, when she had recovered from her
first fright, was pleased at the notion of her strange adventure.
'How
much she would have to tell her mother and Youri on her return. Probably they
would never go inside a mountain, if they lived to be a hundred.' So she curled
herself comfortably on her nest of moss, and waited to see what would happen.
Up,
and up, and up they went; and by-and-by Abeille fell asleep again, and did not
wake till the sun was shining. Up, and up, and up, for the little men could
only walk very slowly, though they could spring over rocks quicker than any
mortal. Suddenly the light that streamed through the branches of the litter
began to change. It seemed hardly less bright, but it was certainly different;
then the litter was put down, and the gnomes crowded round and helped Abeille
to step out of it.
Before
her stood a little man not half her size, but splendidly dressed and full of
dignity. On his head was a crown of such huge diamonds that you wondered how
his small body could support it. A royal mantle fell from his shoulders, and in
his hand he held a lance.
'King
Loc,' said one of the forest gnomes, 'we found this beautiful child asleep by
the lake, and have brought her to you. She says that her name is Abeille, and
her mother is the Duchess des Clarides.'
'You
have done well,' answered the king; 'she shall be one of us.' And standing on
tiptoe, so that he could kiss her hand, he told her that they would all take
care of her and make her happy, and that anything she wished for she should
have at once.
'I
want a pair of shoes,' replied Abeille.
'Shoes!'
commanded the king, striking the ground with his lance; and immediately a
lovely pair of silver shoes embroidered with pearls were slipped on her feet by
one of the gnomes.
'They
are beautiful shoes,' said Abeille rather doubtfully; 'but do you think they
will carry me all the way back to my mother?'
'No,
they are not meant for rough roads,' replied the king, 'but for walking about
the smooth paths of the mountain, for we have many wonders to show you.'
'Little
King Loc,' answered Abeille, 'take away these beautiful slippers and give me a
pair of wooden shoes instead, and let me go back to my mother.' But King Loc
only shook his head.
'Little
King Loc,' said Abeille again--and this time her voice trembled--'let me go
back to my mother and Youri, and I will love you with all my heart, nearly as
well as I love them.'
'Who
is Youri?' asked King Loc.
'Why--Youri--who
has lived with us since I was a baby,' replied Abeille; surprised that he did
not know what everyone else was aware of, and never guessing that by mentioning
the boy she was sealing her own fate. For King Loc had already thought what a
good wife she would make him in a few years' time, and he did not want Youri to
come between them. So he was silent, and Abeille, seeing he was not pleased,
burst into tears.
'Little
King Loc,' she cried, taking hold of a corner of his mantle, 'think how unhappy
my mother will be. She will fancy that wild beasts have eaten me, or that I have
got drowned in the lake.'
'Be
comforted,' replied King Loc; 'I will send her a dream, so that she shall know
that you are safe.'
At
this Abeille's sad face brightened. 'Little King Loc,' she said, smiling, 'how
clever you are! But you must send her a dream every night, so that she shall
see me--and me a dream, so that I may see her.'
And
this King Loc promised to do.
When
Abeille grew accustomed to do without her mother and Youri, she made herself
happy enough in her new home. Everyone was kind to her, and petted her, and
then there were such quantities of new things for her to see. The gnomes were
always busy, and knew how to fashion beautiful toys as well or better than the
people who lived on the earth; and now and then, wandering with Tad or Dig in
the underground passages, Abeille would catch a glimpse of blue sky through a
rent in the rocks, and this she loved best of all. In this manner six years
passed away.
'His
Highness King Loc wishes to see you in his presence chamber,' said Tad, one
morning, to Abeille, who was singing to herself on a golden lute; and Abeille,
wondering why the king had grown so formal all of a sudden, got up obediently.
Directly she appeared, King Loc opened a door in the wall which led into his
treasure chamber. Abeille had never been there before, and was amazed at the
splendid things heaped up before her. Gold, jewels, brocades, carpets, lay
round the walls, and she walked about examining one glittering object after
another, while King Loc mounted a throne of gold and ivory at one end of the
hall, and watched her. 'Choose whatever you wish,' he said at last. A necklace
of most lovely pearls was hanging from the wall, and after hesitating for a
moment between that and a circlet of diamonds and sapphires, Abeille stretched
up her hand towards it. But before she touched it her eyes lighted on a tiny
piece of sky visible through a crack of the rock, and her hand dropped by her
side. 'Little King Loc, let me go up to the earth once again,' she said.
Then
King Loc made a sign to the treasurer, who opened a coffer full of nothing but
precious stones, larger and more dazzling than were worn by any earthly
monarch. 'Choose what you will, Abeille,' whispered King Loc.
But
Abeille only shook her head.
'A
drop of dew in the garden at Clarides is brighter to me than the best of those
diamonds,' she answered, 'and the bluest of the stones are not as blue as the
eyes of Youri.' And as she spoke a sharp pain ran through the heart of King
Loc. For an instant he said nothing, then he lifted his head and looked at her.
'Only those who despise riches should possess them. Take this crown, from
henceforth you are the Princess of the Gnomes.'
During
thirty days no work was done in those underground regions, for a feast was held
in honour of the new princess. At the end of that period, the king appeared
before Abeille, clad in his most splendid garments, and solemnly asked her to
be his wife.
'Little
King Loc,' answered the girl, 'I love you as you are, for your goodness and
kindness to me; but never, never can I love you as anything else.'
The
king sighed. It was only what he had expected; still, his disappointment was
great, though he tried bravely to hide it, and even to smile as he said: 'Then,
Abeille, will you promise me one thing? If there should come a day when you
find that there is somebody whom you could love, will you tell me?'
And
in her turn Abeille promised.
After
this, in spite of the fact that everyone was just as kind to her as before,
Abeille was no longer the merry child who passed all her days playing with the
little gnomes. People who dwell under the earth grow up much faster than those
who live on its surface, and, at thirteen, the girl was already a woman.
Besides, King Loc's words had set her thinking; she spent many hours by
herself, and her face was no longer round and rosy, but thin and pale. It was
in vain that the gnomes did their best to entice her into her old games, they
had lost their interest, and even her lute lay unnoticed on the ground.
But
one morning a change seemed to come over her. Leaving the room hung with
beautiful silks, where she usually sat alone, she entered the king's presence,
and taking his hand she led him through long corridors till they came to a
place where a strip of blue sky was to be seen.
'Little
King Loc,' she said, turning her eyes upon him, 'let me behold my mother again,
or I shall surely die.' Her voice shook, and her whole body trembled. Even an
enemy might have pitied her; but the king, who loved her, answered nothing. All
day long Abeille stayed there, watching the light fade, and the sky grow pale.
By-and-by the stars came out, but the girl never moved from her place. Suddenly
a hand touched her. She looked round with a start, and there was King Loc,
covered from head to foot in a dark mantle, holding another over his arm. 'Put
on this and follow me,' was all he said. But Abeille somehow knew that she was
going to see her mother.
On,
and on, and on they went, through passages where Abeille had never been before,
and at length she was out in the world again. Oh! how beautiful it all was! How
fresh was the air, and how sweet was the smell of the flowers! She felt as if
she should die with joy, but at that moment King Loc lifted her off the ground,
and, tiny though he was, carried her quite easily across the garden and through
an open door into the silent castle.
'Listen,
Abeille,' he whispered softly. 'You have guessed where we are going, and you
know that every night I send your mother a vision of you, and she talks to it
in her dream, and smiles at it. To-night it will be no vision she sees, but you
yourself; only remember, that if you touch her or speak to her my power is
lost, and never more will she behold either you or your image.'
By
this time they had reached the room which Abeille knew so well, and her heart
beat violently as the gnome carried her over the threshold. By the light of a
lamp hanging over the bed Abeille could see her mother, beautiful still, but
with a face that had grown pale and sad. As she gazed the sadness vanished, and
a bright smile came in its stead. Her mother's arms were stretched out towards
her, and the girl, her eyes filled with tears of joy, was stooping to meet
them, when King Loc hastily snatched her up, and bore her back to the realm of
the gnomes.
If
the king imagined that by granting Abeille's request he would make her happy,
he soon found out his mistake, for all day long the girl sat weeping, paving no
heed to the efforts of her friends to comfort her.
'Tell
me what is making you so unhappy?' said King Loc, at last. And Abeille
answered:
'Little
King Loc, and all my friends here, you are so good and kind that I know that
you are miserable when I am in trouble. I would be happy if I could, but it is
stronger than I. I am weeping because I shall never see again Youri de
Blanchelande, whom I love with all my heart. It is a worse grief than parting
with my mother, for at least I know where she is and what she is doing; while,
as for Youri, I cannot tell if he is dead or alive.'
The
gnomes were all silent. Kind as they were, they were not mortals, and had never
felt either great joys or deep sorrows. Only King Loc dimly guessed at
something of both, and he went away to consult an old, old gnome, who lived in
the lowest depth of the mountain, and had spectacles of every sort, that
enabled him to see all that was happening, not only on the earth, but under the
sea.
Nur,
for such was his name, tried many of these spectacles before he could discover
anything about Youri de Blanchelande.
'There
he is!' he cried at last. 'He is sitting in the palace of the Undines, under
the great lake; but he does not like his prison, and longs to be back in the
world, doing great deeds.'
It
was true. In the seven years that had passed since he had left the castle of
Clarides to go with Abeille to the blue lake, Youri in his turn had become a
man.
The
older he grew the more weary he got of the petting and spoiling he received at
the hands of the green-haired maidens, till, one day, he flung himself at the
feet of the Undine queen, and implored permission to return to his old home.
The
queen stooped down and stroked his hair.
'We
cannot spare you,' she murmured gently. 'Stay here, and you shall be king, and
marry me.'
'But
it is Abeille I want to marry,' said the youth boldly. But he might as well
have talked to the winds, for at last the queen grew angry, and ordered him to
be put in a crystal cage which was built for him round a pointed rock.
It
was here that King Loc, aided by the spectacles of Nur, found him after many
weeks' journey. As we know, the gnomes walk slowly, and the way was long and
difficult. Luckily, before he started, he had taken with him his magic ring,
and the moment it touched the wall the crystal cage split from top to bottom.
'Follow
that path, and you will find yourself in the world again,' he said to Youri;
and without waiting to listen to the young man's thanks, set out on the road he
had come.
'Bog,'
he cried, to the little man on the crow, who had ridden to meet him. 'Hasten to
the palace and inform the Princess Abeille that Youri de Blanchelande, for
seven years a captive in the kingdom of the Undines, has now returned to the
castle of Clarides.'
*
* * * *
The
first person whom Youri met as he came out of the mountain was the tailor who
had made all his clothes from the time that he came to live at the castle. Of
this old friend, who was nearly beside himself with joy at the sight of the
little master, lost for so many years, the count begged for news of his
foster-mother and Abeille.
'Alas!
my lord, where can you have been that you do not know that the Princess Abeille
was carried off by the gnomes on the very day that you disappeared yourself? At
least, so we guess. Ah! that day has left many a mark on our duchess! Yet she
is not without a gleam of hope that her daughter is living yet, for every night
the poor mother is visited by a dream which tells her all that the princess is
doing.'
The
good man went on to tell of all the changes that seven years had brought about
in the village, but Youri heard nothing that he said, for his mind was busy
with thoughts of Abeille.
At
length he roused himself, and ashamed of his delay, he hastened to the chamber
of the duchess, who held him in her arms as if she would never let him go.
By-and-by, however, when she became calmer, he began to question her about
Abeille, and how best to deliver her from the power of the gnomes. The duchess
then told him that she had sent out men in all directions to look for the
children directly they were found to be missing, and that one of them had
noticed a troop of little men far away on the mountains, evidently carrying a
litter. He was hastening after them, when, at his feet, he beheld a tiny satin
slipper, which he stooped to pick up. But as he did so a dozen of the gnomes
had swarmed upon him like flies, and beat him about the head till he dropped
the slipper, which they took away with them, leaving the poor man dizzy with
pain. When he recovered his senses the group on the mountain had disappeared.
*
* * * *
That
night, when everyone was asleep, Youri and his old servant Francoeur, stole
softly down into the armoury, and dressed themselves in light suits of chain
armour, with helmets and short swords, all complete. Then they mounted two
horses that Francoeur had tied up in the forest, and set forth for the kingdom
of the gnomes. At the end of an hour's hard riding, they came to the cavern
which Francoeur had heard from childhood led into the centre of the earth. Here
they dismounted, and entered cautiously, expecting to find darkness as thick as
what they had left outside. But they had only gone a few steps when they were
nearly blinded by a sudden blaze of light, which seemed to proceed from a sort
of portcullis door, which barred the way in front of them.
'Who
are you?' asked a voice. And the count answered:
'Youri
de Blanchelande, who has come to rescue Abeille des Clarides.' And at these
words the gate slowly swung open, and closed behind the two strangers.
Youri
listened to the clang with a spasm of fear in his heart; then the desperate
position he was in gave him courage. There was no retreat for him now, and in
front was drawn up a large force of gnomes, whose arrows were falling like hail
about him. He raised his shield to ward them off, and as he did so his eyes
fell on a little man standing on a rock above the rest, with a crown on his
head and a royal mantle on his shoulders. In an instant Youri had flung away
his shield and sprung forward, regardless of the arrows that still fell about
him.
'Oh,
is it you, is it really you, my deliverer? And is it your subjects who hold as
a captive Abeille whom I love?'
'I
am King Loc,' was the answer. And the figure with the long beard bent his eyes
kindly on the eager youth. 'If Abeille has lived with us all these years, for
many of them she was quite happy. But the gnomes, of whom you think so little,
are a just people, and they will not keep her against her will. Beg the princess
to be good enough to come hither,' he added, turning to Rug.
Amidst
a dead silence Abeille entered the vast space and looked around her. At first
she saw nothing but a vast host of gnomes perched on the walls and crowding on
the floor of the big hall. Then her eyes met those of Youri, and with a cry
that came from her heart she darted towards him, and threw herself on his
breast.
'Abeille,'
said the king, when he had watched her for a moment, with a look of pain on his
face, 'is this the man that you wish to marry?'
'Yes,
Little King Loc, this is he and nobody else! And see how I can laugh now, and
how happy I am!' And with that she began to cry.
'Hush,
Abeille! there must be no tears to-day,' said Youri, gently stroking her hair.
'Come, dry your eyes, and thank King Loc, who rescued me from the cage in the
realm of the Undines.'
As
Youri spoke Abeille lifted her head, and a great light came into her face. At
last she understood.
'You
did that for me?' she whispered. 'Ah, Little King Loc----!'
*
* * * *
So,
loaded with presents, and followed by regrets, Abeille went home. In a few days
the marriage took place; but however happy she was, and however busy she might
be, never a month passed by without a visit from Abeille to her friends in the
kingdom of the gnomes.
(Adapted
and shortened from the story of Abeille, by M. Anatole France.)
The
Olive Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1907], at sacred-texts.com
[f05]
'A
LONG-BOW STORY'
One
day a bunniah,[1] or banker, was walking along a country road when he overtook
a farmer going in the same direction. Now the bunniah was very grasping, like
most of his class, and was lamenting that he had had no chance of making any
money that day; but at the sight of the man in front he brightened up
wonderfully.
'That
is a piece of luck,' he said to himself. 'Let me see if this farmer is not good
for something'; and he hastened his steps.
After
they had bid one another good day very politely, the bunniah said to the
farmer:
'I
was just thinking how dull I felt, when I beheld you, but since we are going
the same way, I shall find the road quite short in such agreeable company.'
'With
all my heart,' replied the farmer; 'but what shall we talk about? A city man
like you will not care to hear about cattle and crops.'
'Oh,'
said the bunniah, 'I'll tell you what we will do. We will each tell the other
the wildest tale we can imagine, and he who first throws doubt on the other's
story shall pay him a hundred rupees.'
To
this the farmer agreed, and begged the bunniah to begin, as he was the bigger
man of the two; and privately he made up his mind that, however improbable it
might be, nothing should induce him to hint that he did not believe in the
bunniah's tale. Thus politely pressed the great man started:
'I
was going along this road one day, when I met a merchant travelling with a
great train of camels laden with merchandise----'
'Very
likely,' murmured the farmer; 'I've seen that kind of thing myself.'
'No
less than one hundred and one camels,' continued the bunniah, 'all tied
together by their nose strings--nose to tail--and stretching along the road for
almost half a mile----'
'Well?'
said the farmer.
'Well,
a kite swooped down on the foremost camel and bore him off, struggling, into
the air, and by reason of them all being tied together the other hundred camels
had to follow----'
'Amazing,
the strength of that kite!' said the farmer. 'But--well--yes, doubtless;
yes--well--one hundred and one camels--and what did he do with them?'
'You
doubt it?' demanded the bunniah.
'Not
a bit!' said the farmer heartily.
'Well,'
continued the bunniah, 'it happened that the princess of a neighbouring kingdom
was sitting in her private garden, having her hair combed by her maid, and she
was looking upward, with her head thrown back, whilst the maid tugged away at
the comb, when that wretched kite, with its prey, went soaring overhead; and,
as luck would have it, the camels gave an extra kick just then, the kite lost
his hold, and the whole hundred and one camels dropped right into the
princess's left eye!'
'Poor
thing!' said the farmer; 'it's so painful having anything in one's eye.'
'Well,'
said the bunniah, who was now warming to his task, 'the princess shook her head,
and sprang up, clapping her hand on her eye. "Oh dear!" she cried,
"I've got something in my eye, and how it does smart!"'
'It
always does,' observed the farmer, 'perfectly true. Well, what did the poor
thing do?'
'At
the sound of her cries, the maid came running to her assistance. "Let me
look," said she; and with that she gave the princess's eyelid a twitch,
and out came a camel, which the maid put in her pocket--' ('Ah!' grunted the
farmer)--'and then she just twisted up the corner of her headcloth and fished a
hundred more of them out of the princess's eye, and popped them all into her
pocket with the other.'
Here
the bunniah gasped as one who is out of breath, but the farmer looked at him
slowly. 'Well?' said he.
'I
can't think of anything more now,' replied the bunniah. 'Besides, that is the
end; what do you say to it?'
'Wonderful,'
replied the farmer, 'and no doubt perfectly true!'
'Well,
it is your turn,' said the bunniah. 'I am so anxious to hear your story. I am
sure it will be very interesting.'
'Yes,
I think it will,' answered the farmer, and he began:
'My
father was a very prosperous man. Five cows he had, and three yoke of oxen, and
half a dozen buffaloes, and goats in abundance; but of all his possessions the
thing he loved best was a mare. A well bred mare she was--oh, a very fine
mare!'
'Yes,
yes,' interrupted the bunniah, 'get on!'
'I'm
getting on,' said the farmer, 'don't you hurry me! Well, one day, as ill-luck
would have it, he rode that mare to market with a torn saddle, which galled her
so, that when they got home she had a sore on her back as big as the palm of
your hand.'
'Yes,'
said the bunniah impatiently, 'what next?'
'It
was June,' said the farmer, 'and you know how, in June, the air is full of
dust-storms with rain at times? Well, the poor beast got dust in that wound,
and what's more, with the dust some grains of wheat, and, what with the dust
and the heat and the wet, that wheat sprouted and began to grow!'
'Wheat
does when it gets a fair chance,' said the bunniah.
'Yes;
and the next thing we knew was that there was a crop of wheat on that horse's
back as big as anything you ever saw in a hundred-acre field, and we had to
hire twenty men to reap it!'
'One
generally has to hire extra hands for reaping,' said the bunniah.
'And
we got four hundred maunds of wheat off that mare's back!' continued the
farmer.
'A
good crop!' murmured the bunniah.
'And
your father,' said the farmer, 'a poor wretch, with hardly enough to keep body
and soul together--(the bunniah snorted, but was silent)--came to my father,
and he said, putting his hands together as humble as could be----'
The
bunniah here flashed a furious glance at his companion, but bit his lips and
held his peace.
'"I
haven't tasted food for a week. Oh! great master, let me have the loan of
sixteen maunds of wheat from your store, and I will repay you."'
'"Certainly,
neighbour," answered my father; "take what you need, and repay it as
you can."'
'Well?'
demanded the bunniah with fury in his eye.
'Well,
he took the wheat away with him,' replied the farmer; 'but he never repaid it,
and it's a debt to this day. Sometimes I wonder whether I shall not go to law
about it.'
Then
the bunniah began running his thumb quickly up and down the fingers of his
right hand, and his lips moved in quick calculation.
'What
is the matter?' asked the farmer.
'The
wheat is the cheaper; I'll pay you for the wheat,' said the bunniah, with the
calmness of despair, as he remembered that by his own arrangement he was bound
to give the farmer a hundred rupees.
And
to this day they say in those parts, when a man owes a debt: 'Give me the
money; or, if not that, give me at least the wheat.'
(This
is from oral tradition.)
FOOTNOTE:
[1]
Grain merchant and banker, and generally a very greedy man.
The
Olive Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1907], at sacred-texts.com
[f06]
JACKAL
OR TIGER?
One
hot night, in Hindustan, a king and queen lay awake in the palace in the midst
of the city. Every now and then a faint air blew through the lattice, and they
hoped they were going to sleep, but they never did. Presently they became more
broad awake than ever at the sound of a howl outside the palace.
'Listen
to that tiger!' remarked the king.
'Tiger?'
replied the queen. 'How should there be a tiger inside the city? It was only a
jackal.'
'I
tell you it was a tiger,' said the king.
'And
I tell you that you were dreaming if you thought it was anything but a jackal,'
answered the queen.
'I
say it was a tiger,' cried the king; 'don't contradict me.'
'Nonsense!'
snapped the queen. 'It was a jackal.' And the dispute waxed so warm that the
king said at last:
'Very
well, we'll call the guard and ask; and if it was a jackal I'll leave this
kingdom to you and go away; and if it was a tiger then you shall go, and I will
marry a new wife.'
'As
you like,' answered the queen, 'there isn't any doubt which it was.'
So
the king called the two soldiers who were on guard outside and put the question
to them. But, whilst the dispute was going on, the king and queen had got so
excited and talked so loud that the guards had heard nearly all they said, and
one man observed to the other:
'Mind
you declare that the king is right. It certainly was a jackal, but, if we say
so, the king will probably not keep his word about going away, and we shall get
into trouble, so we had better take his side.'
To
this the other agreed; therefore, when the king asked them what animal they had
seen, both the guards said it was certainly a tiger, and that the king was
right of course, as he always was. The king made no remark, but sent for a
palanquin, and ordered the queen to be placed in it, bidding the four bearers
of the palanquin to take her a long way off into the forest and there leave
her. In spite of her tears, she was forced to obey, and away the bearers went
for three days and three nights until they came to a dense wood. There they set
down the palanquin with the queen in it, and started home again.
Now
the queen thought to herself that the king could not mean to send her away for
good, and that as soon as he had got over his fit of temper he would summon her
back; so she stayed quite still for a long time, listening with all her ears
for approaching footsteps, but heard none. After a while she grew nervous, for
she was all alone, and put her head out of the palanquin and looked about her.
Day was just breaking, and birds and insects were beginning to stir; the leaves
rustled in a warm breeze; but, although the queen's eyes wandered in all
directions, there was no sign of any human being. Then her spirit gave way, and
she began to cry.
It
so happened that close to the spot where the queen's palanquin had been set
down, there dwelt a man who had a tiny farm in the midst of the forest, where
he and his wife lived alone far from any neighbours. As it was hot weather the
farmer had been sleeping on the flat roof of his house, but was awakened by the
sound of weeping. He jumped up and ran downstairs as fast as he could, and into
the forest towards the place the sound came from, and there he found the
palanquin.
'Oh,
poor soul that weeps,' cried the farmer, standing a little way off, 'who are
you?' At this salutation from a stranger the queen grew silent, dreading she
knew not what.
'Oh,
you that weep,' repeated the farmer, 'fear not to speak to me, for you are to
me as a daughter. Tell me, who are you?'
His
voice was so kind that the queen gathered up her courage and spoke. And when
she had told her story, the farmer called his wife, who led her to their house,
and gave her food to eat, and a bed to lie on. And in the farm, a few days
later, a little prince was born, and by his mother's wish named Ameer Ali.
Years
passed without a sign from the king. His wife might have been dead for all he
seemed to care, though the queen still lived with the farmer, and the little
prince had by this time grown up into a strong, handsome, and healthy youth.
Out in the forest they seemed far from the world; very few ever came near them,
and the prince was continually begging his mother and the farmer to be allowed
to go away and seek adventures and to make his own living. But she and the wise
farmer always counselled him to wait, until, at last, when he was eighteen
years of age, they had not the heart to forbid him any longer. So he started
off one early morning, with a sword by his side, a big brass pot to hold water,
a few pieces of silver, and a galail[2] or two-stringed bow in his hand, with
which to shoot birds as he travelled.
Many
a weary mile he tramped day after day, until, one morning, he saw before him
just such a forest as that in which he had been born and bred, and he stepped
joyfully into it, like one who goes to meet an old friend. Presently, as he
made his way through a thicket, he saw a pigeon which he thought would make a
good dinner, so he fired a pellet at it from his galail, but missed the pigeon
which fluttered away with a startled clatter. At the same instant he heard a
great clamour from beyond the thicket, and, on reaching the spot, he found an
ugly old woman streaming wet and crying loudly as she lifted from her head an
earthen vessel with a hole in it from which the water was pouring. When she saw
the prince with his galail in his hand, she called out:
'Oh,
wretched one! why must you choose an old woman like me to play your pranks
upon? Where am I to get a fresh pitcher instead of this one that you have
broken with your foolish tricks? And how am I to go so far for water twice when
one journey wearies me?'
'But,
mother,' replied the prince, 'I played no trick upon you! I did but shoot at a
pigeon that should have served me for dinner, and as my pellet missed it, it
must have broken your pitcher. But, in exchange, you shall have my brass pot,
and that will not break easily; and as for getting water, tell me where to find
it, and I'll fetch it while you dry your garments in the sun, and carry it
whither you will.'
At
this the old woman's face brightened. She showed him where to seek the water,
and when he returned a few minutes later with his pot filled to the brim, she
led the way without a word, and he followed. In a short while they came to a
hut in the forest, and as they drew near it Ameer Ali beheld in the doorway the
loveliest damsel his eyes had ever looked on. At the sight of a stranger she
drew her veil about her and stepped into the hut, and much as he wished to see
her again Ameer Ali could think of no excuse by which to bring her back, and
so, with a heavy heart, he made his salutation, and bade the old woman
farewell. But when he had gone a little way she called after him:
'If
ever you are in trouble or danger, come to where you now stand and cry:
"Fairy of the Forest! Fairy of the forest, help me now!" And I will
listen to you.'
The
prince thanked her and continued his journey, but he thought little of the old
woman's saying, and much of the lovely damsel. Shortly afterwards he arrived at
a city; and, as he was now in great straits, having come to the end of his
money, he walked straight to the palace of the king and asked for employment.
The king said he had plenty of servants and wanted no more; but the young man
pleaded so hard that at last the rajah was sorry for him, and promised that he
should enter his bodyguard on the condition that he would undertake any service
which was especially difficult or dangerous. This was just what Ameer Ali
wanted, and he agreed to do whatever the king might wish.
Soon
after this, on a dark and stormy night, when the river roared beneath the
palace walls, the sound of a woman weeping and wailing was heard above the
storm. The king ordered a servant to go and see what was the matter; but the
servant, falling on his knees in terror, begged that he might not be sent on
such an errand, particularly on a night so wild, when evil spirits and witches
were sure to be abroad. Indeed, so frightened was he, that the king, who was
very kind-hearted, bade another to go in his stead, but each one showed the
same strange fear. Then Ameer Ali stepped forward:
'This
is my duty, your majesty,' he said, 'I will go.'
The
king nodded, and off he went. The night was as dark as pitch, and the wind blew
furiously and drove the rain in sheets into his face; but he made his way down
to the ford under the palace walls and stepped into the flooded water. Inch by
inch, and foot by foot he fought his way across, now nearly swept off his feet
by some sudden swirl or eddy, now narrowly escaping being caught in the
branches of some floating tree that came tossing and swinging down the stream.
At length he emerged, panting and dripping wet, on the other side. Close by the
bank stood a gallows, and on the gallows hung the body of some evildoer, whilst
from the foot of it came the sound of sobbing that the king had heard.
Ameer
Ali was so grieved for the one who wept there that he thought nothing of the
wildness of the night or of the roaring river. As for ghosts and witches, they
had never troubled him, so he walked up towards the gallows where crouched the
figure of the woman.
'What
ails you?' he said.
Now
the woman was not really a woman at all, but a horrid kind of witch who really
lived in Witchland, and had no business on earth. If ever a man strayed into
Witchland the ogresses used to eat him up, and this old witch thought she would
like to catch a man for supper, and that is why she had been sobbing and crying
in hopes that someone out of pity might come to her rescue.
So
when Ameer Ali questioned her, she replied:
'Ah,
kind sir, it is my poor son who hangs upon that gallows; help me to get him
down and I will bless you for ever.'
Ameer
Ali thought that her voice sounded rather eager than sorrowful, and he
suspected that she was not telling the truth, so he determined to be very
cautious.
'That
will be rather difficult,' he said, 'for the gallows is high, and we have no
ladder.'
'Ah,
but if you will just stoop down and let me climb upon your shoulders,' answered
the old witch, 'I think I could reach him.' And her voice now sounded so cruel
that Ameer Ali was sure that she intended some evil. But he only said:
'Very
well, we will try.' With that he drew his sword, pretending that he needed it
to lean upon, and bent so that the old woman could clamber on to his back,
which she did very nimbly. Then, suddenly, he felt a noose slipped over his
neck, and the old witch sprang from his shoulders on to the gallows, crying:
'Now,
foolish one, I have got you, and will kill you for my supper.'
But
Ameer Ali gave a sweep upwards with his sharp sword to cut the rope that she
had slipped round his neck, and not only cut the cord but cut also the old
woman's foot as it dangled above him; and with a yell of pain and anger she
vanished into the darkness.
Ameer
Ali then sat down to collect himself a little, and felt upon the ground by his
side an anklet that had evidently fallen off the old witch's foot. This he put
into his pocket, and as the storm had by this time passed over he made his way
back to the palace. When he had finished his story, he took the anklet out of
his pocket and handed it to the king, who, like everyone else, was amazed at
the glory of the jewels which composed it. Indeed, Ameer Ali himself was
astonished, for he had slipped the anklet into his pocket in the dark and had
not looked at it since. The king was delighted at its beauty, and having
praised and rewarded Ameer Ali, he gave the anklet to his daughter, a proud and
spoiled princess.
Now
in the women's apartments in the palace there hung two cages, in one of which
was a parrot and in the other a starling, and these two birds could talk as
well as human beings. They were both pets of the princess who always fed them
herself, and the next day, as she was walking grandly about with her treasure
tied round her ankle, she heard the starling say to the parrot:
'Oh,
Tote' (that was the parrot's name), 'how do you think the princess looks in her
new jewel?'
'Think?'
snapped the parrot, who was cross because they hadn't given him his bath that
morning, 'I think she looks like a washerwoman's daughter, with one shoe on and
the other off! Why doesn't she wear two of them, instead of going about with
one leg adorned and the other empty?'
When
the princess heard this she burst into tears; and sending for her father she declared
that he must get her another such an anklet to wear on the other leg, or she
would die of shame. So the king sent for Ameer Ali and told him that he must
get a second anklet exactly like the first within a month, or he should be
hanged, for the princess would certainly die of disappointment.
Poor
Ameer Ali was greatly troubled at the king's command, but he thought to himself
that he had, at any rate, a month in which to lay his plans. He left the palace
at once, and inquired of everyone where the finest jewels were to be got; but
though he sought night and day he never found one to compare with the anklet.
At last only a week remained, and he was in sore difficulty, when he remembered
the Fairy of the forest, and determined to go without loss of time and seek
her. Therefore away he went, and after a day's travelling he reached the
cottage in the forest, and, standing where he had stood when the old woman
called to him, he cried:
'Fairy
of the forest! Fairy of the forest! Help me! help me!'
Then
there appeared in the doorway the beautiful girl he had seen before, whom in
all his wanderings he had never forgotten.
'What
is the matter?' she asked, in a voice so soft that he listened like one struck
dumb, and she had to repeat the question before he could answer. Then he told
her his story, and she went within the cottage and came back with two wands,
and a pot of boiling water. The two wands she planted in the ground about six
feet apart, and then, turning to him, she said:
'I
am going to lie down between these two wands. You must then draw your sword and
cut off my foot, and, as soon as you have done that, you must seize it and hold
it over the cauldron, and every drop of blood that falls from it into the water
will become a jewel. Next you must change the wands so that the one that stood
at my head is at my feet, and the one at my feet stands at my head, and place
the severed foot against the wound and it will heal, and I shall become quite
well again as before.'
At
first Ameer Ali declared that he would sooner be hanged twenty times over than
treat her so roughly; but at length she persuaded him to do her bidding. He
nearly fainted himself with horror when he found that, after the cruel blow
which lopped her foot off, she lay as one lifeless; but he held the severed
foot over the cauldron, and, as drops of blood fell from it, and he saw each
turn in the water into shining gems, his heart took courage. Very soon there
were plenty of jewels in the cauldron, and he quickly changed the wands, placed
the severed foot against the wound, and immediately the two parts became one as
before. Then the maiden opened her eyes, sprang to her feet, and drawing her
veil about her, ran into the hut, and would not come out or speak to him any
more. For a long while he waited, but, as she did not appear, he gathered up
the precious stones and returned to the palace. He easily got some one to set
the jewels, and found that there were enough to make, not only one, but three
rare and beautiful anklets, and these he duly presented to the king on the very
day that his month of grace was over.
The
king embraced him warmly, and made him rich gifts; and the next day the vain
princess put two anklets on each foot, and strutted up and down in them
admiring herself in the mirrors that lined her room.
'Oh,
Tote,' asked the starling, 'how do you think our princess looks now in these
fine jewels?'
'Ugh!'
growled the parrot, who was really always cross in the mornings, and never
recovered his temper until after lunch, 'she's got all her beauty at one end of
her now; if she had a few of those fine gew-gaws round her neck and wrists she
would look better; but now, to my mind, she looks more than ever like the
washerwoman's daughter dressed up.'
Poor
princess! she wept and stormed and raved until she made herself quite ill; and
then she declared to her father that, unless she had bracelets and necklace to
match the anklets she would die.
Again
the king sent for Ameer Ali, and ordered him to get a necklace and bracelets to
match those anklets within a month, or be put to a cruel death.
And
again Ameer Ali spent nearly the whole month searching for the jewels, but all
in vain. At length he made his way to the hut in the forest, and stood and
cried:
'Fairy
of the forest! Fairy of the forest! Help me! help me!'
Once
more the beautiful maiden appeared at his summons and asked what he wanted, and
when he had told her she said he must do exactly as he had done the first time,
except that now he must cut off both her hands and her head. Her words turned
Ameer Ali pale with horror; but she reminded him that no harm had come to her
before, and at last he consented to do as she bade him. From her severed hands
and head there fell into the cauldron bracelets and chains of rubies and
diamonds, emeralds and pearls that surpassed any that ever were seen. Then the
head and hands were joined on to the body, and left neither sign nor scar. Full
of gratitude, Ameer Ali tried to speak to her, but she ran into the house and
would not come back, and he was forced to leave her and go away laden with the
jewels.
When,
on the day appointed, Ameer Ali produced a necklace and bracelets each more
beautiful and priceless than the last, the king's astonishment knew no bounds,
and as for his daughter she was nearly mad with joy. The very next morning she
put on all her finery, and thought that now, at least, that disagreeable parrot
could find no fault with her appearance, and she listened eagerly when she
heard the starling say:
'Oh,
Tote, how do you think our princess is looking now?'
'Very
fine, no doubt,' grumbled the parrot; 'but what is the use of dressing up like
that for oneself only? She ought to have a husband--why doesn't she marry the
man who got her all these splendid things?'
Then
the princess sent for her father and told him that she wished to marry Ameer
Ali.
'My
dear child,' said her father, 'you really are very difficult to please, and
want something new every day. It certainly is time you married someone, and if
you choose this man, of course he shall marry you.'
So
the king sent for Ameer Ali, and told him that within a month he proposed to do
him the honour of marrying him to the princess, and making him heir to the
throne.
On
hearing this speech Ameer Ali bowed low and answered that he had done and would
do the king all the service that lay in his power, save only this one thing.
The king, who considered his daughter's hand a prize for any man, flew into a
passion, and the princess was more furious still. Ameer Ali was instantly
thrown into the most dismal prison that they could find, and ordered to be kept
there until the king had time to think in what way he should be put to death.
Meanwhile
the king determined that the princess ought in any case to be married without
delay, so he sent forth heralds throughout the neighbouring countries,
proclaiming that on a certain day any person fitted for a bridegroom and heir
to the throne should present himself at the palace.
When
the day came, all the court were gathered together, and a great crowd assembled
of men, young and old, who thought that they had as good a chance as anyone
else to gain both the throne and the princess. As soon as the king was seated,
he called upon an usher to summon the first claimant. But, just then, a farmer
who stood in front of the crowd cried out that he had a petition to offer.
'Well, hasten then,' said the king; 'I have no time to waste.'
'Your
majesty,' said the farmer, 'has now lived and administered justice long in this
city, and will know that the tiger who is king of beasts hunts only in the
forest, whilst jackals hunt in every place where there is something to be
picked up.'
'What
is all this? what is all this?' asked the king. 'The man must be mad!'
'No,
your majesty,' answered the farmer, 'I would only remind your majesty that
there are plenty of jackals gathered to-day to try and claim your daughter and
kingdom: every city has sent them, and they wait hungry and eager; but do not,
O king, mistake or pretend again to mistake the howl of a jackal for the
hunting cry of a tiger.'
The
king turned first red and then pale.
'There
is,' continued the farmer, 'a royal tiger bred in the forest who has the first
and only true claim to your throne.'
'Where?
what do you mean?' stammered the king, growing pale as he listened.
'In
prison,' replied the farmer; 'if your majesty will clear this court of the
jackals I will explain.'
'Clear
the court!' commanded the king; and, very unwillingly, the visitors left the palace.
'Now
tell me what riddle this is,' said he.
Then
the farmer told the king and his ministers how he had rescued the queen and
brought up Ameer Ali; and he fetched the old queen herself, whom he had left
outside. At the sight of her the king was filled with shame and self-reproach,
and wished he could have lived his life over again, and not have married the
mother of the proud princess, who caused him endless trouble until her death.
'My
day is past,' said he. And he gave up his crown to his son Ameer Ali, who went
once more and called to the forest fairy to provide him with a queen to share
his throne.
'There
is only one person I will marry,' said he. And this time the maiden did not run
away, but agreed to be his wife. So the two were married without delay, and
lived long and reigned happily.
As
for the old woman whose pitcher Ameer Ali had broken, she was the forest
maiden's fairy godmother, and when she was no longer needed to look after the
girl she gladly returned to fairyland.
The
old king has never been heard to contradict his wife any more. If he even looks
as if he does not agree with her, she smiles at him and says:
'Is
it the tiger, then? or the jackal?' And he has not another word to say.
FOOTNOTE:
[2]
A galail is a double-stringed bow from which bullets or pellets of hard dried
clay can be fired with considerable force and precision.
The
Olive Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1907], at sacred-texts.com
[f07]
THE
COMB AND THE COLLAR
Once
upon a time there was a king of Lombardy who, though he was uglier than any of
his subjects, loved beauty in others, so he married a wife who was declared by
everyone to be the handsomest of women; and, whispered some, the most
ill-natured also. Certainly she could not endure the sight of a pretty person,
and her ladies were all the plainest of their sex. Worse than all, she was
desperately jealous of the king's son and daughter by his former wife.
Unfortunately,
in spite of all her evil qualities, the king was her complete slave, and badly
though she treated the boy, the lovely princess was made to suffer ten times as
much. Not contented with giving the girl, for a governess, a woman whose temper
was as bad as the queen's own, the cruel step-mother did everything she could think
of to spoil the girl's beauty, and to force her to appear as ugly as she was
herself; but, try as she might, when the hideous clothes and frightful brown
paint had been removed, her loveliness shone out as bright as ever.
*
* * * *
Now
the king of Lombardy was cousin to the Archduke of Placenza, who had lately
lost his reason, to the great grief of his son and daughter, Perarthrites and
Ferrandina. The doctors having all failed to restore him to health, the prince
and princess sent a messenger to consult a famous enchantress, called the
Mother of Sheaths, because everyone who visited her brought with him a knife,
which she thrust into one of the sheaths with which her cavern was lined.
However, they obtained little comfort from the witch, who bade them 'seek their
father's wits in the place where he had lost them.' Against the wishes of the
chief ministers, Perarthrites and Ferrandina rode off to the mysterious castle
where the king had slept when his terrible fate had overtaken him, and, once inside
the gates, nothing more was heard of them.
*
* * * *
When
three weeks had passed and still there was no news, the king's chief minister
called a council to talk over the matter, and, at the end, it was decided that
a company of distinguished persons should visit the Mother of Sheaths, and that
the knives they must take with them should be of pure gold, richly set with
precious stones. The witch was so pleased with the beauty of the gifts that she
not only listened attentively to their story, but proceeded to a hole in the
cavern, from which she drew out a little case containing a comb, and a steel
collar, fastened by a gold key.
'Carry
this comb and the collar to every court until you find a lady beautiful enough
to unlock the collar, and a man good enough to draw the comb from its case.
When you have discovered these, you can return whence you came.'
'But
I do not see,' said the chamberlain, 'how that will help us to bring back our
lost prince and princess.'
'It
is all I can do for you,' answered the Mother of Sheaths; and she went into the
back of the cavern, where they dared not follow her.
*
* * * *
For
the next few months the mad king's principal ministers wandered from one court
to another, till at last they reached Lombardy, where they found that their
story had already travelled before them. As soon as they appeared in the
presence-chamber the king received them with open arms, for in his heart he had
no doubt that his wife was the peerless beauty destined to unfasten the collar.
And, indeed, if paint and hair-dye and magnificent dresses could have ensured
her doing so, he would certainly have been right. But, blinded by his love for
this wicked woman, he had really no idea that her charms were not her own.
At
the appointed hour the queen entered the throne-room, having by her side the
young princess, in the most grievous plight imaginable. Her dress was so
contrived as to give the idea that she had a hump; her pink-and-white skin was
thickly covered with yellow paint, and her black hair all hidden by a
close-fitting brown cloth cap. Murmurs of indignation rose on all sides, and
the ambassadors, who had frequently heard the princess compared to the lovely
Ferrandina, were dumb with astonishment. As for the king, he could hardly raise
his eyes from the ground, so ashamed was he; and signing to his son to take his
place, he withdrew from the scene.
Mounting
the throne, the prince commanded the trial to begin at once, and the collar was
handed to the princess's governess, who, being one of the ugliest women that
ever was seen, naturally failed to turn the key. Seizing the chance of his
being for a short time in power, the prince resolved to punish her cruelties
towards his sister, and especially this last one, to which she had prompted the
queen, and ordered her to be taken out and executed, which was done, with great
good will, by the attendants. He then further commanded the ladies in waiting
to attend his sister to her apartments, and bathe her and dress her in the
queen's most splendid robes, as she had none of her own; and the queen, though
gnashing her teeth with anger, for once dared not interfere. More quickly than
could have been expected, the princess returned, looking so beautiful that if
anyone had doubted before who would be able to unlock the collar they were
instantly convinced. The prince glanced at her, but said nothing, and, signing
to one of the ambassadors, he ordered him to make trial of the comb. One by one
each man present did his best to remove it from its case, and one by one each
was forced to own himself beaten. At length only the prince remained, but as he
was the judge he must wait till the last.
After
the men had finished, the ladies of the court had the collar presented to them
according to rank, but none could even turn the key. Finally it was handed to
the queen, who managed to open it a little way. Her heart beat with triumph,
but immediately it closed again with a snap, and she sank back, fainting from
disappointment.
By
this time there were only left the prince and his sister; and no sooner did he
touch the case than it opened of itself, while the lock of the collar yielded
directly the princess took hold of the key. Cries of delight rose from the
courtiers and attendants; but these were interrupted by a whirlwind accompanied
by thick darkness, and followed by an earthquake.
When
all was calm again, and the sun shining, the prince and princess had
disappeared.
Although
the king's son and daughter were the only persons who had vanished in the
storm, unluckily they had been carried off in opposite directions. The rapid
motion through the air deprived the princess of her senses, which she nearly
lost a second time, from fright, when she was set down alone in the middle of a
thick forest. She ran wildly about, calling to her brother to come to her aid;
but her cries only attracted the attention of some hungry wolves, who sprung
towards her with their jaws gaping and their red tongues hanging out. Falling
on her knees, she covered her face with one hand unconsciously grasping the
collar with the other, and awaited her doom. Already she could feel their hot
breath on her cheek, and crouched lower and lower, when the eyes of the
foremost wolf caught sight of the collar. With a howl that echoed through the
forest he bounded away, followed by his companions.
As
soon as the princess had recovered from the shock she rose and fled, without
knowing whither, until she found herself in a broad road, and beheld,
approaching her, a flock of sheep driven by two shepherds. She hastened towards
them in order to implore their help, when suddenly the sheep caught sight of
her collar and instantly scattered in all directions.
'I
must have something about me which frightens all beasts,' she thought, and took
great comfort therefrom; and in good spirits she went her way, till she came to
the gates of an old castle. She was just about to enter and beg for a night's
shelter, when a snow white fox ran across the road, and stopped in front of
her.
He
was so pretty, and had such bright beseeching eyes, that the princess hastily
tucked the collar under her dress, lest he too should flee at the sight of it.
Very gently she drew near, hoping he might follow her into the castle, but he
only set off in another direction, and, tired though she was, something forced
the girl to follow him. Thankful indeed was she when he turned a corner and sat
down before the door of a tiny palace, which was built on the bank of a river.
When she came up he took the hem of her dress between his teeth and led her
into a room where there was a table covered with milk and fruit. After she had
eaten and drunk, she lay down upon a pile of cushions, with the fox at her
feet, and fell asleep to dream of her lost brother.
If
the princess was dreaming of her brother, he was no less thinking of her, on
the wild sea-shore, whither the whirlwind had cast him. All was bleak and bare,
except a green island which he could only see from the top of a high rock where
he passed all his days, gazing on the waving palm trees and glittering
waterfalls in the distance.
'Suppose
she should be there?' he said to himself; and though there was no reason to
expect that the princess should be in that place more than in any other, he
could not get the notion out of his head.
A
song, sung in the loveliest voice he had ever heard, roused the young man from
his musings, and he instantly turned in the direction from which it had come.
But though the singer seemed close to him he could see her nowhere, and indeed,
no sooner had he reached one spot than the voice sounded in another direction,
and he followed it up and down, till he was suddenly stopped by the sight of a
large fish's skin, which lay stretched on the sand between the sea and the
rocks. The thing was so ugly, that he stepped aside in disgust, and at that
instant something leapt into the sea behind his back. This caused him to look
round. The fish's skin was no longer there, but in a cave in the rock behind it
he discovered a bath of ebony lined with gold, which glittered in the sunlight.
Days
passed without any adventures, and the prince had almost made up his mind to
leave the shore, and to seek his sister inland, when once more he heard the
voice that had so charmed him, and beheld the bloody skin lying on the sand,
and the bath, now filled with water, in the grotto. Little sleep had he that
night, and before dawn he hid himself behind the rocks, determined not to move
from the place till the fish should come back again.
He
had not very long to wait, for with the first rays of the sun there appeared,
out to sea, a shining white object which was blown by gentle breezes towards
the shore. As it came nearer he beheld a maiden, of dazzling loveliness, seated
in a shell where blues and pinks and greens all melted into each other. In her
hand she held the rope with which the shell was guided.
The
prince was so bewildered at her beauty that he forgot that he was in hiding,
and, rushing out, sank on his knees on the sands, holding out his hands towards
this wonderful vision. But as he did so the comb and its case fell out of his
pocket, and at the sight the lady uttered a wild shriek, and, steering her
shell round, vanished speedily in the direction of the island. Throwing off his
clothes, the prince was preparing to swim after her, when he perceived beside
him a snow white fox, looking the same way, and making frantic signs with his
paws, till a small boat put out and set sail towards them, to the great joy of
the little creature.
When
the boat drew up to the beach, the fox waved his paw towards the prince's
clothes, which he took to mean that he was to put them on again. This done,
they both got in, and had just pushed off, when the prince suddenly recollected
that the sight of the comb had frightened away the beautiful lady. In a
transport of fury he raised his hand to fling it into the sea, but the fox
sprang on him and held on so tightly to his arm that he could not lift it. At
that moment a horseman on the shore let fly an arrow at the fox, with so true an
aim that the little creature fell heavily into the well of the boat, and closed
its eyes, like one who has received his death-blow. The grief of the prince was
sore. He instantly leaped to land, but the murderer was already far distant.
When the young man turned round again, the boat and the fox were nowhere to be
seen.
An
approaching storm drove him into the grotto, which was lighted up by a
multitude of tapers, each one being in the shape of a knife half out of its
sheath. Over the bath was a tent-shaped covering of white, embroidered with
sheaths, and from beneath it came a voice:
'Prince,
will you trust me whatever happens, knowing that my heart is yours, and as I
feel that yours is mine? But, beware, for if you give the smallest sign of
fear, when the tent is opened, you will lose me for ever.'
She
did well to warn him; and even then he had much ado to keep the colour in his
cheeks and his hand from trembling, for a crocodile's head with snapping jaws
advanced towards him. With a mighty effort he managed to remain still, and to
gaze steadily at the horrible beast, and as he did so, the head bent backwards,
and beneath it was seen the lovely countenance of the Lady of the Shell.
'Quick!
prince! quick! the time is flying, comb me at once or I shall vanish from your
sight.' At her words he took out the comb, but found to his surprise that it
needed all his strength to draw it from its sheath. And, strange to say, that
in proportion as the comb emerged from its sheath the lady's head was freed from
its horrible covering, and her body rose a little more out of the water. When
her shoulders and arms were freed, she called to him:
'Enough,
so far you have obeyed my orders. Now burn my skin.'
'Ah,
that I can never do,' cried he; but the lady cut him short.
'Then
we shall both rue it for ever,' she said gravely; 'for I can only be the wife
of him who will burn my skin.' And while he still stood hesitating, the
curtains of the tent fell back on her, and the tapers fizzled out.
Bitterly
repenting his slowness, he wandered towards the forest where a fire was
burning, hardly knowing what he did; but on his way he almost fell over the
skin, which was lying across his path.
'Ah,
fool that I was! This must be the skin she wished me to burn,' said he. And
seizing it in both hands he flung it into the fire, where it exploded with a
terrific noise. At first he rushed off to some distance, not knowing what might
next befall, but after a while found that his steps had led him back to the
place of the fire. The skin had gone and left no traces, but among the cinders
he beheld something shining, which proved to be the magic collar. Ah! then his
sister, for whom he had so greatly longed, must be near at last! And before he
could turn his head or pick up the collar, her arms were round his neck, and
everything else was forgotten.
'You
shall tell your story first,' she said, when at length they could speak. And so
he did; but his head was so full of the Lady of the Shell that he forgot to say
anything about the fox. And it was well that he had forgotten, for when the
princess had poured forth her own adventures, she ended up by speaking of all
she owed to the little white fox.
'You
cannot even guess the care he took of me in the little palace. But though nothing
could exceed his kindness, I saw by his eyes that there was something he wanted
me to give him, but I could not tell what. Alas! the day came that I learnt it
to my cost. I had hidden the collar in a thick bush, lest the fox should catch
sight of it and be scared away as the other animals had been. But, one day,
when we were in the garden, the sun happened to shine straight on it, and he
sprang towards it with every sign of delight. He was about to seize it between
his teeth when it closed with a loud noise. The fox fled away with a piercing
scream, and though I have sought him far and wide, I have never seen him since.
I was here when you flung the skin into the cinders, and no doubt, in my hurry
to escape, the collar must have dropped from me. Ah, dear brother,' she
continued with tears in her eyes, 'I can no longer live without my beloved fox;
help me, I entreat you, to find him.'
So
great was her grief that the prince dared not tell her what sad fate had
overtaken the poor little animal, and trusted that time might soothe her. He
assured her that he would go with her wherever she desired if she would grant
him this one day to spend on the sea-shore; and with this the princess was
forced to be content.
The
prince was standing on the rock, looking out towards the lovely island, and
straining his eyes to see the white sail once more, when frightful shrieks from
the wood a little way off caused him to hasten with all his speed in that
direction. He soon perceived a knight on horseback with a bow slung to his
back, struggling to lift a woman on to his saddle. The knights' surprise at the
sight of a man in this desolate spot caused him to drop the woman's arm, and
she rushed to take shelter behind her defender, who, to his amazement, then
recognised his step-mother.
'How
did you come here?' he asked coldly, more than half regretting that he had not
left her to her fate; but she read what was in his heart, and fell on her knees
before him.
'Oh,
forgive me my wickedness,' she cried, 'for indeed I have repented of it long
ago, and come to the aid of your father who has been sorely smitten by that mad
archduke from whom you have just saved me! There is no time to pursue him,' she
added, as the prince started at the sound of the vanishing hoofs; and as they
pushed their way along the path she told him all that had happened since they
had last met.
'From
the moment that the king knew of my cruelty to your sister,' said she, 'he
vowed he would never see me again, and left the court in search of you both. I
followed him secretly, but not being able to gain any tidings of him, consulted
the Mother of Sheaths, who took me to rest in that island where the palm trees
are waving. There she showed me a lovely princess who, under a spell, was
forced daily to take the form of a crocodile, and when the dreaded moment
arrived the skin appeared before her, and, shudder as she might, some unseen
power impelled her to wrap herself in it and plunge into the sea. It is to this
island I am leading you; but first we must find your sister, for on her
presence hangs the life of the white fox--if, indeed, he is not dead already.'
'The
white fox!' exclaimed the prince. 'What do you know of him?'
'Not
much,' answered the queen; 'but, since I arrived on the island, he was always
with us, and charmed us all. Yesterday we missed him, but in the evening a
little boat drifted up on the sands, and in it lay the fox, covered with blood.
While his wounds were being tended in the palace with all the care imaginable,
I set out to consult a wizard, who told me that I must enter the skiff and seek
for the prince and princess of Lombardy, and that if, in twenty-four hours, I
could bring them into the presence of the fox, his life would be saved. On a
rock along the beach I found your father with an arrow through his shoulder,
from the bow of his cousin the mad archduke, who was drawing another from his
quiver, destined for me, when I fled into the forest!'
'My
father so near!' cried the prince. 'We must return and seek him, and also look
for my sister.'
*
* * * *
They
found her in the grotto, with her father's head in her lap, trying vainly to
staunch his wounds. Between them they contrived to carry him to the boat, which
sailed swiftly towards the island. On the way the prince gently broke to his
sister the sad state of the white fox.
'Take
me to him!' she said, as soon as the boat touched the island; and in silence
the queen went down the path to the palace.
The
white fox was lying on a soft mattress in front of a fire, his eyes closed, and
a look on his face which told that death was not far distant. But he knew,
somehow, that the princess was near him, and opened his eyes and wagged his
tail feebly. The princess burst into sobs and tears, till a hand on her
shoulder checked her.
'Why
do you waste the few moments that are left you in this manner?' asked the
governor of the island sternly. 'Place the collar you wear round his neck, and
he will be cured at once. But you must act quickly.'
The
princess seemed turned to stone as she listened. 'The collar!' she gasped. 'But
I have not got it, I lost it in the forest!' And the thousand sheaths with
which the walls were hung took up the cry:
'The
collar is lost! The collar is lost!'
'What
collar are you talking about?' asked the king, who was lying on another bed,
with the physicians bending over him. 'Here is one that I picked up among some
cinders, before that madman shot me--perhaps it may be the one you want, or, at
all events, it may do as well.' And he signed to an attendant to take the
collar from the pocket of his velvet jerkin.
The
princess leapt forward with joy at the sight of the precious thing, and
snatching it from the hand of the man she placed it round the neck of the fox.
All present held their breath as they watched what was happening; and what did
happen was that his legs grew longer and longer, and his nose grew shorter and
shorter. The fox was gone, and in his stead there lay Perarthrites, in a coat
of thick white fur.
But
though the prince of Lombardy was rejoiced to see his friend and cousin again,
his heart still bled for the beautiful lady who had vanished so mysteriously.
His face was so troubled that the governor of the island marked it, and asked
what was the matter. 'Oh! help me, if you can,' cried the prince. 'The thought
of the sufferings that the enchanted nymph may be undergoing tortures me!'
'They
are far worse than you can imagine,' gravely replied the governor; 'but if you
still possess your comb, you may yet relieve her of them. Ah! that is well,' he
continued, as the prince quickly drew the comb from its case. 'Now follow me.'
Not
only the prince, but every one else followed; and the governor led them down a
long gallery to a heavy iron door, which flew open at its own accord. But what
a sight met the prince's eyes! The lady whom he had last beheld in peerless
beauty was sitting in a chair wrapped in flames, which were twisting like hair
about her head. Her face was swollen and red; her mouth was open as if gasping
for breath. Only her arms and neck were as lovely as ever in their whiteness.
'This
is your doing,' said the governor to the prince; 'you brought her to this when
you burnt the crocodile's skin. Now try if, by combing, you can soothe her
agony.'
At
the first touch of the comb the flames became suddenly extinguished; at the
second, the look of pain vanished from the face, and it shrank into its usual
size; at the third, she rose from the chair, lovelier than she ever was before,
and flung herself into the arms of her brother Perarthrites.
*
* * * *
After
this there was nothing more to be done but to marry the two couples as fast as
possible. And when the wedding was over, Perarthrites and his bride returned to
Placenza, and Ferrandina and her husband to Lombardy, and they all lived
happily till they died.
(From
Count Anthony Hamilton's Fairy Tales.)
The
Olive Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1907], at sacred-texts.com
[f08]
THE
THANKSGIVING OF THE WAZIR
Once
upon a time there lived in Hindustan two kings whose countries bordered upon
each other; but, as they were rivals in wealth and power, and one was a Hindu
rajah and the other a Mohammedan badshah, they were not good friends at all. In
order, however, to escape continual quarrels, the rajah and the badshah had
drawn up an agreement, stamped and signed, declaring that if any of their
subjects, from the least to the greatest, crossed the boundary between the two
kingdoms, he might be seized and punished.
One
morning the badshah and his chief wazir, or prime minister, were just about to
begin their morning's work over the affairs of the kingdom, and the badshah had
taken up a pen and was cutting it to his liking with a sharp knife, when the
knife slipped and cut off the tip of his finger.
'Oh-he,
wazir!' cried the king, 'I've cut the tip of my finger off!'
'That
is good hearing!' said the wazir in answer.
'Insolent
one,' exclaimed the king. 'Do you take pleasure in the misfortunes of others,
and in mine also? Take him away, my guards, and put him in the court prison
until I have time to punish him as he deserves!'
Instantly
the officers in attendance seized upon the luckless wazir, and dragged him out
of the king's presence towards the narrow doorway, through which unhappy
criminals were wont to be led to prison or execution. As the door opened to
receive him, the wazir muttered something into his great white beard which the
soldiers could not hear.
'What
said the rascal?' shouted the angry king.
He
says, 'he thanks your majesty,' replied one of the gaolers. And at his words,
the king stared at the closing door, in anger and amazement.
'He
must be mad,' he cried, 'for he is grateful, not only for the misfortunes of
others, but for his own; surely something has turned his head!'
Now
the king was very fond of his old wazir, and although the court physician came
and bound up his injured finger with cool and healing ointment, and soothed the
pain, he could not soothe the soreness of the king's heart, nor could any of
all his ministers and courtiers, who found his majesty very cross all the day
long.
Early
next morning the king ordered his horse and declared that he would go hunting.
Instantly all was bustle and preparation in stable and hall, and by the time he
was ready a score of ministers and huntsmen stood ready to mount and accompany
him; but to their astonishment the king would have none of them. Indeed, he
glared at them so fiercely that they were glad to leave him. So away and away
he wandered, over field and through forest, so moody and thoughtful that many a
fat buck and gaudy pheasant escaped without notice, and so careless was he
whither he was going that he strayed without perceiving it over into the
rajah's territory, and only discovered the fact when, suddenly, men stepped
from all sides out of a thicket, and there was nothing left but surrender. Then
the poor badshah was seized and bound and taken to the rajah's prison, thinking
most of the time of his wazir, who was suffering a similar fate, and wishing
that, like the wazir, he could feel that there was something to give thanks
for.
That
night the rajah held a special council to consider what should be done to his
rival who had thus given himself into his hands. All the Brahmans were sent
for--fat priests who understood all about everything, and what days were lucky
and what unlucky--and, whilst all the rest of the rajah's councillors were
offering him different advice until he was nearly crazy with anger and
indecision, the chief Brahman was squatting in a corner figuring out sums and
signs to himself with an admiring group of lesser priests around him. At last
he arose, and advanced towards the throne.
'Well,'
said the rajah anxiously, 'what have you to advise?'
'A
very unlucky day!' exclaimed the chief Brahman. 'Oh, a very unlucky day! The
god Devi is full of wrath, and commands that to-morrow you must chop off this
badshah's head and offer it in to him in sacrifice.'
'Ah,
well,' said the rajah, 'let it be done. I leave it to you to carry out the
sentence.' And he bowed to the priests and left the room.
Before
dawn great preparations were being made for a grand festival in honour of the
great idol Devi. Hundreds of banners waved, hundreds of drummers drummed,
hundreds of singers chanted chants, hundreds of priests, well washed and
anointed, performed their sacred rites, whilst the rajah sat, nervous and ill
at ease, amongst hundreds of courtiers and servants, wishing it were all well
over. At last the time came for the sacrifice to be offered, and the poor badshah
was led out bound, to have his head chopped off.
The
chief Brahman came along with a smile on his face, and a big sword in his hand,
when, suddenly, he noticed that the badshah's finger was tied up in a bit of
rag. Instantly he dropped the sword, and, with his eyes starting out of his
head with excitement, pounced upon the rag and tore it off, and there he saw
that the tip of his victim's finger was missing. At this he got very red and
angry indeed, and he led the badshah up to where the rajah sat wondering.
'Behold!
O rajah,' he said, 'this sacrifice is useless, the tip of his finger is gone! A
sacrifice is no sacrifice unless it is complete.' And he began to weep with
rage and mortification.
But
of instead of wailing likewise, the rajah gave a sigh of relief, and answered:
'Well, that settles the matter. If it had been anyone else I should not have
minded; but, somehow--a king and all--well, it doesn't seem quite right to
sacrifice a king.' And with that he jumped up and with his jewelled dagger cut
the badshah's cords, and marched with him out of the temple back to the palace.
After
having bathed and refreshed his guest, the rajah loaded him with gifts, and
himself accompanied him with a large escort as far as the frontier between
their kingdoms, where, amidst salutes and great rejoicings, they tore up the
old agreement and drew up another in which each king promised welcome and safe
conduct to any of the other's people, from the least to the greatest, who came
over the border on any errand whatever. And so they embraced, and each went his
own way.
When
the badshah got home that very evening he sent for his imprisoned wazir.
'Well,
O wazir!' he said, when the old man had been brought before him, 'what think
you has been happening to me?'
'How
can a man in prison know what is happening outside it?' answered the wazir.
Then
the badshah told him all his adventures. And when he had reached the end he
added:
'I
have made up my mind, as a token of gratitude for my escape, to pardon you
freely, if you will tell me why you gave thanks when I cut off the tip of my
finger.'
'Sire,'
replied the old wazir, 'am I not right in thinking that it was a very lucky
thing for you that you did cut off the tip of your finger, for otherwise you would
certainly have lost your head. And to lose a scrap of one's finger is surely
the least of the two evils.'
'Very
true,' answered the king, touching his head as he spoke, as if to make quite
certain that it was still there, 'but yet--why did you likewise give thanks
when I put you into prison?'
'I
gave thanks,' said the wazir, 'because it is good always to give thanks. And
had I known that my being in prison was to prevent the god Devi claiming me
instead of your majesty, as a perfect offering, I should have given greater
thanks still.'
(Punjabi
story.)
The
Olive Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1907], at sacred-texts.com
[f09]
SAMBA
THE COWARD
In
the great country far away south, through which flows the river Nile, there
lived a king who had an only child called Samba.
Now,
from the time that Samba could walk he showed signs of being afraid of
everything, and as he grew bigger he became more and more frightened. At first
his father's friends made light of it, and said to each other:
'It
is strange to see a boy of our race running into a hut at the trumpeting of an
elephant, and trembling with fear if a lion cub half his size comes near him;
but, after all, he is only a baby, and when he is older he will be as brave as
the rest.'
'Yes,
he is only a baby,' answered the king who overheard them, 'it will be all right
by-and-by.' But, somehow, he sighed as he said it, and the men looked at him
and made no reply.
The
years passed away, and Samba had become a tall and strong youth. He was
good-natured and pleasant, and was liked by all, and if during his father's
hunting parties he was seldom to be seen in any place of danger, he was too
great a favourite for much to be said.
'When
the king holds the feast and declares him to be his heir, he will cease to be a
child,' murmured the rest of the people, as they had done before; and on the
day of the ceremony their hearts beat gladly, and they cried to each other:
'It
is Samba, Samba, whose chin is above the heads of other men, who will defend us
against the tribes of the robbers!'
*
* * * *
Not
many weeks after, the dwellers in the village awoke to find that during the
night their herds had been driven away, and their herdsmen carried off into
slavery by their enemies. Now was the time for Samba to show the brave spirit
that had come to him with his manhood, and to ride forth at the head of the
warriors of his race. But Samba could nowhere be found, and a party of the
avengers went on their way without him.
It
was many days later before he came back, with his head held high, and a tale of
a lion which he had tracked to its lair and killed, at the risk of his own
life. A little while earlier and his people would have welcomed his story, and
believed it all, but now it was too late.
'Samba
the Coward,' cried a voice from the crowd; and the name stuck to him, even the
very children shouted it at him, and his father did not spare him. At length he
could bear it no longer, and made up his mind to leave his own land for another
where peace had reigned since the memory of man. So, early next morning, he
slipped out to the king's stables, and choosing the quietest horse he could
find, he rode away northwards.
Never
as long as he lived did Samba forget the terrors of that journey. He could
hardly sleep at night for dread of the wild beasts that might be lurking behind
every rock or bush, while, by day, the distant roar of a lion would cause him
to start so violently, that he almost fell from his horse. A dozen times he was
on the point of turning back, and it was not the terror of the mocking words
and scornful laughs that kept him from doing so, but the terror lest he should
be forced to take part in their wars. Therefore he held on, and deeply thankful
he felt when the walls of a city, larger than he had ever dreamed of, rose
before him.
Drawing
himself up to his full height, he rode proudly through the gate and past the
palace, where, as was her custom, the princess was sitting on the terrace roof,
watching the bustle in the street below.
'That
is a gallant figure,' thought she, as Samba, mounted on his big black horse,
steered his way skilfully among the crowds; and, beckoning to a slave, she
ordered him to go and meet the stranger, and ask him who he was and whence he
came.
'Oh,
princess, he is the son of a king, and heir to a country which lies near the
Great River,' answered the slave, when he had returned from questioning Samba.
And the princess on hearing this news summoned her father, and told him that if
she was not allowed to wed the stranger she would die unmarried.
Like
many other fathers, the king could refuse his daughter nothing, and besides,
she had rejected so many suitors already that he was quite alarmed lest no man
should be good enough for her. Therefore, after a talk with Samba, who charmed
him by his good humour and pleasant ways, he gave his consent, and three days
later the wedding feast was celebrated with the utmost splendour.
The
princess was very proud of her tall handsome husband, and for some time she was
quite content that he should pass the days with her under the palm trees,
telling her the stories that she loved, or amusing her with tales of the
manners and customs of his country, which were so different to those of her
own. But, by-and-by, this was not enough; she wanted other people to be proud
of him too, and one day she said:
'I
really almost wish that those Moorish thieves from the north would come on one
of their robbing expeditions. I should love so to see you ride out at the head of
our men, to chase them home again. Ah, how happy I should be when the city rang
with your noble deeds!'
She
looked lovingly at him as she spoke; but, to her surprise, his face grew dark,
and he answered hastily:
'Never
speak to me again of the Moors or of war. It was to escape from them that I
fled from my own land, and at the first word of invasion I should leave you for
ever.'
'How
funny you are,' cried she, breaking into a laugh. 'The idea of anyone as big as
you being afraid of a Moor! But still, you mustn't say those things to anyone
except me, or they might think you were in earnest.'
*
* * * *
Not
very long after this, when the people of the city were holding a great feast
outside the walls of the town, a body of Moors, who had been in hiding for
days, drove off all the sheep and goats which were peacefully feeding on the
slopes of a hill. Directly the loss was discovered, which was not for some
hours, the king gave orders that the war drum should be beaten, and the
warriors assembled in the great square before the palace, trembling with fury
at the insult which had been put upon them. Loud were the cries for instant
vengeance, and for Samba, son-in-law of the king, to lead them to battle. But
shout as they might, Samba never came.
And
where was he? No further than in a cool, dark cellar of the palace, crouching
among huge earthenware pots of grain. With a rush of pain at her heart, there
his wife found him, and she tried with all her strength to kindle in him a
sense of shame, but in vain. Even the thought of the future danger he might run
from the contempt of his subjects was as nothing when compared with the risks
of the present.
'Take
off your tunic of mail,' said the princess at last; and her voice was so stern
and cold that none would have known it. 'Give it to me, and hand me besides
your helmet, your sword and your spear.' And with many fearful glances to right
and to left, Samba stripped off the armour inlaid with gold, the property of
the king's son-in-law. Silently his wife took, one by one, the pieces from him,
and fastened them on her with firm hands, never even glancing at the tall form
of her husband who had slunk back to his corner. When she had fastened the last
buckle, and lowered her vizor, she went out, and mounting Samba's horse, gave
the signal to the warriors to follow.
Now,
although the princess was much shorter than her husband, she was a tall woman,
and the horse which she rode was likewise higher than the rest, so that when
the men caught sight of the gold-inlaid suit of chain armour, they did not
doubt that Samba was taking his rightful place, and cheered him loudly. The
princess bowed in answer to their greeting, but kept her vizor down; and
touching her horse with the spur, she galloped at the head of her troops to
charge the enemy. The Moors, who had not expected to be so quickly pursued, had
scarcely time to form themselves into battle array, and were speedily put to
flight. Then the little troop of horsemen returned to the city, where all sung
the praises of Samba their leader.
The
instant they reached the palace the princess flung her reins to a groom, and
disappeared up a side staircase, by which she could, unseen, enter her own
rooms. Here she found Samba lying idly on a heap of mats; but he raised his
head uneasily as the door opened and looked at his wife, not feeling sure how
she might act towards him. However, he need not have been afraid of harsh
words: she merely unbuttoned her armour as fast as possible, and bade him put
it on with all speed. Samba obeyed, not daring to ask any questions; and when
he had finished the princess told him to follow her, and led him on to the flat
roof of the house, below which a crowd had gathered, cheering lustily.
'Samba,
the king's son-in-law! Samba, the bravest of the brave! Where is he? Let him
show himself!' And when Samba did show himself the shouts and applause became
louder than ever. 'See how modest he is! He leaves the glory to others!' cried
they. And Samba only smiled and waved his hand, and said nothing.
Out
of all the mass of people assembled there to do honour to Samba, one alone
there was who did not shout and praise with the rest. This was the princess's
youngest brother, whose sharp eyes had noted certain things during the fight
which recalled his sister much more than they did her husband. Under promise of
secrecy, he told his suspicions to the other princes, but only got laughed at,
and was bidden to carry his dreams elsewhere.
'Well,
well,' answered the boy, 'we shall see who is right; but the next time we give
battle to the Moors I will take care to place a private mark on our commander.'
In
spite of their defeat, not many days after the Moors sent a fresh body of
troops to steal some cattle, and again Samba's wife dressed herself in her
husband's armour, and rode out at the head of the avenging column. This time
the combat was fiercer than before, and in the thick of it her youngest brother
drew near, and gave his sister a slight wound on the leg. At the moment she
paid no heed to the pain, which, indeed, she scarcely felt; but when the enemy
had been put to flight and the little band returned to the palace, faintness
suddenly overtook her, and she could hardly stagger up the staircase to her own
apartments.
'I
am wounded,' she cried, sinking down on the mats where he had been lying, 'but
do not be anxious; it is really nothing. You have only got to wound yourself
slightly in the same spot and no one will guess that it was I and not you who
were fighting.'
'What!'
cried Samba, his eyes nearly starting from his head in surprise and terror.
'Can you possibly imagine that I should agree to anything so useless and
painful? Why, I might as well have gone to fight myself!'
'Ah,
I ought to have known better, indeed,' answered the princess, in a voice that
seemed to come from a long way off; but, quick as thought, the moment Samba
turned his back she pierced one of his bare legs with a spear.
He
gave a loud scream and staggered backwards, from astonishment, much more than
from pain. But before he could speak his wife had left the room and had gone to
seek the medicine man of the palace.
'My
husband has been wounded,' said she, when she had found him, 'come and tend him
with speed, for he is faint from loss of blood.' And she took care that more
than one person heard her words, so that all that day the people pressed up to
the gate of the palace, asking for news of their brave champion.
'You
see,' observed the king's eldest sons, who had visited the room where Samba lay
groaning, 'you see, O wise young brother, that we were right and you were wrong
about Samba, and that he really did go into the battle.' But the boy answered
nothing, and only shook his head doubtfully.
It
was only two days later that the Moors appeared for the third time, and though
the herds had been tethered in a new and safer place, they were promptly
carried off as before. 'For,' said the Moors to each other, 'the tribe will
never think of our coming back so soon when they have beaten us so badly.'
When
the drum sounded to assemble all the fighting men, the princess rose and sought
her husband.
'Samba,'
cried she, 'my wound is worse than I thought. I can scarcely walk, and could
not mount my horse without help. For to-day, then, I cannot do your work, so
you must go instead of me.'
'What
nonsense,' exclaimed Samba, 'I never heard of such a thing. Why, I might be
wounded, or even killed! You have three brothers. The king can choose one of
them.'
'They
are all too young,' replied his wife; 'the men would not obey them. But if,
indeed, you will not go, at least you can help me harness my horse.' And to
this Samba, who was always ready to do anything he was asked when there was no
danger about it, agreed readily.
So
the horse was quickly harnessed, and when it was done the princess said:
'Now
ride the horse to the place of meeting outside the gates, and I will join you
by a shorter way, and will change places with you.' Samba, who loved riding in
times of peace, mounted as she had told him, and when he was safe in the
saddle, his wife dealt the horse a sharp cut with her whip, and he dashed off
through the town and through the ranks of the warriors who were waiting for
him. Instantly the whole place was in motion. Samba tried to check his steed, but
he might as well have sought to stop the wind, and it seemed no more than a few
minutes before they were grappling hand to hand with the Moors.
Then
a miracle happened. Samba the coward, the skulker, the terrified, no sooner
found himself pressed hard, unable to escape, than something sprang into life
within him, and he fought with all his might. And when a man of his size and
strength begins to fight he generally fights well.
That
day the victory was really owing to Samba, and the shouts of the people were
louder than ever. When he returned, bearing with him the sword of the Moorish
chief, the old king pressed him in his arms and said:
'Oh,
my son, how can I ever show you how grateful I am for this splendid service?'
But
Samba, who was good and loyal when fear did not possess him, answered
straightly:
'My
father, it is to your daughter and not to me to whom thanks are due, for it is
she who has turned the coward that I was into a brave man.'
(Contes
Soudainais. Par C. Monteil.)
The
Olive Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1907], at sacred-texts.com
[f10]
KUPTI
AND IMANI
Once
there was a king who had two daughters; and their names were Kupti and Imani.
He loved them both very much, and spent hours in talking to them, and one day
he said to Kupti, the elder:
'Are
you satisfied to leave your life and fortune in my hands?'
'Verily
yes,' answered the princess, surprised at the question. 'In whose hands should
I leave them, if not in yours?'
But
when he asked his younger daughter Imani the same question, she replied:
'No,
indeed! If I had the chance I would make my own fortune.'
At
this answer the king was very displeased, and said:
'You
are too young to know the meaning of your words. But, be it so; I will give you
the chance of gratifying your wish.'
Then
he sent for an old lame fakir who lived in a tumbledown hut on the outskirts of
the city, and when he had presented himself, the king said:
'No
doubt, as you are very old and nearly crippled, you would be glad of some young
person to live with you and serve you; so I will send you my younger daughter.
She wants to earn her living, and she can do so with you.'
Of
course the old fakir had not a word to say, or, if he had, he was really too
astonished and troubled to say it; but the young princess went off with him
smiling, and tripped along quite gaily, whilst he hobbled home with her in
perplexed silence.
Directly
they got to the hut the fakir began to think what he could arrange for the
princess's comfort; but after all he was a fakir, and his house was bare except
for one bedstead, two old cooking pots and an earthen jar for water, and one
cannot get much comfort out of those things. However, the princess soon ended
his perplexity by asking:
'Have
you any money?'
'I
have a penny somewhere,' replied the fakir.
'Very
well,' rejoined the princess, 'give me the penny and go out and borrow me a
spinning-wheel and a loom.'
After
much seeking the fakir found the penny and started on his errand, whilst the princess
went off shopping. First she bought a farthing's worth of oil, and then she
bought three farthings' worth of flax. When she got back with her purchases she
set the old man on the bedstead and rubbed his crippled leg with the oil for an
hour. Then she sat down to the spinning-wheel and spun and spun all night long
whilst the old man slept, until, in the morning, she had spun the finest thread
that ever was seen. Next she went to the loom and wove and wove until by the
evening she had woven a beautiful silver cloth.
'Now,'
said she to the fakir, 'go into the market-place and sell my cloth whilst I
rest.'
'And
what am I to ask for it?' said the old man.
'Two
gold pieces,' replied the princess.
So
the fakir hobbled away, and stood in the market-place to sell the cloth.
Presently the elder princess drove by, and when she saw the cloth she stopped
and asked the price.
'Two
gold pieces,' said the fakir. And the princess gladly paid them, after which
the old fakir hobbled home with the money. As she had done before so Imani did
again day after day. Always she spent a penny upon oil and flax, always she
tended the old man's lame limb, and spun and wove the most beautiful cloths and
sold them at high prices. Gradually the city became famous for her beautiful
stuffs, the old fakir's lame leg became straighter and stronger, and the hole
under the floor of the hut where they kept their money became fuller and fuller
of gold pieces. At last, one day, the princess said:
'I
really think we have got enough to live in greater comfort.' And she sent for
builders, and they built a beautiful house for her and the old fakir, and in
all the city there was none finer except the king's palace. Presently this
reached the ears of the king, and when he inquired whose it was they told him
that it belonged to his daughter.
'Well,'
exclaimed the king, 'she said that she would make her own fortune, and somehow
or other she seems to have done it!'
A
little while after this, business took the king to another country, and before
he went he asked his elder daughter what she would like him to bring her back
as a gift.
'A
necklace of rubies,' answered she. And then the king thought he would like to
ask Imani too; so he sent a messenger to find out what sort of a present she
wanted. The man happened to arrive just as she was trying to disentangle a knot
in her loom, and bowing low before her, he said:
'The
king sends me to inquire what you wish him to bring you as a present from the
country of Dur?' But Imani, who was only considering how she could best untie
the knot without breaking the thread, replied:
'Patience!'
meaning that the messenger should wait till she was able to attend to him. But
the messenger went off with this as an answer, and told the king that the only
thing the princess Imani wanted was 'patience.'
'Oh!'
said the king, 'I don't know whether that's a thing to be bought at Dur; I
never had it myself, but if it is to be got I will buy it for her.'
Next
day the king departed on his journey, and when his business at Dur was
completed he bought for Kupti a beautiful ruby necklace. Then he said to a
servant:
'The
princess Imani wants some patience. I did not know there was such a thing, but
you must go to the market and inquire, and if any is to be sold, get it and
bring it to me.'
The
servant saluted and left the king's presence. He walked about the market for
some time crying: 'Has anyone patience to sell? patience to sell?' And some of
the people mocked, and some (who had no patience) told him to go away and not
be a fool; and some said: 'The fellow's mad! As though one could buy or sell
patience!'
At
length it came to the ears of the king of Dur that there was a madman in the
market trying to buy patience. And the king laughed and said:
'I
should like to see that fellow, bring him here!'
And
immediately his attendants went to seek the man, and brought him to the king,
who asked:
'What
is this you want?'
And
the man replied: 'Sire! I am bidden to ask for patience.'
'Oh,'
said the king, 'you must have a strange master! What does he want with it?'
'My
master wants it as a present for his daughter Imani,' replied the servant.
'Well,'
said the king, 'I know of some patience which the young lady might have if she
cares for it; but it is not to be bought.'
Now
the king's name was Subbar Khan, and Subbar means 'patience'; but the messenger
did not know that, or understand that he was making a joke. However, he
declared that the princess Imani was not only young and beautiful, but also the
cleverest, most industrious, and kindest-hearted of princesses; and he would
have gone on explaining her virtues had not the king laughingly put up his hand
and stopped him saying:
'Well,
well, wait a minute, and I will see what can be done.'
With
that he got up and went to his own apartments and took out a little casket.
Into the casket he put a fan, and shutting it up carefully he brought it to the
messenger and said:
'Here
is a casket. It has no lock nor key, and yet will open only to the touch of the
person who needs its contents--and whoever opens it will obtain patience; but I
can't tell whether it will be quite the kind of patience that is wanted.' And
the servant bowed low, and took the casket; but when he asked what was to be
paid, the king would take nothing. So he went away and gave the casket and an
account of his adventures to his master.
As
soon as their father got back to his country Kupti and Imani each got the
presents he had brought for them. Imani was very surprised when the casket was
brought to her by the hand of a messenger.
'But,'
she said, 'what is this? I never asked for anything! Indeed I had no time, for
the messenger ran away before I had unravelled my tangle.'
But
the servant declared that the casket was for her, so she took it with some
curiosity, and brought it to the old fakir. The old man tried to open it, but
in vain--so closely did the lid fit that it seemed to be quite immovable, and
yet there was no lock, nor bolt, nor spring, nor anything apparently by which
the casket was kept shut. When he was tired of trying he handed the casket to
the princess, who hardly touched it before it opened quite easily, and there
lay within a beautiful fan. With a cry of surprise and pleasure Imani took out
the fan, and began to fan herself.
Hardly
had she finished three strokes of the fan before there suddenly appeared from
nowhere in particular, king Subbar Khan of Dur! The princess gasped and rubbed
her eyes, and the old fakir sat and gazed in such astonishment that for some
minutes he could not speak. At length he said:
'Who
may you be, fair sir, if you please?'
'My
name,' said the king, 'is Subbar Khan of Dur. This lady,' bowing to the
princess, 'has summoned me, and here I am!'
'I?'--stammered
the princess--'I have summoned you? I never saw or heard of you in my life
before, so how could that be?'
Then
the king told them how he had heard of a man in his own city of Dur trying to
buy patience, and how he had given him the fan in the casket.
'Both
are magical,' he added; 'when anyone uses the fan, in three strokes of it I am
with them; if they fold it and tap it on the table, in three taps I am at home
again. The casket will not open to all, but you see it was this fair lady who
asked for patience, and, as that is my name, here I am, very much at her
service.'
Now
the princess Imani, being of a high spirit, was anxious to fold up the fan, and
give the three taps which would send the king home again; but the old fakir was
very pleased with his guest, and so in one way and another they spent quite a
pleasant evening together before Subbar Khan took his leave.
After
that he was often summoned; and as both the fakir and he were very fond of
chess and were good players, they used to sit up half the night playing, and at
last a little room in the house began to be called the king's room, and
whenever he stayed late he used to sleep there and go home again in the
morning.
By-and-by
it came to the ears of the princess Kupti that there was a rich and handsome
young man visiting at her sister's house, and she was very jealous. So she went
one day to pay Imani a visit, and pretended to be very affectionate, and
interested in the house, and in the way in which Imani and the old fakir lived,
and of their mysterious and royal visitor. As the sisters went from place to
place, Kupti was shown Subbar Khan's room; and presently, making some excuse,
she slipped in there by herself and swiftly spread under the sheet which lay
upon the bed a quantity of very finely powdered and splintered glass which was
poisoned, and which she had brought with her concealed in her clothes. Shortly
afterwards she took leave of her sister, declaring that she could never forgive
herself for not having come near her all this time, and that she would now
begin to make amends for her neglect.
That
very evening Subbar Khan came and sat up late with the old fakir playing chess
as usual. Very tired, he at length bade him and the princess good-night and, as
soon as he lay down on the bed, thousands of tiny, tiny splinters of poisoned
glass ran into him. He could not think what was the matter, and started this
way and that until he was pricked all over, and he felt as though he were
burning from head to foot. But he never said a word, only he sat up all night
in agony of body and in worse agony of mind to think that he should have been
poisoned, as he guessed he was, in Imani's own house. In the morning, although
he was nearly fainting, he still said nothing, and by means of the magic fan
was duly transported home again. Then he sent for all the physicians and
doctors in his kingdom, but none could make out what his illness was; and so he
lingered on for weeks and weeks trying every remedy that anyone could devise,
and passing sleepless nights and days of pain and fever and misery, until at
last he was at the point of death. Meanwhile the princess Imani and the old
fakir were much troubled because, although they waved the magic fan again and
again, no Subbar Khan appeared, and they feared that he had tired of them, or
that some evil fate had overtaken him. At last the princess was in such a
miserable state of doubt and uncertainty that she determined to go herself to
the kingdom of Dur and see what was the matter. Disguising herself in man's
clothes as a young fakir, she set out upon her journey alone and on foot, as a
fakir should travel. One evening she found herself in a forest, and lay down
under a great tree to pass the night. But she could not sleep for thinking of
Subbar Khan, and wondering what had happened to him. Presently she heard two
great monkeys talking to one another in the tree above her head.
'Good
evening, brother,' said one, 'whence come you--and what is the news?'
'I
come from Dur,' said the other, 'and the news is that the king is dying.'
'Oh,'
said the first, 'I'm sorry to hear that, for he is a master hand at slaying
leopards and creatures that ought not to be allowed to live. What is the matter
with him?'
'No
man knows,' replied the second monkey, 'but the birds, who see all and carry
all messages, say that he is dying of poisoned glass that Kupti the king's
daughter spread upon his bed.'
'Ah!'
said the first monkey, 'that is sad news; but if they only knew it, the berries
of the very tree we sit in, steeped in hot water, will cure such a disease as
that in three days at most.'
'True!'
said the other, 'it's a pity that we can't tell some man of a medicine so
simple, and so save a good man's life. But men are so silly; they go and shut
themselves up in stuffy houses in stuffy cities instead of living in nice airy
trees, and so they miss knowing all the best things.'
Now
when Imani heard that Subbar Khan was dying she began to weep silently; but as
she listened she dried her tears and sat up; and as soon as daylight dawned
over the forest she began to gather the berries from the tree until she had
filled her cloth with a load of them. Then she walked on as fast as she could,
and in two days reached the city of Dur. The first thing she did was to pass through
the market crying:
'Medicine
for sale! Are any ill that need my medicine?' And presently one man said to his
neighbour:
'See,
there is a young fakir with medicine for sale, perhaps he could do something
for the king.'
'Pooh!'
replied the other, 'where so many grey-beards have failed, how should a lad
like that be of any use?'
'Still,'
said the first, 'he might try.' And he went up and spoke to Imani, and together
they set out for the palace and announced that another doctor was come to try and
cure the king.
After
some delay Imani was admitted to the sick room, and, whilst she was so well
disguised that the king did not recognize her, he was so wasted by illness that
she hardly knew him. But she began at once, full of hope, by asking for some
apartments all to herself and a pot in which to boil water. As soon as the
water was heated she steeped some of her berries in it and gave the mixture to
the king's attendants and told them to wash his body with it. The first washing
did so much good that the king slept quietly all the night. Again the second
day she did the same, and this time the king declared he was hungry, and called
for food. After the third day he was quite well, only very weak from his long
illness. On the fourth day he got up and sat upon his throne, and then sent
messengers to fetch the physician who had cured him. When Imani appeared
everyone marvelled that so young a man should be so clever a doctor; and the
king wanted to give him immense presents of money and of all kinds of precious
things. At first Imani would take nothing, but at last she said that, if she
must be rewarded, she would ask for the king's signet ring and his
handkerchief. So, as she would take nothing more, the king gave her his signet
ring and his handkerchief, and she departed and travelled back to her own
country as fast as she could.
A
little while after her return, when she had related to the fakir all her
adventures, they sent for Subbar Khan by means of the magic fan; and when he
appeared they asked him why he had stayed away for so long. Then he told them
all about his illness, and how he had been cured, and when he had finished the
princess rose up and, opening a cabinet, brought out the ring and handkerchief,
and said, laughing:
'Are
these the rewards you gave to your doctor?'
At
that the king looked, and he recognised her, and understood in a moment all
that had happened; and he jumped up and put the magic fan in his pocket, and
declared that no one should send him away to his own country any more unless
Imani would come with him and be his wife. And so it was settled, and the old
fakir and Imani went to the city of Dur, where Imani was married to the king
and lived happily ever after.
(Punjabi
story.)
The
Olive Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1907], at sacred-texts.com
[f11]
THE
STRANGE ADVENTURES OF LITTLE MAIA
Once
upon a time there lived a woman who had a pretty cottage and garden right in
the middle of a forest. All through the summer she was quite happy tending her
flowers and listening to the birds singing in the trees, but in the winter,
when snow lay on the ground and wolves came howling about the door, she felt
very lonely and frightened. 'If I only had a child to speak to, however small,
what a comfort it would be!' she said to herself. And the heavier the snow fell
the oftener she repeated the words. And at last a day arrived when she could
bear the silence and solitude no longer, and set off to walk to the nearest
village to beg someone to sell her or lend her a child.
The
snow was very deep, and reached above her ankles, and it took her almost an
hour to go a few hundred yards.
'It
will be dark at this rate before I get to the first house,' thought she, and
stopped to look about her. Suddenly a little woman in a high-crowned hat
stepped from behind a tree in front of her.
'This
is a bad day for walking! Are you going far?' inquired the little woman.
'Well,
I want to go to the village; but I don't see how I am ever to get there,'
answered the other.
'And
may I ask what important business takes you there?' asked the little woman, who
was really a witch.
'My
house is so dreary, with no one to speak to; I cannot stay in it alone, and I
am seeking for a child--I don't mind how small she is--who will keep me company.'
'Oh,
if that is all, you need go no further,' replied the witch, putting her hand in
her pocket. 'Look, here is a barley corn, as a favour you shall have it for
twelve shillings, and if you plant it in a flower-pot, and give it plenty of
water, in a few days you will see something wonderful.'
This
promise raised the woman's spirits. She gladly paid down the price, and as soon
as she returned home she dug a hole in a flower-pot and put in the seed.
For
three days she waited, hardly taking her eyes from the flower-pot in its warm
corner, and on the third morning she saw that, while she was asleep, a tall red
tulip had shot up, sheathed in green leaves.
'What
a beautiful blossom,' cried the woman, stooping to kiss it, when, as she did
so, the red petals burst asunder, and in the midst of them was a lovely little
girl only an inch high. This tiny little creature was seated on a mattress of
violets, and covered with a quilt of rose leaves, and she opened her eyes and
smiled at the woman as if she had known her all her life.
'Oh!
you darling; I shall never be lonely any more!' she exclaimed in rapture; and
the baby nodded her head as much as to say:
'No,
of course you won't!'
The
woman lost no time in seeking for a roomy walnut-shell, which she lined thickly
with white satin, and on it she placed the mattress, with the child, whom she
called Maia, upon it. This was her bed, and stood on a chair close to where her
foster-mother was sleeping; but in the morning she was lifted out, and placed
on a leaf in the middle of a large bowl of water, and given two white
horse-hairs to row herself about with. She was the happiest baby that ever was
seen, and passed the whole day singing to herself, in a language of her own,
that nobody else could understand.
*
* * * *
For
some weeks the two lived together and never grew tired of each other's society,
and then a terrible misfortune happened. One night, when the foster-mother lay
sound asleep after a hard day's work, a big, ugly, wet frog hopped in through
the open window and stood staring at Maia under her quilt of rose leaves.
'Dear
me! that is quite a pretty little girl,' thought the frog to herself; 'she
would make a nice wife for my son.' And picking up the walnut cradle in her
mouth, she hopped with it to the edge of a stream which ran through the garden.
'Come
and see what I have brought you,' called the old frog, when she reached her
home in the mud.
'Croak!
croak! croak!' uttered the son, gazing with pleasure at the sleeping child.
'Hush;
don't make such a noise or you will wake her!' whispered the mother. 'I mean
her to be a wife for you, and while we are preparing for the wedding we will
set her on that water-lily leaf in the middle of the brook, so that she may not
be able to run away from us.'
It
was on this green floating prison that Maia awoke, frightened and puzzled, with
the first rays of the sun. She stood up straight on the leaf, looking about her
for a way of escape, and, finding none, she sat down again and began to weep
bitterly. At length her sobs were heard by the old frog, who was busy in her
house at the bottom of the marsh, twisting rushes into a soft carpet for Maia's
feet, and twining reeds and grapes over the doorway, to make it look pretty for
the bride.
'Ah!
the poor child feels lost and unhappy,' she thought pitifully, for her heart
was kind. 'Well, I have just done, and then my son and I will go to fetch her.
When she sees how handsome he is she will be all smiles again.' And in a few
minutes they both appeared beside the leaf.
'This
is your future husband. Did you ever see anyone like him?' asked the proud
mother, pushing him forward. But, after one glance, Maia only cried the more;
and the little fishes who lived in the stream came swimming round to see what
was the matter.
'It
is absurd that such a pretty creature should be forced to take a husband whom
she does not want,' said they to each other. 'And such an ugly one too!
However, we can easily prevent it.' And by turns they gnawed the stem of the
lily-leaf close to the root, till at length it was free, and taking it in their
mouths they bore Maia far away, till the little stream grew into a great river.
Oh,
how Maia enjoyed that voyage, when once she became quite certain that the frogs
could no longer reach her. Past many towns she went, and the people on the
banks all turned to look at her, and exclaimed:
'What
a lovely little girl! Where can she have come from?' 'What a lovely little
girl!' twittered the birds in the bushes. And a blue butterfly fell in love
with her, and would not leave her; so she took off her sash, which just matched
him, and tied it round his body, so that with this new kind of horse she
travelled much faster than before.
Unluckily,
a great cockchafer, who was buzzing over the river, happened to catch sight of
her, and caught her up in his claws. The poor butterfly was terribly frightened
at the sight of him, and he struggled hard to free himself, so that the sash
bow gave way, and he flew off into the sunshine. But Maia wasn't so fortunate,
and though the cockchafer collected honey from the flowers for her dinner, and
told her several times how pretty she was, she could not feel at ease with him.
The cockchafer noticed this, and summoned his sisters to play with her; but
they only stared rudely, and said:
'Where
did you pick up that strange object? She is very ugly to be sure, but one ought
to pity her for she has only two legs.'
'Yes,
and no feelers,' added another; 'and she is so thin! Well, our brother has certainly
very odd taste!'
'Indeed
he has!' echoed the others. And they repeated it so loud and so often that, in
the end, he believed it too, and snatching her up from the tree where he had
placed her, set her down upon a daisy which grew near the ground.
Here
Maia stayed for the whole summer, and really was not at all unhappy. She
ventured to walk about by herself, and wove herself a bed of some blades of
grass, and placed it under a clover leaf for shelter. The red cups that grew in
the moss held as much dew as she wanted, and the cockchafer had taught her how
to get honey. But summer does not last for ever, and by-and-by the flowers
withered, and instead of dew there was snow and ice. Maia did not know what to
do, for her clothes were worn to rags, and though she tried to roll herself up
in a dry leaf it broke under her fingers. It soon was plain to her that if she
did not get some other shelter she would die of hunger and cold.
So,
gathering up all her courage, she left the forest and crossed the road into
what had been, in the summer, a beautiful field of waving corn, but was now
only a mass of hard stalks. She wandered on, seeing nothing but the sky above
her head, till she suddenly found herself close to an opening which seemed to
lead underground.
'It
will be warm, at any rate,' thought Maia, 'and perhaps the person who lives
there will give me something to eat. At any rate, I can't be worse off than I
am now.' And she walked boldly down the passage. By-and-by she came to a door
which stood ajar, and, peeping in, discovered a whole room full of corn. This
gave her heart, and she went on more swiftly, till she reached a kitchen where
an old field mouse was baking a cake.
'You
poor little animal,' cried the mouse, who had never seen anything like her
before, 'you look starved to death! Come and sit here and get warm, and share
my dinner with me.'
Maia
almost wept with joy at the old mouse's kind words. She needed no second
bidding, but ate more than she had ever done in her life, though it was not a
breakfast for a humming-bird! When she had quite finished she put out her hand
and smiled, and the old mouse said to her:
'Can
you tell stories? If so you may stay with me till the sun gets hot again, and
you shall help me with my house. But it is dull here in the winter unless you
have somebody clever enough to amuse you.'
Yes,
Maia had learned a great many stories from her foster-mother, and, besides,
there were all her own adventures, and her escapes from death. She knew also
how a room should be swept, and never failed to get up early in the morning and
have everything clean and tidy for the old mouse.
So
the winter passed away pleasantly, and Maia began to talk of the spring, and of
the time when she would have to go out into the world again and seek her
fortune.
'Oh,
you need not begin to think of that for a while yet,' answered the field-mouse.
'Up on the earth they have a proverb:
When
the day lengthens Then the cold strengthens;
it
has been quite warm up to now, and the snow may fall any time. Never a winter
goes by without it, and then you will be very thankful you are here, and not
outside! But I dare say it is quiet for a young thing like you,' she added,
'and I have invited my neighbour the mole to come and pay us a visit. He has
been asleep all these months, but I hear he is waking up again. You would be a
lucky girl if he took into his head to marry you, only, unfortunately, he is
blind, and cannot see how pretty you are.' And for this blindness Maia felt
truly glad, as she did not want a mole for a husband.
However,
by-and-by he paid his promised visit, and Maia did not like him at all. He
might be as rich and learned as possible, but he hated the sun, and the trees,
and the flowers, and all that Maia loved best. To be sure, being blind, he had
never seen them, and, like many other people, he thought that anything he did
not know was not worth knowing. But Maia's tales amused him, though he would
not for the world have let her see it, and he admired her voice when she sang:
Mary,
Mary, quite contrary, How does your garden grow?
Hush-a-bye,
baby, on the tree-top;
though
he told her that it was all nonsense, and that trees and gardens were mere
foolishness. When she was his wife he would teach her things better worth
learning.
'Meanwhile,'
he said, with a grand air, 'I have burrowed a passage from this house to my
own, in which you can walk; but I warn you not to be frightened at a great dead
creature that has fallen through a hole in the roof, and is lying on one side.'
'What sort of creature is it?' asked Maia eagerly.
'Oh,
I really can't tell you,' answered the mole, indifferently; 'it is covered with
something soft, and it has two thin legs, and a long sharp thing sticking out
of its head.'
'It
is a bird,' cried Maia joyfully, 'and I love birds! It must have died of cold,'
she added, dropping her voice. 'Oh! good Mr. Mole, do take me to see it!'
'Come
then, as I am going home,' replied the mole. And calling to the old field-mouse
to accompany them, they all set out.
'Here
it is,' said the mole at last; 'dear me, how thankful I am Fate did not make me
a bird. They can't say anything but "twit, twit," and die with the
first breath of cold.'
'Ah,
yes, poor useless creature,' answered the field-mouse. But while they were
talking, Maia crept round to the other side and stroked the feathers of the
little swallow, and kissed his eyes.
All
that night she lay awake, thinking of the swallow lying dead in the passage. At
length she could bear it no longer, and stole away to the place where the hay
was kept, and wove a thick carpet. Next she went to the field-mouse's store of
cotton which she picked in the summer from some of the marsh flowers, and
carrying them both down the passage, she tucked the cotton underneath the bird
and spread the hay quilt over him.
'Perhaps
you were one of the swallows who sang to me in the summer,' said she. 'I wish I
could have brought you to life again; but now, good-bye!' And she laid her
face, wet with tears, on the breast of the bird. Surely she felt a faint
movement against her cheek? Yes, there it was again! Suppose the bird was not
dead after all, but only senseless with cold and hunger! And at this thought
Maia hastened back to the house, and brought some grains of corn, and a drop of
water in a leaf. This she held close to the swallow's beak, which he opened
unconsciously, and when he had sipped the water she gave him the grains one by
one.
'Make
no noise, so that no one may guess you are not dead,' she said. 'To-night I
will bring you some more food, and I will tell the mole that he must stuff up
the hole again, as it makes the passage too cold for me to walk in. And now
farewell.' And off she went, back to the field-mouse, who was sound asleep.
*
* * * *
After
some days of Maia's careful nursing, the swallow felt strong enough to talk,
and he told Maia how he came to be in the place where she found him. Before he
was big enough to fly very high he had torn his wing in a rosebush, so that he
could not keep up with his family and friends when they took their departure to
warmer lands. In their swift course they never noticed that their little
brother was not with them, and at last he dropped on the ground from sheer
fatigue, and must have rolled down the hole into the passage.
It
was very lucky for the swallow that both the mole and the field-mouse thought
he was dead, and did not trouble about him, so that when the spring really
came, and the sun was hot, and blue hyacinths grew in the woods and primroses in
the hedges, he was as tall and strong as any of his companions.
'You
have saved my life, dear little Maia,' said he; 'but now the time has come for
me to leave you--unless,' he added, 'you will let me carry you on my back far
away from this gloomy prison.'
Maia's
eyes sparkled at the thought, but she shook her head bravely.
'Yes,
you must go; but I must stay behind,' she answered. 'The field-mouse has been
good to me, and I cannot desert her like that. Do you think you can open the
hole for yourself?' she asked anxiously. 'If so, you had better begin now, for
this evening we are to have supper with the mole, and it would never do for my
foster-mother to find you working at it.' 'That is true,' answered the swallow.
And flying up to the roof,--which, after all, was not very high above them--he
set to work with his bill, and soon let a flood of sunshine into the dark
place.
'Won't
you come with me, Maia?' said he. And though her heart longed for the trees and
the flowers, she answered as before:
'No,
I cannot.'
That
one glimpse of the sun was all Maia had for some time, for the corn sprung up
so thickly over the hole and about the house, that there might almost as well
have been no sun at all. However, though she missed her bird friend every
moment, she had no leisure to be idle, for the field-mouse had told her that
very soon she was to be married to the mole, and kept her spinning wool and
cotton for her outfit. And as she had never in her life made a dress, four
clever spiders were persuaded to spend the days underground, turning the wool
and cotton into tiny garments. Maia liked the clothes, but hated the thought of
the blind mole, only she did not know how to escape him. In the evenings, when
the spiders were going to their homes for the night, she would walk with them
to the door and wait till a puff of wind blew the corn ears apart, and she
could see the sky.
'If
the swallow would only come now,' she said to herself, 'I would go with him to
the end of the world.' But he never came!
'Your
outfit is all finished,' said the field-mouse one day when the berries were red
and the leaves yellow, 'and the mole and I have decided that your wedding shall
be in four weeks' time.'
'Oh,
not so soon! not so soon!' cried Maia, bursting into tears; which made the
field-mouse very angry, and declare that Maia had no more sense than other
girls, and did not know what was good for her. Then the mole arrived, and
carried her on his back to see the new house he had dug for her, which was so
very far under ground that Maia's tiny legs could never bring her up even as
high as the field-mouse's dwelling, from which she might see the sunlight. Her
heart grew heavier and heavier as the days went by, and in the last evening of
all she crept out into the field among the stubble, to watch the sun set before
she bade it good-bye for ever.
'Farewell,
farewell,' she said 'and farewell to my little swallow. Ah! if he only knew, he
would come to help me.'
'Twit!
twit,' cried a voice just above her; and the swallow fluttered to the ground
beside her. 'You look sad; are you really going to let that ugly mole marry
you?'
'I
shall soon die, that is one comfort,' she answered weeping. But the swallow
only said:
'Tut!
tut! get on my back, as I told you before, and I will take you to a land where
the sun always shines, and you will soon forget that such a creature as a mole
ever existed.'
'Yes,
I will come,' said Maia.
Then
the swallow tore off one of the corn stalks with his strong beak, and bade her
tie it safely to his wing. And they started off, flying, flying south for many
a day.
Oh!
how happy Maia was to see the beautiful earth again! A hundred times she longed
for the swallow to stop, but he always told her that the best was yet to be;
and they flew on and on, only halting for short rests, till they reached a
place covered with tall white marble pillars, some standing high, wreathed in
vines, out of which endless swallows' heads were peeping; others lying
stretched among the flowers, white, yellow, and blue.
'I
live up there,' said the swallow, pointing to the tallest of the pillars. 'But
such a house would never do for you, as you would only fall out of it and kill
yourself. So choose one of those flowers below, and you shall have it for your
own, and sleep all night curled up in its leaves.'
'I
will have that one,' answered Maia, pointing to a white flower shaped like a
star, with a tiny crinkled wreath of red and yellow in its centre, and a long
stem that swayed in the wind; 'that one is the prettiest of all, and it smells
so sweet.' Then the swallow flew down towards it; but as they drew near they
saw a tiny little manikin with a crown on his head, and wings on his shoulders,
balancing himself on one of the leaves. 'Ah, that is the king of the
flower-spirits,' whispered the swallow. And the king stretched out his hands to
Maia, and helped her to jump from the swallow's back.
'I
have waited for you for a long while,' said he, 'and now you have come at last
to be my queen.'
And
Maia smiled, and stood beside him as all the fairies that dwelt in the flowers
ran to fetch presents for her; and the best of them all was a pair of lovely
gauzy blue wings to help fly about like one of themselves.
So
instead of marrying the mole, Little Maia was crowned a queen, and the fairies
danced round her in a ring, while the swallow sang the wedding song.
The
Olive Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1907], at sacred-texts.com
[f12]
DIAMOND
CUT DIAMOND
In
a village in Hindustan there once lived a merchant who, although he rose early,
worked hard, and rested late, remained very poor; and ill-luck so dogged him
that he determined at last to go to some distant country and there to try his
fortune. Twelve years passed by; his luck had turned, and now he had gathered
great wealth, so that having plenty to keep him in comfort for the rest of his
days, he thought once more of his native village, where he desired to spend the
remainder of his life among his own people. In order to carry his riches with
him in safety over the many weary miles that lay between him and his home, he
bought some magnificent jewels, which he locked up in a little box and wore
concealed upon his person; and, so as not to draw the attention of the thieves
who infested the highways and made their living by robbing travellers, he
started off in the poor clothes of a man who has nothing to lose.
Thus
prepared, he travelled quickly, and within a few days' journey from his own
village came to a city where he determined to buy better garments and--now that
he was no longer afraid of thieves--to look more like the rich man he had
become. In his new raiment he approached the city, and near the great gate he
found a bazaar where, amongst many shops filled with costly silks, and carpets,
and goods of all countries, was one finer than all the rest. There, amidst his
goods, spread out to the best advantage, sat the owner smoking a long silver
pipe, and thither the merchant bent his steps, and saluting the owner politely,
sat down also and began to make some purchases. Now, the proprietor of the
shop, Beeka Mull by name, was a very shrewd man, and as he and the merchant
conversed, he soon felt sure that his customer was richer than he seemed, and
was trying to conceal the fact. Certain purchases having been made, he invited
the new-comer to refresh himself and in a short time they were chatting
pleasantly together. In the course of the conversation Beeka Mull asked the
merchant whither he was travelling, and hearing the name of the village, he
observed:
'Ah,
you had better be careful on that road--it's a very bad place for thieves.'
The
merchant turned pale at these words. It would be such a bitter thing, he
thought, just at the end of his journey to be robbed of all the fortune he had
heaped up with such care. But this bland and prosperous Beeka Mull must surely
know best, so presently he said:
'Lala-ji,[3]
could you oblige me by locking up for me a small box for a short while? When
once I get to my village I could bring back half-a-dozen sturdy men of my own
kinsfolk and claim it again.'
The
Lala shook his head. 'I could not do it,' replied he. 'I am sorry; but such
things are not my business. I should be afraid to undertake it.'
'But,'
pleaded the merchant, 'I know no one in this city, and you must surely have
some place where you keep your own precious things. Do this, I pray you, as a
great favour.'
Still
Beeka Mull politely but firmly refused; but the merchant, feeling that he had
now betrayed the fact that he was richer than he seemed, and being loth to make
more people aware of it by inquiring elsewhere, continued to press him, until
at last he consented. The merchant produced the little box of jewels, and Beeka
Mull locked it up for him in a strong chest with other precious stones; and so,
with many promises and compliments, they parted.
In
a place like an Eastern bazaar, where the shops lie with wide open fronts, and
with their goods displayed not only within but without on terraces and
verandahs raised a few feet above the public roadway, such a long talk as that
between Beeka Mull and the merchant could not but attract some attention from
the other shop-keepers in the narrow street. If the merchant had but known it,
nearly every shop-owner in that district was a thief, and the cleverest and
biggest of all was Beeka Mull. But he did not know it, only he could not help
feeling a little uneasy at having thus parted with all his wealth to a
stranger. And so, as he wandered down the street, making a purchase here and
there, he managed in one way and another to ask some questions about the
honesty of Beeka Mull, and each rascal whom he spoke to, knowing that there was
some good reason in the question, and hoping to get in return some share of the
spoils, replied in praise of Beeka Mull as a model of all the virtues.
In
this way the merchant's fears were stilled, and, with a comparatively light
heart, he travelled on to his village; and within a week or so returned to the
city with half-a-dozen sturdy young nephews and friends whom he had enlisted to
help him carry home his precious box.
At
the great market-place in the centre of the city the merchant left his friends,
saying that he would go and get the box of jewels and rejoin them, to which
they consented, and away he went. Arrived at the shop of Beeka Mull, he went up
and saluted him.
'Good-day,
Lala-ji,' said he. But the Lala pretended not to see him. So he repeated the
salutation. 'What do you want?' snapped Beeka Mull; 'you've said your
"good-day" twice, why don't you tell me your business?'
'Don't
you remember me?' asked the merchant.
'Remember
you?' growled the other; 'no, why should I? I have plenty to do to remember
good customers without trying to remember every beggar who comes whining for
charity.'
When
he heard this the merchant began to tremble.
'Lala-ji!'
he cried, 'surely you remember me and the little box I gave you to take care
of? And you promised--yes, indeed, you promised very kindly--that I might
return to claim it, and----'
'You
scoundrel,' roared Beeka Mull, 'get out of my shop! Be off with you, you
impudent scamp! Every one knows that I never keep treasures for anyone; I have
trouble enough to do to keep my own! Come, off with you!' With that he began to
push the merchant out of the shop; and, when the poor man resisted, two of the
bystanders came to Beeka Mull's help, and flung the merchant out into the road,
like a bale of goods dropped from a camel. Slowly he picked himself up out of
the dust, bruised, battered, and bleeding, but feeling nothing of the pain in
his body, nothing but a dreadful numbing sensation that, after all, he was
ruined and lost! Slowly he dragged himself a little further from where the fat
and furious Beeka Mull still stood amongst his disordered silks and carpets, and
coming to a friendly wall he crouched and leant against it, and putting his
head into his hands gave himself up to an agony of misery and despair.
There
he sat motionless, like one turned to stone, whilst darkness fell around him;
and when, about eleven o'clock that night, a certain gay young fellow named
Kooshy Ram passed by with a friend, he saw the merchant sitting hunched against
the wall, and remarked: 'A thief, no doubt.' 'You are wrong,' returned the
other, 'thieves don't sit in full view of people like that, even at night.' And
so the two passed on, and thought no more of him. About five o'clock next
morning Kooshy Ram was returning home again, when, to his astonishment, he saw
the miserable merchant still sitting as he had seen him sit hours before.
Surely something must be the matter with a man who sat all night in the open
street, and Kooshy Ram resolved to see what it was; so he went up and shook the
merchant gently by the shoulder. 'Who are you?' asked he--'and what are you
doing here--are you ill?'
'Ill?'
said the merchant in a hollow voice, 'yes; ill with a sickness for which there
is no medicine.'
'Oh,
nonsense!' cried Kooshy Ram. 'Come along with me, I know a medicine that will
cure you, I think.' So the young man seized the merchant by the arm, and
hoisting him to his feet, dragged him to his own lodging; where he first of all
gave him a large glass of wine, and then, after he had refreshed him with food,
bade him tell his adventures.
*
* * * *
Meanwhile
the merchant's companions in the market-place, being dull-witted persons,
thought that as he did not return he must have gone home by himself; and as
soon as they were tired of waiting they went back to their village and left him
to look after his own affairs. He would therefore have fared badly had it not
been for his rescuer, Kooshy Ram, who, whilst still a boy, had been left a
great deal of money with no one to advise him how to spend it. He was
high-spirited, kind-hearted, and shrewd into the bargain; but he threw away his
money like water, and generally upon the nearest thing or person in his way,
and that, alas! most often was himself! Now, however, he had taken it into his
head to befriend this miserable merchant, and he meant to do it; and on his
side the merchant felt confidence revive, and without further ado told all that
had happened.
Kooshy
Ram laughed heartily at the idea of any stranger entrusting his wealth to Beeka
Mull.
'Why,
he is the greatest rascal in the city,' he cried, 'unless you believe what some
of them say of me! Well, there is nothing to be done for the present, but just
to stay here quietly, and I think that at the end of a short time I shall find
a medicine which will heal your sickness.' At this the merchant again took
courage, and a little ease crept into his heart as he gratefully accepted his
new friend's invitation.
A
few days later Kooshy Ram sent for some friends to see him, and talked with
them long, and, although the merchant did not hear the conversation, he did
hear shouts of laughter as though at some good joke; but the laughter echoed
dully in his own heart, for the more he considered the more he despaired of
ever recovering his fortune from the grasp of Beeka Mull.
One
day, soon after this, Kooshy Ram came to him and said:
'You
remember the wall where I found you that night, near Beeka Mull's shop?'
'Yes,
indeed I do,' answered the merchant.
'Well,'
continued Kooshy Ram, 'this afternoon you must go and stand in that same spot
and watch; and when someone gives you a signal, you must go up to Beeka Mull
and salute him and say, "Oh, Lala-ji, will you kindly let me have back
that box of mine which you have on trust?"'
'What's
the use of that?' asked the merchant. 'He won't do it any more now than he
would when I asked him before.'
'Never
mind!' replied Kooshy Ram, 'do exactly what I tell you, and repeat exactly what
I say, word for word, and I will answer for the rest.'
So,
that afternoon, the merchant at a certain time went and stood by the wall as he
was told. He noticed that Beeka Mull saw him, but neither took any heed of the
other. Presently up the bazaar came a gorgeous palanquin like those in which
ladies of rank are carried about. It was borne by four bearers well dressed in
rich liveries, and its curtains and trappings were truly magnificent. In
attendance was a grave-looking personage whom the merchant recognized as one of
the friends who visited Kooshy Ram; and behind him came a servant with a box
covered with a cloth upon his head.
The
palanquin was borne along at a smart pace and was set down at Beeka Mull's
shop. The fat shop-keeper was on his feet at once, and bowed deeply as the
gentleman in attendance advanced.
'May
I inquire,' he said, 'who this is in the palanquin that deigns to favour my
humble shop with a visit? And what may I do for her?'
The
gentleman, after whispering at the curtain of the palanquin, explained that
this was a relative of his who was travelling, but as her husband could go no
further with her, she desired to leave with Beeka Mull a box of jewels for safe
custody. Lala bowed again to the ground. 'It was not,' he said, 'quite in his
way of business; but of course, if he could please the lady, he would be most
happy, and would guard the box with his life.' Then the servant carrying the
box was called up; the box was unlocked, and a mass of jewellery laid open to
the gaze of the enraptured Lala, whose mouth watered as he turned over the rich
gems.
All
this the merchant had watched from the distance, and now he saw--could he be
mistaken?--no, he distinctly saw a hand beckoning through the curtain on that
side of the palanquin away from the shop. 'The signal! Was this the signal?'
thought he. The hand beckoned again, impatiently it seemed to him. So forward
he went, very quietly, and saluting Beeka Mull, who was sitting turning over
the contents of this amazing box of jewels which fortune and some fools were
putting into his care, he said:
'Oh,
Lala-ji, will you kindly let me have back that box of mine which you have on
trust?'
The
Lala looked up as though he had been stung; but quickly the thought flashed
through his mind that if this man began making a fuss again he would lose the
confidence of these new and richer customers; so he controlled himself, and
answered:
'Dear
me, of course, yes! I had forgotten all about it.' And he went off and brought
the little box and put it into the merchant's trembling hands. Quickly the
latter pulled out the key, which hung by a string round his neck, and opened
the box; and when he saw that his treasures were all there he rushed into the
road, and, with the box under his arm, began dancing like a madman, with great
shouts and screams of laughter. Just then a messenger came running up and,
saluting the gentleman attending the palanquin, he said:
'The
lady's husband has returned, and is prepared to travel with her, so that there
is no necessity to deposit the jewels.' Whereat the gentleman quickly closed
and relocked the box, and handed it back to the waiting servant. Then from the
palanquin came a yell of laughter, and out jumped--not a lady--but Kooshy Ram,
who immediately ran and joined the merchant in the middle of the road and
danced as madly as he. Beeka Mull stood and stared stupidly at them; then, with
a shrill cackle of laughter, he flung off his turban, bounced out into the road
with the other two, and fell to dancing and snapping his fingers until he was
out of breath.
'Lala-ji,'
said the gentleman who had played the part of the relative attendant on the
palanquin, 'why do you dance? The merchant dances because he has recovered his
fortune; Kooshy Ram dances because he is a madman and has tricked you; but why
do you dance?'
'I
dance,' panted Beeka Ram, glaring at him with a bloodshot eye, 'I dance because
I knew thirteen different ways of deceiving people by pretending confidence in
them. I didn't know there were any more, and now here's a fourteenth! That's
why I dance!'
(Punjabi
Story, Major Campbell, Feroshepore.)
FOOTNOTE:
[3]
'Lala' is a complimentary title: 'ji' a polite affix; the expression is
somewhat equivalent to 'Dear Sir.'
The
Olive Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1907], at sacred-texts.com
[f13]
THE
GREEN KNIGHT
There
lived once a king and queen who had an only daughter, a charming and beautiful
girl, dearer to them than anything else in the world. When the princess was
twelve years old the queen fell sick, and nothing that could be done for her
was of any use. All the doctors in the kingdom did their best to cure her, but
in spite of their efforts she grew worse and worse. As she was about to die,
she sent for the king and said to him:
'Promise
me that whatever our daughter asks, you will do, no matter whether you wish to
or not.'
The
king at first hesitated, but as she added:
'Unless
you promise this I cannot die in peace,' he at length did as she desired, and
gave the promise, after which she became quite happy and died.
It
happened that near the king's palace lived a noble lady, whose little girl was
of about the same age as the princess, and the two children were always
together. After the queen's death the princess begged that this lady should
come to live with her in the palace. The king was not quite pleased with this
arrangement, for he distrusted the lady; but the princess wished so much for it
that he did not like to refuse.
'I
am lonely, father,' she said, 'and all the beautiful presents you give me
cannot make up to me for the loss of my mother. If this lady comes to live here
I shall almost feel as if the queen had come back to me.'
So
a magnificent suite of rooms was prepared and set aside for the new-comers, and
the little princess was wild with joy at the thought of having her friends so
near her. The lady and her daughter arrived, and for a long time all went well.
They were very kind to the motherless princess, and she almost began to forget
how dull she had been before they came. Then, one day, as she and the other
girl were playing together in the gardens of the palace, the lady came to them,
dressed for a journey, and kissed the princess tenderly, saying:
'Farewell,
my child; my daughter and I must leave you and go far away.'
The
poor princess began to cry bitterly. 'Oh! you must not leave me!' she sobbed.
'What shall I do without you? Please, oh! please stay.'
The
lady shook her head.
'It
almost breaks my heart to go, dear child,' she said, 'but, alas! it must be.'
'Is
there nothing that can keep you here?' asked the princess.
'Only
one thing,' answered the lady, 'and as that is impossible, we will not speak of
it.'
'Nothing
is impossible,' persisted the princess. 'Tell me what it is, and it shall be
done.'
So
at last her friend told her.
'If
the king, your father, would make me his queen I would stay,' she said; 'but
that he would never do.'
'Oh,
yes! that is easy enough!' cried the princess, delighted to think that, after
all, they need not be parted. And she ran off to find her father, and beg him
to marry the lady at once. He had done everything she asked, and she was quite
certain he would do it.
'What
is it, my daughter?' he asked, when he saw her. 'You have been crying--are you
not happy?'
'Father,'
she said, 'I have come to ask you to marry the countess'--(for that was the
lady's real title)--'if you do not she will leave us, and then I shall be as
lonely as before. You have never refused me what I have asked before, do not
refuse me now.'
The
king turned quite pale when he heard this. He did not like the countess, and
so, of course, he did not wish to marry her; besides, he still loved his dead
wife.
'No,
that I cannot do, my child,' he said at last.
At
these words the princess began to cry once more, and the tears ran down her
cheeks so fast, and she sobbed so bitterly, that her father felt quite
miserable too. He remembered the promise he had given always to do what his
daughter asked him and in the end he gave way, and promised to marry the
countess. The princess at once was all smiles, and ran away to tell the good
news.
Soon
after, the wedding was celebrated with great festivities, and the countess
became queen; but, in spite of all the joy and merriment that filled the
palace, the king looked pale and sad, for he was certain that ill would come of
the marriage. Sure enough, in a very short time the queen's manner towards the
princess began to change. She was jealous of her because she, instead of her
own daughter, was heir to the throne, and very soon she could no longer hide
her thoughts. Instead of speaking kindly and lovingly as before, her words
became rough and cruel, and once or twice she even slapped the princess's face.
The
king was very unhappy at seeing his dearly loved daughter suffer, and at last
she became so wretched that he could no longer bear it. Calling her to him one
day he said:
'My
daughter, you are no longer merry as you should be, and I fear that it is the
fault of your step-mother. It will be better for you to live with her no
longer; therefore I have built you a castle on the island in the lake, and that
is to be your home in future. There you can do just as you like, and your
step-mother will never enter it.'
The
princess was delighted to hear this, and still more pleased when she saw the
castle, which was full of beautiful things, and had a great number of windows
looking out on the lovely blue water. There was a boat in which she might row
herself about, and a garden where she could walk whenever she wished without
fear of meeting the unkind queen; and the king promised to visit her every day.
For
a long time she dwelt in peace, and grew more and more beautiful every day.
Everyone who saw her said 'The princess is the loveliest lady in the land.' And
this was told to the queen, who hated her step-daughter still more because her
own daughter was ugly and stupid.
One
day it was announced that a great meeting of knights and nobles was to be held
in a neighbouring kingdom distant about two days' journey. There were to be all
kinds of festivities, and a tournament was to be fought and a banquet held, in
honour of the coming of age of the prince of the country.
The
princess's father was amongst those invited, but before he set out he went to
take leave of his daughter. Although she had such a beautiful home, and was no
longer scolded by the queen, the poor princess was dreadfully lonely, and she
told her father that it would be better if she were dead. He did his best to
comfort her and promised that he would soon return. Was there anything he could
do to help her?
'Yes,'
she said. 'You may greet the Green Knight from me.'
Now
the king wondered a little at these words, for he had never heard of the Green
Knight; but there was no time to ask questions, therefore he gave the promise,
and rode off on his journey. When he came to the palace where the festivities
were to take place, the first thing he did was to ask:
'Can
anyone tell me where I may find the Green Knight?'
No,
they were very sorry; but none had ever heard of such a person
either--certainly he was not to be found there. At this the king grew troubled,
and not even the banquet or the tournament could make him feel happier. He
inquired of everyone he saw, 'Do you know the Green Knight?' but the only
answer he got was:
'No,
your majesty, we have never heard of him.'
At
length he began to believe that the princess was mistaken, and that there was
no such person; and he started on his homeward journey sorrowfully enough, for
this was the first time for many months that the princess had asked him to do
anything for her and he could not do it. He thought so much about it that he
did not notice the direction his horse was taking, and presently he found
himself in the midst of a dense forest where he had never been before. He rode
on and on, looking for the path, but as the sun began to set he realised that
he was lost. At last, to his delight, he saw a man driving some pigs, and
riding up to him, he said:
'I
have lost my way. Can you tell me where I am?'
'You
are in the Green Knight's forest,' answered the man, 'and these are his pigs.'
At
that the king's heart grew light. 'Where does the Green Knight live?' he asked.
'It
is a very long way from here,' said the swineherd; 'but I will show you the
path.' So he went a little farther with the king and put him on the right road,
and the king bade him farewell.
Presently
he came to a second forest, and there he met another swineherd driving pigs.
'Whose
beasts are those, my man?' he asked.
'They
are the Green Knight's,' said the man.
'And
where does he live?' inquired the king.
'Oh,
not far from here,' was the reply.
Then
the king rode on, and about midday he reached a beautiful castle standing in
the midst of the loveliest garden you can possibly imagine, where fountains
played in marble basins, and peacocks walked on the smooth lawns. On the edge
of a marble basin sat a young and handsome man, who was dressed from head to
foot in a suit of green armour, and was feeding the goldfish which swam in the
clear water.
'This
must be the Green Knight,' thought the king; and going up to the young man he
said courteously:
'I
have come, sir, to give you my daughter's greeting. But I have wandered far,
and lost my way in your forest.'
The
knight looked at him for a moment as though puzzled.
'I
have never met either you or your daughter,' he said at last; 'but you are very
welcome all the same.' And he waved his hand towards the castle. However, the
king took no notice, and told him that his daughter had sent a message to the
Green Knight, and as he was the only Green Knight in the kingdom this message
must be for him.
'You
must pass the night with me here,' said the knight; and as the sun was already
set, the king was thankful to accept the invitation. They sat down in the
castle hall to a magnificent banquet, and although he had travelled much and
visited many monarchs in their palaces, the king had never fared better than at
the table of the Green Knight, whilst his host himself was so clever and
agreeable, that he was delighted, and thought 'what a charming son-in-law this
knight would make!'
Next
morning, when he was about to set forth on his journey home, the Green Knight
put into his hand a jewelled casket, saying:
'Will
your highness graciously condescend to carry this gift to the princess, your
daughter? It contains my portrait, that when I come she may know me; for I feel
certain that she is the lady I have seen night after night in a dream, and I
must win her for my bride.'
The
king gave the knight his blessing, and promised to take the gift to his
daughter. With that he set off, and ere long reached his own country.
The
princess was awaiting him anxiously when he arrived, and ran to his arms in her
joy at seeing her dear father again.
'And
did you see the Green Knight?' she asked.
'Yes,'
answered the king, drawing out the casket the knight had sent, 'and he begged
me to give you this that you may know him when he arrives and not mistake him
for somebody else.'
When
the princess saw the portrait she was delighted, and exclaimed: 'It is indeed
the man whom I have seen in my dreams! Now I shall be happy, for he and no
other shall be my husband.'
Very
soon after the Green Knight arrived, and he looked so handsome in his green
armour, with a long green plume in his helmet, that the princess fell still
more in love with him than before, and when he saw her, and recognised her as
the lady whom he had so often dreamt of, he immediately asked her to be his
bride. The princess looked down and smiled as she answered him:
'We
must keep the secret from my step-mother until the wedding-day,' said she, 'for
otherwise she will find a way to do us some evil.'
'As
you please,' replied the prince; 'but I must visit you daily, for I can live no
longer without you! I will come early in the morning and not leave until it is
dark; thus the queen will not see me row across the lake.'
For
a long time, the Green Knight visited the princess every day, and spent many
hours wandering with her through the beautiful gardens where they knew the
queen could not see them. But secrets, as you know, are dangerous things, and
at last, one morning, a girl who was in service at the palace happened to be
walking by the lake early in the morning and beheld a wonderfully handsome
young man, in a beautiful suit of green satin, come down to the edge of the
lake. Not guessing that he was watched, he got into a little boat that lay
moored to the bank, rowed himself over to the island where the princess's
castle stood. The girl went home wondering who the knight could be; and as she
was brushing the queen's hair, she said to her:
'Does
your majesty know that the princess has a suitor?'
'Nonsense!'
replied the queen crossly. But she was dreadfully vexed at the mere idea, as
her own daughter was still unmarried, and was likely to remain so, because she
was so ill-tempered and stupid that no one wanted her.
'It
is true,' persisted the girl. 'He is dressed all in green, and is very
handsome. I saw him myself, though he did not see me, and he got into a boat
and rowed over to the island, and the princess was waiting for him at the
castle door.'
'I
must find out what this means,' thought the queen. But she bade her maid of
honour cease chattering and mind her own business.
Early
next morning the queen got up and went down to the shore of the lake, where she
hid herself behind a tree. Sure enough there came a handsome knight dressed in
green, just as the maid of honour had said, and he got into a boat and rowed
over to the island where the princess awaited him. The angry queen remained by
the lake all day, but it was not until the evening that the knight returned,
and leaping on shore, he tied the boat to its moorings and went away through
the forest.
*
* * * *
'I
have caught my step-daughter nicely,' thought the queen. 'But she shall not be
married before my own sweet girl. I must find a way to put a stop to this.'
Accordingly
she took a poisoned nail and stuck it in the handle of the oar in such a way
that the knight would be sure to scratch his hand when he picked up the oar.
Then she went home laughing, very much pleased with her cleverness.
The
next day the Green Knight went to visit the princess as usual; but directly he
took up the oars to row over to the island he felt a sharp scratch on his hand.
'Oof!'
he said, dropping the oars from pain, 'what can have scratched so?' But, look
as he might, only a tiny mark was to be seen.
'Well,
it's strange how a nail could have come here since yesterday,' he thought.
'Still, it is not very serious, though it hurts a good deal.' And, indeed, it
seemed such a little thing that he did not mention it to the princess. However,
when he reached home in the evening, he felt so ill he was obliged to go to
bed, with no one to attend on him except his old nurse. But of this, of course,
the princess knew nothing; and the poor girl, fearing lest some evil should
have befallen him, or some other maiden more beautiful than she should have
stolen his heart from her, grew almost sick with waiting. Lonely, indeed, she
was, for her father, who would have helped her, was travelling in a foreign
country, and she knew not how to obtain news of her lover.
*
* * * *
In
this manner time passed away, and one day, as she sat by the open window crying
and feeling very sad, a little bird came and perched on the branch of a tree
that stood just underneath. It began to sing, and so beautifully that the
princess was obliged to stop crying and listen to it, and very soon she found
out that the bird was trying to attract her attention.
'Tu-whit,
tu-whit! your lover is sick!' it sang.
'Alas!'
cried the princess. 'What can I do?'
'Tu-whit,
tu-whit! you must go to your father's palace!'
'And
what shall I do there?' she asked.
'Tu-whit!
there you will find a snake with nine young ones.'
'Ugh!'
answered the princess with a shiver, for she did not like snakes. But the
little bird paid no heed.
'Put
them in a basket and go to the Green Knight's palace,' said she.
'And
what am I to do with them when I get there?' she cried, blushing all over,
though there was no one to see her but the bird.
'Dress
yourself as a kitchen-maid and ask for a place. Tu-whit! Then you must make
soup out of the snakes. Give it three times to the knight and he will be cured.
Tu-whit!'
'But
what has made him ill?' asked the princess. The bird, however, had flown away,
and there was nothing for it but to go to her father's palace and look for the
snakes. When she came there she found the mother snake with the nine little
snakes all curled up so that you could hardly tell their heads from their
tails. The princess did not like having to touch them, but when the old snake
had wriggled out of the nest to bask a little in the sun, she picked up the
young ones and put them in a basket as the bird had told her, and ran off to
find the Green Knight's castle. All day she walked along, sometimes stopping to
pick the wild berries, or to gather a nosegay; but though she rested now and
then, she would not lie down to sleep before she reached the castle. At last
she came in sight of it, and just then she met a girl driving a flock of geese.
'Good-day!'
said the princess; 'can you tell me if this is the castle of the Green Knight?'
'Yes,
that it is,' answered the goose girl, 'for I am driving his geese. But the
Green Knight is very ill, and they say that unless he can be cured within three
days he will surely die.'
At
this news the princess grew as white as death. The ground seemed to spin round,
and she closed her hand tight on a bush that was standing beside her.
By-and-by, with a great effort, she recovered herself and said to the goose
girl:
'Would
you like to have a fine silk dress to wear?'
The
goose girl's eyes glistened.
'Yes,
that I would!' answered she.
'Then
take off your dress and give it to me, and I will give you mine,' said the
princess.
The
girl could scarcely believe her ears, but the princess was already unfastening
her beautiful silk dress, and taking off her silk stockings and pretty red
shoes; and the goose girl lost no time in slipping out of her rough linen skirt
and tunic. Then the princess put on the other's rags and let down her hair, and
went to the kitchen to ask for a place.
'Do
you want a kitchen-maid?' she said.
'Yes,
we do,' answered the cook, who was too busy to ask the new-comer many questions.
The
following day, after a good night's rest, the princess set about her new
duties. The other servants were speaking of their master, and saying to each
other how ill he was, and that unless he could be cured within three days he
would surely die.
The
princess thought of the snakes, and the bird's advice, and lifting her head
from the pots and pans she was scouring, she said: 'I know how to make a soup
that has such a wonderful power that whoever tastes it is sure to be cured,
whatever his illness may be. As the doctors cannot cure your master shall I
try?'
At
first they all laughed at her.
'What!
a scullion cure the knight when the best physicians in the kingdom have
failed?'
But
at last, just because all the physicians had failed, they decided that it would
do no harm to try; and she ran off joyfully to fetch her basket of snakes and
make them into broth. When this was ready she carried some to the knight's room
and entered it boldly, pushing aside all the learned doctors who stood beside
his bed. The poor knight was too ill to know her, besides, she was so ragged
and dirty that he would not have been likely to do so had he been well; but
when he had taken the soup he was so much better that he was able to sit up.
The
next day he had some more, and then he was able to dress himself.
'That
is certainly wonderful soup!' said the cook.
The
third day, after he had eaten his soup, the knight was quite well again.
'Who
are you?' he asked the girl; 'was it you who made this soup that has cured me?'
'Yes,'
answered the princess.
'Choose,
then, whatever you wish as a reward,' said the knight, 'and you shall have it.'
'I
would be your bride!' said the princess.
The
knight frowned in surprise at such boldness, and shook his head.
'That
is the one thing I cannot grant,' he said, 'for I am pledged to marry the most
beautiful princess in the world. Choose again.'
Then
the princess ran away and washed herself and mended her rags, and when she
returned the Green Knight recognised her at once.
You
can think what a joyful meeting that was!
*
* * * *
Soon
after, they were married with great splendour. All the knights and princes in
the kingdom were summoned to the wedding, and the princess wore a dress that
shone like the sun, so that no one had ever beheld a more gorgeous sight. The
princess's father, of course, was present, but the wicked queen and her
daughter were driven out of the country, and as nobody has seen them since,
very likely they were eaten by wild beasts in the forest. But the bride and
bridegroom were so happy that they forgot all about them, and they lived with
the old king till he died, when they succeeded him.
(From
"Eventyr fra Jylland," samlede og optegnede af Evald Tang Kristensen.
Translated from the Danish by Mrs. Skovgaard-Pedersen.)
The
Olive Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1907], at sacred-texts.com
[f14]
THE
FIVE WISE WORDS OF THE GURU[4]
Once
there lived a handsome young man named Ram Singh, who, though a favourite with
everyone, was unhappy because he had a scold for a step-mother. All day long
she went on talking, until the youth was driven so distracted that he
determined to go away somewhere and seek his fortune. No sooner had he decided
to leave his home than he made his plans, and the very next morning he started
off with a few clothes in a wallet, and a little money in his pocket.
But
there was one person in the village to whom he wished to say good-bye, and that
was a wise old guru, or teacher, who had taught him much. So he turned his face
first of all towards his master's hut, and before the sun was well up was
knocking at his door. The old man received his pupil affectionately; but he was
wise in reading faces, and saw at once that the youth was in trouble.
'My
son,' said he, 'what is the matter?'
'Nothing,
father,' replied the young man, 'but I have determined to go into the world and
seek my fortune.'
'Be
advised,' returned the guru, 'and remain in your father's house; it is better
to have half a loaf at home than to seek a whole one in distant countries.'
But
Ram Singh was in no mood to heed such advice, and very soon the old man ceased
to press him.
'Well,'
said he at last, 'if your mind is made up I suppose you must have your way. But
listen carefully, and remember five parting counsels which I will give you; and
if you keep these no evil shall befall you. First--always obey without question
the orders of him whose service you enter; second--never speak harshly or
unkindly to anyone; third--never lie; fourth--never try to appear the equal of
those above you in station; and fifth--wherever you go, if you meet those who
read or teach from the holy books, stay and listen, if but for a few minutes,
that you may be strengthened in the path of duty.'
Then
Ram Singh started out upon his journey, promising to bear in mind the old man's
words.
After
some days he came to a great city. He had spent all the money which he had at
starting, and therefore resolved to look for work however humble it might be.
Catching sight of a prosperous-looking merchant standing in front of a shop
full of grain of all kinds, Ram Singh went up to him and asked whether he could
give him anything to do. The merchant gazed at him so long that the young man
began to lose heart, but at length he answered:
'Yes,
of course; there is a place waiting for you.'
'What
do you mean?' asked Ram Singh.
'Why,'
replied the other, 'yesterday our rajah's chief wazir dismissed his body
servant and is wanting another. Now you are just the sort of person that he
needs, for you are young and tall, and handsome; I advise you to apply there.'
Thanking
the merchant for this advice, the young man set out at once for the wazir's
house, and soon managed, thanks to his good looks and appearance, to be engaged
as the great man's servant.
One
day, soon after this, the rajah of the place started on a journey and the chief
wazir accompanied him. With them was an army of servants and attendants,
soldiers, muleteers, camel-drivers, merchants with grain and stores for man and
beast, singers to make entertainment by the way and musicians to accompany
them, besides elephants, camels, horses, mules, ponies, donkeys, goats, and
carts and wagons of every kind and description, so that it seemed more like a large
town on the march than anything else.
Thus
they travelled for several days, till they entered a country that was like a
sea of sand, where the swirling dust floated in clouds, and men and beasts were
half choked by it. Towards the close of that day they came to a village, and
when the headmen hurried out to salute the rajah and to pay him their respects,
they began, with very long and serious faces, to explain that, whilst they and
all that they had were of course at the disposal of the rajah, the coming of so
large a company had nevertheless put them into a dreadful difficulty because
they had never a well nor spring of water in their country; and they had no
water to give drink to such an army of men and beasts!
Great
fear fell upon the host at the words of the headmen, but the rajah merely told
the wazir that he must get water somehow, and that settled the matter so far as
he was concerned. The wazir sent off in haste for all the oldest men in the
place, and began to question them as to whether there were no wells near by.
They
all looked helplessly at each other, and said nothing; but at length one old
grey-beard replied:
'Truly,
Sir Wazir, there is, within a mile or two of this village, a well which some
former king made hundreds of years ago. It is, they say, great and
inexhaustible, covered in by heavy stone-work and with a flight of steps
leading down to the water in the very bowels of the earth; but no man ever goes
near it because it is haunted by evil spirits, and it is known that whoso
disappears down the well shall never be seen again.'
The
wazir stroked his beard and considered a moment. Then he turned to Ram Singh
who stood behind his chair.
'There
is a proverb,' said he, 'that no man can be trusted until he has been tried. Go
you and get the rajah and his people water from this well.'
Then
there flashed into Ram Singh's mind the first counsel of the old guru--'Always
obey without question the orders of him whose service you enter.' So he replied
at once that he was ready, and left to prepare for his adventure. Two great
brazen vessels he fastened to a mule, two lesser ones he bound upon his
shoulders, and thus provided he set out, with the old villager for his guide.
In a short time they came to a spot where some big trees towered above the
barren country, whilst under their shadow lay the dome of an ancient building.
This the guide pointed out as the well, but excused himself from going further
as he was an old man and tired, and it was already nearly sunset, so that he must
be returning home. So Ram Singh bade him farewell, and went on alone with the
mule.
Arrived
at the trees, Ram Singh tied up his beast, lifted the vessels from his
shoulder, and having found the opening of the well, descended by a flight of
steps which led down into the darkness. The steps were broad white slabs of
alabaster which gleamed in the shadows as he went lower and lower. All was very
silent. Even the sound of his bare feet upon the pavements seemed to wake an
echo in that lonely place, and when one of the vessels which he carried slipped
and fell upon the steps it clanged so loudly that he jumped at the noise. Still
he went on, until at last he reached a wide pool of sweet water, and there he
washed his jars with care before he filled them, and began to remount the steps
with the lighter vessels, as the big ones were so heavy he could only take up
one at a time. Suddenly, something moved above him, and looking up he saw a
great giant standing on the stairway! In one hand he held clasped to his heart
a dreadful looking mass of bones, in the other was a lamp which cast long
shadows about the walls, and made him seem even more terrible than he really
was.
'What
think you, O mortal,' said the giant, 'of my fair and lovely wife?' And he held
the light towards the bones in his arms and looked lovingly at them.
Now
I must tell you that this poor giant had had a very beautiful wife, whom he had
loved dearly; but, when she died, her husband refused to believe in her death,
and always carried her about long after she had become nothing but bones. Ram
Singh of course did not know of this, but there came to his mind the second
wise saying of the guru, which forbade him to speak harshly or inconsiderately
to others; so he replied:
'Truly,
sir, I am sure you could find nowhere such another.'
'Ah,
what eyes you have!' cried the delighted giant, 'you at least can see! I do not
know how often I have slain those who insulted her by saying she was but dried
bones! You are a fine young man, and I will help you.'
So
saying, he laid down the bones with great tenderness, and snatching up the huge
brass vessels, carried them up again, and replaced them with such ease that it
was all done by the time that Ram Singh had reached the open air with the
smaller ones.
'Now,'
said the giant, 'you have pleased me, and you may ask of me one favour, and
whatever you wish I will do it for you. Perhaps you would like me to show you
where lies buried the treasure of dead kings?' he added eagerly.
But
Ram Singh shook his head at the mention of buried wealth.
'The
favour that I would ask,' said he, 'is that you will leave off haunting this
well, so that men may go in and out and obtain water.'
Perhaps
the giant expected some favour more difficult to grant, for his face
brightened, and he promised to depart at once; and as Ram Singh went off
through the gathering darkness with his precious burden of water, he beheld the
giant striding away with the bones of his dead wife in his arms.
Great
was the wonder and rejoicing in the camp when Ram Singh returned with the
water. He never said anything, however, about his adventure with the giant, but
merely told the rajah that there was nothing to prevent the well being used;
and used it was, and nobody ever saw any more of the giant.
The
rajah was so pleased with the bearing of Ram Singh that he ordered the wazir to
give the young man to him in exchange for one of his own servants. So Ram Singh
became the rajah's attendant; and as the days went by the king became more and more
delighted with the youth because, mindful of the old guru's third counsel, he
was always honest and spoke the truth. He grew in favour rapidly, until at last
the rajah made him his treasurer, and thus he reached a high place in the court
and had wealth and power in his hands. Unluckily the rajah had a brother who
was a very bad man; and this brother thought that if he could win the young
treasurer over to himself he might by this means manage to steal little by
little any of the king's treasure which he needed. Then, with plenty of money,
he could bribe the soldiers and some of the rajah's counsellors, head a
rebellion, dethrone and kill his brother, and reign himself instead. He was too
wary, of course, to tell Ram Singh of all these wicked plans; but he began by
flattering him whenever he saw him, and at last offered him his daughter in
marriage. But Ram Singh remembered the fourth counsel of the old guru--never to
try to appear the equal of those above him in station--therefore he
respectfully declined the great honour of marrying a princess. Of course the
prince, baffled at the very beginning of his enterprise, was furious, and
determined to work Ram Singh's ruin, and entering the rajah's presence he told
him a story about Ram Singh having spoken insulting words of his sovereign and
of his daughter. What it was all about nobody knew, and, as it was not true,
the wicked prince did not know either; but the rajah grew very angry and red in
the face as he listened, and declared that until the treasurer's head was cut
off neither he nor the princess nor his brother would eat or drink.
'But,'
added he, 'I do not wish any one to know that this was done by my desire, and
anyone who mentions the subject will be severely punished.' And with this the
prince was forced to be content.
Then
the rajah sent for an officer of his guard, and told him to take some soldiers
and ride at once to a tower which was situated just outside the town, and if
anyone should come to inquire when the building was going to be finished, or
should ask any other questions about it, the officer must chop his head off,
and bring it to him. As for the body, that could be buried on the spot. The old
officer thought these instructions rather odd, but it was no business of his,
so he saluted, and went off to do his master's bidding.
Early
in the morning the rajah, who had not slept all night, sent for Ram Singh, and
bade him go to the new hunting-tower, and ask the people there how it was
getting on and when it was going to be finished, and to hurry back with the
answer! Away went Ram Singh upon his errand, but, on the road, as he was
passing a little temple on the outskirts of the city, he heard someone inside
reading aloud; and, remembering the guru's fifth counsel, he just stepped inside
and sat down to listen for a minute. He did not mean to stay longer, but became
so deeply interested in the wisdom of the teacher, that he sat, and sat, and
sat, while the sun rose higher and higher.
In
the meantime, the wicked prince, who dared not disobey the rajah's command, was
feeling very hungry; and as for the princess, she was quietly crying in a
corner waiting for the news of Ram Singh's death, so that she might eat her
breakfast.
Hours
passed, and stare as he might from the window no messenger could be seen.
At
last the prince could bear it no longer, and hastily disguising himself so that
no one should recognise him, he jumped on a horse and galloped out to the
hunting-tower, where the rajah had told him that the execution was to take place.
But, when he got there, there was no execution going on. There were only some
men engaged in building, and a number of soldiers idly watching them. He forgot
that he had disguised himself and that no one would know him, so, riding up, he
cried out:
'Now
then, you men, why are you idling about here instead of finishing what you came
to do? When is it to be done?'
At
his words the soldiers looked at the commanding officer, who was standing a
little apart from the rest. Unperceived by the prince he made a slight sign, a
sword flashed in the sun, and off flew a head on the ground beneath!
As
part of the prince's disguise had been a thick beard, the men did not recognise
the dead man as the rajah's brother; but they wrapped the head in a cloth, and buried
the body as their commander bade them. When this was ended, the officer took
the cloth, and rode off in the direction of the palace.
Meanwhile
the rajah came home from his council, and to his great surprise found neither
head nor brother awaiting him; as time passed on, he became uneasy, and thought
that he had better go himself and see what the matter was. So ordering his
horse he rode off alone.
It
happened that, just as the rajah came near to the temple where Ram Singh still
sat, the young treasurer, hearing the sound of a horse's hoofs, looked over his
shoulder and saw that the rider was the rajah himself! Feeling much ashamed of
himself for having forgotten his errand, he jumped up and hurried out to meet
his master, who reined up his horse, and seemed very surprised (as indeed he
was) to see him. At that moment there arrived the officer of the guard carrying
his parcel. He saluted the rajah gravely, and, dismounting, laid the bundle in
the road and began to undo the wrappings, whilst the rajah watched him with
wonder and interest. When the last string was undone, and the head of his
brother was displayed to his view, the rajah sprang from his horse and caught
the soldier by the arm. As soon as he could speak he questioned the man as to
what had occurred, and little by little a dark suspicion darted through him.
Then, briefly telling the soldier that he had done well, the rajah drew Ram
Singh to one side, and in a few minutes learned from him how, in attending to
the guru's counsel, he had delayed to do the king's message.
In
the end the rajah found from some papers the proofs of his dead brother's
treachery; and Ram Singh established his innocence and integrity. He continued
to serve the rajah for many years with unswerving fidelity; and married a
maiden of his own rank in life, with whom he lived happily; dying at last
honoured and loved by all men. Sons were born to him; and, in time, to them
also he taught the five wise sayings of the old guru.
(A
Punjabi story.)
FOOTNOTE:
[4]
A Hindu religious teacher or saint; in this case a Sikh.
The
Olive Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1907], at sacred-texts.com
[f15]
THE
GOLDEN-HEADED FISH
Once
upon a time there lived in Egypt a king who lost his sight from a bad illness.
Of course he was very unhappy, and became more so as months passed, and all the
best doctors in the land were unable to cure him. The poor man grew so thin
from misery that everyone thought he was going to die, and the prince, his only
son, thought so too.
Great
was therefore the rejoicing through Egypt when a traveller arrived in a boat
down the river Nile, and after questioning the people as to the reason of their
downcast looks, declared that he was court physician to the king of a far
country, and would, if allowed, examine the eyes of the blind man. He was at
once admitted into the royal presence, and after a few minutes of careful study
announced that the case, though very serious, was not quite hopeless.
'Somewhere
in the Great Sea,' he said, 'there exists a Golden-headed Fish. If you can
manage to catch this creature, bring it to me, and I will prepare an ointment
from its blood which will restore your sight. For a hundred days I will wait
here, but if at the end of that time the fish should still be uncaught I must
return to my own master.'
The
next morning the young prince set forth in quest of the fish, taking with him a
hundred men, each man carrying a net. Quite a little fleet of boats was
awaiting them and in these they sailed to the middle of the Great Sea. During
three months they laboured diligently from sunrise to sunset, but though they
caught large multitudes of fishes, not one of them had a golden head.
'It
is quite useless now,' said the prince on the very last night. 'Even if we find
it this evening, the hundred days will be over in an hour, and long before we
could reach the Egyptian capital the doctor will be on his way home. Still, I
will go out again, and cast the net once more myself.' And so he did, and at
the very moment that the hundred days were up, he drew in the net with the
Golden-headed Fish entangled in its meshes.
'Success
has come, but, as happens often, it is too late,' murmured the young man, who
had studied in the schools of philosophy; 'but, all the same, put the fish in
that vessel full of water, and we will take it back to show my father that we
have done what we could.' But when he drew near the fish it looked up at him
with such piteous eyes that he could not make up his mind to condemn it to
death. For he knew well that, though the doctors of his own country were
ignorant of the secret of the ointment, they would do all in their power to
extract something from the fish's blood. So he picked up the prize of so much
labour, and threw it back into the sea, and then began his journey back to the
palace. When at last he reached it he found the king in a high fever, caused by
his disappointment, and he refused to believe the story told him by his son.
'Your
head shall pay for it! Your head shall pay for it!' cried he; and bade the
courtiers instantly summon the executioner to the palace.
But
of course somebody ran at once to the queen, and told her of the king's order,
and she put common clothes on the prince, and filled his pockets with gold, and
hurried him on board a ship which was sailing that night for a distant island.
'Your
father will repent some day, and then he will be thankful to know you are
alive,' said she. 'But one last counsel will I give you, and that is, take no
man into your service who desires to be paid every month.'
The
young prince thought this advice rather odd. If the servant had to be paid
anyhow, he did not understand what difference it could make whether it was by
the year or by the month. However, he had many times proved that his mother was
wiser than he, so he promised obedience.
*
* * * *
After
a voyage of several weeks, he arrived at the island of which his mother had
spoken. It was full of hills and woods and flowers, and beautiful white houses
stood everywhere in gardens.
'What
a charming spot to live in,' thought the prince. And he lost no time in buying
one of the prettiest of the dwellings.
Then
servants came pressing to offer their services; but as they all declared that
they must have payment at the end of every month, the young man, who remembered
his mother's words, declined to have anything to say to them. At length, one
morning, an Arab appeared and begged that the prince would engage him.
'And
what wages do you ask?' inquired the prince, when he had questioned the
new-comer and found him suitable.
'I
do not want money,' answered the Arab; 'at the end of a year you can see what
my services are worth to you, and can pay me in any way you like.' And the
young man was pleased, and took the Arab for his servant.
Now,
although no one would have guessed it from the look of the side of the island
where the prince had landed, the other part was a complete desert, owing to the
ravages of a horrible monster which came up from the sea, and devoured all the
corn and cattle. The governor had sent bands of soldiers to lie in wait for the
creature in order to kill it; but, somehow, no one ever happened to be awake at
the moment that the ravages were committed. It was in vain that the sleepy
soldiers were always punished severely--the same thing invariably occurred next
time; and at last heralds were sent throughout the island to offer a great
reward to the man who could slay the monster.
As
soon as the Arab heard the news, he went straight to the governor's palace.
'If
my master can succeed in killing the monster, what reward will you give him?'
asked he.
'My
daughter and anything besides that he chooses,' answered the governor. But the
Arab shook his head.
'Give
him your daughter and keep your wealth,' said he; 'but, henceforward, let her
share in your gains, whatever they are.'
'It
is well,' replied the governor; and ordered a deed to be prepared, which was
signed by both of them.
That
night the Arab stole down to the shore to watch, but, before he set out, he
rubbed himself all over with some oil which made his skin smart so badly that
there was no chance of his going to sleep as the soldiers had done. Then he hid
himself behind a large rock and waited. By-and-by a swell seemed to rise on the
water, and, a few minutes later, a hideous monster--part bird, part beast, and
part serpent--stepped noiselessly on to the rocks. It walked stealthily up
towards the fields, but the Arab was ready for it, and, as it passed, plunged
his dagger into the soft part behind the ear. The creature staggered and gave a
loud cry, and then rolled over dead, with its feet in the sea.
The
Arab watched for a little while, in order to make sure that there was no life
left in his enemy, but as the huge body remained quite still, he quitted his
hiding-place, and cut off the ears of his foe. These he carried to his master,
bidding him show them to the governor, and declare that he himself, and no
other, had killed the monster.
'But
it was you, and not I, who slew him,' objected the prince.
'Never
mind; do as I bid you. I have a reason for it,' answered the Arab. And though
the young man did not like taking credit for what he had never done, at length
he gave in.
The
governor was so delighted at the news that he begged the prince to take his
daughter to wife that very day; but the prince refused, saying that all he
desired was a ship which would carry him to see the world. Of course this was
granted him at once, and when he and his faithful Arab embarked they found,
heaped up in the vessel, stores of diamonds and precious stones, which the
grateful governor had secretly placed there.
So
they sailed, and they sailed, and they sailed; and at length they reached the
shores of a great kingdom. Leaving the prince on board, the Arab went into the
town to find out what sort of a place it was. After some hours he returned,
saying that he heard that the king's daughter was the most beautiful princess
in the world, and that the prince would do well to ask for her hand.
Nothing
loth, the prince listened to this advice, and taking some of the finest
necklaces in his hand, he mounted a splendid horse which the Arab had bought
for him, and rode up to the palace, closely followed by his faithful attendant.
The
strange king happened to be in a good humour, and they were readily admitted to
his presence. Laying down his offerings on the steps of the throne, he prayed
the king to grant him his daughter in marriage.
The
monarch listened to him in silence; but answered, after a pause:
'Young
man, I will give you my daughter to wife, if that is your wish; but first I
must tell you that she has already gone through the marriage ceremony with a
hundred and ninety young men, and not one of them lived for twelve hours after.
So think, while there is yet time.'
The
prince did think, and was so frightened that he very nearly went back to his
ship without any more words. But just as he was about to withdraw his proposal
the Arab whispered:
'Fear
nothing, but take her.'
'The
luck must change some time,' he said, at last; 'and who would not risk his head
for the hand of such a peerless princess?'
'As
you will,' replied the king. 'Then I will give orders that the marriage shall
be celebrated to-night.'
And
so it was done; and after the ceremony the bride and bridegroom retired to
their own apartments to sup by themselves, for such was the custom of the
country. The moon shone bright, and the prince walked to the window to look out
upon the river and upon the distant hills, when his gaze suddenly fell on a
silken shroud neatly laid out on a couch, with his name embroidered in gold
thread across the front; for this also was the pleasure of the king.
Horrified
at the spectacle, he turned his head away, and this time his glance rested on a
group of men, digging busily beneath the window. It was a strange hour for any
one to be at work, and what was the hole for? It was a curious shape, so long
and narrow, almost like---- Ah! yes, that was what it was! It was his grave
that they were digging!
The
shock of the discovery rendered him speechless, yet he stood fascinated and
unable to move. At this moment a small black snake darted from the mouth of the
princess, who was seated at the table, and wriggled quickly towards him. But
the Arab was watching for something of the sort to happen, and seizing the
serpent with some pincers that he held in one hand, he cut off its head with a
sharp dagger.
The
king could hardly believe his eyes when, early the next morning, his new
son-in-law craved an audience of his Majesty.
'What,
you?' he cried, as the young man entered.
'Yes,
I. Why not?' asked the bridegroom, who thought it best to pretend not to know
anything that had occurred. 'You remember, I told you that the luck must turn
at last, and so it has. But I came to ask whether you would be so kind as to
bid the gardeners fill up a great hole right underneath my window, which spoils
the view.'
'Oh!
certainly, yes; of course it shall be done!' stammered the king. 'Is there
anything else?'
'No,
nothing, thank you,' replied the prince, as he bowed and withdrew.
Now,
from the moment that the Arab cut off the snake's head, the spell, or whatever
it was, seemed to have been taken off the princess, and she lived very happily
with her husband. The days passed swiftly in hunting in the forests, or sailing
on the broad river that flowed past the palace, and when night fell she would
sing to her harp, or the prince would tell her tales of his own country.
One
evening a man in a strange garb, with a face burnt brown by the sun, arrived at
court. He asked to see the bridegroom, and falling on his face announced that
he was a messenger sent by the queen of Egypt, proclaiming him king in
succession to his father, who was dead.
'Her
Majesty begs you will set out without delay, and your bride also, as the
affairs of the kingdom are somewhat in disorder,' ended the messenger.
Then
the young man hastened to seek an audience of his father-in-law, who was
delighted to find that his daughter's husband was not merely the governor of a
province, as he had supposed, but the king of a powerful country. He at once
ordered a splendid ship to be made ready, and in a week's time rode down to the
harbour, to bid farewell to the young couple.
In
spite of her grief for the dead king, the queen was overjoyed to welcome her
son home, and commanded the palace to be hung with splendid stuffs to do honour
to the bride. The people expected great things from their new sovereign, for
they had suffered much from the harsh rule of the old one, and crowds presented
themselves every morning with petitions in their hands, which they hoped to
persuade the king to grant. Truly, he had enough to keep him busy; but he was
very happy for all that, till, one night, the Arab came to him, and begged
permission to return to his own land.
Filled
with dismay the young man said: 'Leave me! Do you really wish to leave me?'
Sadly the Arab bowed his head.
'No,
my master; never could I wish to leave you! But I have received a summons, and
I dare not disobey it.'
The
king was silent, trying to choke down the grief he felt at the thought of
losing his faithful servant.
'Well,
I must not try to keep you,' he faltered out at last. 'That would be a poor
return for all that you have done for me! Everything I have is yours; take what
you will, for without you I should long ago have been dead!'
'And
without you, I should long ago have been dead,' answered the Arab. 'I am the
Golden-headed Fish.'
(Adapted
from Contes Armeniens. Par Frederic Macler, Paris. Ernest Leroux, Editeur.)
The
Olive Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1907], at sacred-texts.com
[f16]
DORANI
Once
upon a time there lived in a city of Hindustan a seller of scents and essences,
who had a very beautiful daughter named Dorani. This maiden had a friend who
was a fairy, and the two were high in favour with Indra, the king of fairyland,
because they were able to sing so sweetly and dance so deftly that no one in
the kingdom could equal them for grace and beauty. Dorani had the most lovely
hair in the world, for it was like spun gold, and the smell of it was like the
smell of fresh roses. But her locks were so long and thick that the weight of
it was often unbearable, and one day she cut off a shining tress, and wrapping
it in a large leaf, threw it in the river which ran just below her window. Now
it happened that the king's son was out hunting, and had gone down to the river
to drink, when there floated towards him a folded leaf, from which came a
perfume of roses. The prince, with idle curiosity, took a step into the water
and caught the leaf as it was sailing by. He opened it, and within he found a
lock of hair like spun gold, and from which came a faint, exquisite odour.
When
the prince reached home that day he looked so sad and was so quiet that his
father wondered if any ill had befallen him, and asked what was the matter.
Then the youth took from his breast the tress of hair which he had found in the
river, and holding it up to the light, replied:
'See,
my father, was ever hair like this? Unless I may win and marry the maiden that
owns that lock I must die!'
So
the king immediately sent heralds throughout all his dominions to search for
the damsel with hair like spun gold; and at last he learned that she was the
daughter of the scent-seller. The object of the herald's mission was quickly
noised abroad, and Dorani heard of it with the rest; and, one day, she said to
her father:
'If
the hair is mine, and the king requires me to marry his son, I must do so; but,
remember, you must tell him that if, after the wedding, I stay all day at the
palace, every night will be spent in my old home.'
The
old man listened to her with amazement, but answered nothing, as he knew she
was wiser than he. Of course the hair was Dorani's, and heralds soon returned
and informed the king, their master, who summoned the scent-seller, and told
him that he wished for his daughter to be given in marriage to the prince. The
father bowed his head three times to the ground, and replied:
'Your
highness is our lord, and all that you bid us we will do. The maiden asks this
only--that if, after the wedding, she stays all day at the palace, she may go
back each night to her father's house.'
The
king thought this a very strange request; but said to himself it was, after
all, his son's affair, and the girl would surely soon get tired of going to and
fro. So he made no difficulty, and everything was speedily arranged and the
wedding was celebrated with great rejoicings.
At
first, the condition attaching to his wedding with the lovely Dorani troubled
the prince very little, for he thought that he would at least see his bride all
day. But, to his dismay, he found that she would do nothing but sit the whole
time upon a stool with her head bowed forward upon her knees, and he could
never persuade her to say a single word. Each evening she was carried in a
palanquin to her father's house, and each morning she was brought back soon
after daybreak; and yet never a sound passed her lips, nor did she show by any
sign that she saw, or heard, or heeded her husband.
One
evening the prince, very unhappy and troubled, was wandering in an old and
beautiful garden near the palace. The gardener was a very aged man, who had
served the prince's great grandfather; and when he saw the prince he came and
bowed himself to him, and said:
'Child!
child! why do you look so sad--is aught the matter?' Then the prince replied,
'I am sad, old friend, because I have married a wife as lovely as the stars,
but she will not speak to me, and I know not what to do. Night after night she
leaves me for her father's house, and day after day she sits in mine as though
turned to stone, and utters no word, whatever I may do or say.'
The
old man stood thinking for a moment, and then he hobbled off to his own
cottage. A little later he came back to the prince with five or six small
packets, which he placed in his hands and said:
'To-morrow,
when your bride leaves the palace, sprinkle the powder from one of these
packets upon your body, and while seeing clearly, you will become yourself
invisible. More I cannot do for you, but may all go well!'
And
the prince thanked him, and put the packets carefully away in his turban.
The
next night, when Dorani left for her father's house in her palanquin, the
prince took out a packet of the magic powder and sprinkled it over himself, and
then hurried after her. He soon found that, as the old man had promised, he was
invisible to everyone, although he felt as usual, and could see all that
passed. He speedily overtook the palanquin and walked beside it to the
scent-seller's dwelling. There it was set down, and, when his bride, closely
veiled, left it and entered the house, he, too, entered unperceived.
At
the first door Dorani removed one veil; then she entered another doorway at the
end of a passage where she removed another veil; next she mounted the stairs,
and at the door of the women's quarters removed a third veil. After this she
proceeded to her own room where were set two large basins, one of attar of
roses and one of water; in these she washed herself, and afterwards called for
food. A servant brought her a bowl of curds, which she ate hastily, and then
arrayed herself in a robe of silver, and wound about her strings of pearls,
while a wreath of roses crowned her hair. When fully dressed, she seated
herself upon a four-legged stool over which was a canopy with silken curtains,
these she drew around her, and then called out:
'Fly,
stool, to the palace of rajah Indra.'
Instantly
the stool rose in the air, and the invisible prince, who had watched all these
proceedings with great wonder, seized it by one leg as it flew away, and found
himself being borne through the air at a rapid rate.
In
a short while they arrived at the house of the fairy who, as I told you before,
was the favourite friend of Dorani. The fairy stood waiting on the threshold,
as beautifully dressed as Dorani herself was, and when the stool stopped at her
door she cried in astonishment:
'Why,
the stool is flying all crooked to-day! What is the reason of that, I wonder? I
suspect that you have been talking to your husband, and so it will not fly
straight.'
But
Dorani declared that she had not spoken one word to him, and she couldn't think
why the stool flew as if weighed down at one side. The fairy still looked
doubtful, but made no answer, and took her seat beside Dorani, the prince again
holding tightly one leg. Then the stool flew on through the air until it came
to the palace of Indra the rajah.
All
through the night the women sang and danced before the rajah Indra, whilst a
magic lute played of itself the most bewitching music; till the prince, who sat
watching it all, was quite entranced. Just before dawn the rajah gave the
signal to cease; and again the two women seated themselves on the stool, and,
with the prince clinging to the leg, it flew back to earth, and bore Dorani and
her husband safely to the scent-seller's shop. Here the prince hurried away by
himself past Dorani's palanquin with its sleepy bearers, straight on to the
palace; and, as he passed the threshold of his own rooms he became visible
again. Then he lay down upon a couch and waited for Dorani's arrival.
As
soon as she arrived she took a seat and remained as silent as usual, with her
head bowed on her knees. For a while not a sound was heard, but presently the
prince said:
'I
dreamed a curious dream last night, and as it was all about you I am going to
tell it you, although you heed nothing.'
The
girl, indeed, took no notice of his words, but in spite of that he proceeded to
relate every single thing that had happened the evening before, leaving out no
detail of all that he had seen or heard. And when he praised her singing--and
his voice shook a little--Dorani just looked at him; but she said naught,
though, in her own mind, she was filled with wonder. 'What a dream!' she
thought. 'Could it have been a dream? How could he have learnt in a dream all
she had done or said?' Still she kept silent; only she looked that once at the
prince, and then remained all day as before, with her head bowed upon her
knees.
When
night came the prince again made himself invisible and followed her. The same
things happened again as had happened before, but Dorani sang better than ever.
In the morning the prince a second time told Dorani all that she had done,
pretending that he had dreamt of it. Directly he had finished Dorani gazed at
him, and said:
'Is
it true that you dreamt this, or were you really there?'
'I
was there,' answered the prince.
'But
why do you follow me?' asked the girl.
'Because,'
replied the prince, 'I love you, and to be with you is happiness.'
This
time Dorani's eyelids quivered; but she said no more, and was silent the rest
of the day. However, in the evening, just as she was stepping into her
palanquin, she said to the prince:
'If
you love me, prove it by not following me to-night.'
And
so the prince did as she wished, and stayed at home.
That
evening the magic stool flew so unsteadily that they could hardly keep their
seats, and at last the fairy exclaimed:
'There
is only one reason that it should jerk like this! You have been talking to your
husband!'
And
Dorani replied: 'Yes, I have spoken; oh, yes, I have spoken!' But no more would
she say.
That
night Dorani sang so marvellously that at the end the rajah Indra rose up and
vowed that she might ask what she would and he would give it to her. At first
she was silent; but, when he pressed her, she answered:
'Give
me the magic lute.'
The
rajah, when he heard this, was displeased with himself for having made so rash
a promise, because this lute he valued above all his possessions. But as he had
promised, so he must perform, and with an ill grace he handed it to her.
'You
must never come here again,' said he, 'for, once having asked so much, how will
you in future be content with smaller gifts?'
Dorani
bowed her head silently as she took the lute, and passed with the fairy out of
the great gate, where the stool awaited them. More unsteadily than before, it
flew back to earth.
When
Dorani got to the palace that morning she asked the prince whether he had
dreamt again. He laughed with happiness, for this time she had spoken to him of
her own free will; and he replied:
'No;
but I begin to dream now--not of what has happened in the past, but of what may
happen in the future.'
That
day Dorani sat very quietly, but she answered the prince when he spoke to her;
and when evening fell, and with it the time for her departure, she still sat
on. Then the prince came close to her and said softly:
'Are
you not going to your house, Dorani?'
At
that she rose and threw herself weeping into his arms, whispering gently:
'Never
again, my lord, never again would I leave thee!'
So
the prince won his beautiful bride; and though they neither of them dealt any
further with fairies and their magic, they learnt more daily of the magic of
Love, which one may still learn, although fairy magic has fled away.
(Punjabi
Story, Major Campbell, Feroshepore.)
The
Olive Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1907], at sacred-texts.com
[f17]
THE
SATIN SURGEON
Once
upon a time there was a very rich and powerful king who, in spite of having
been married several times, had only two daughters.
The
elder was extremely plain--she squinted and was hunchbacked; but at the same
time she was very clever and amusing, so, though at heart both spiteful and
untruthful, she was her father's favourite.
The
younger princess, on the other hand, was both lovely and sweet-tempered, and
those who knew her well could hardly say whether her charming face or pleasant
manners was the more attractive.
The
neighbouring country was governed by a young emperor, who, though not much over
twenty years of age, had shown great courage in battle, and, had he wished it,
might very likely have conquered the whole world. Luckily he preferred peace to
war, and occupied his time with trying to rule his own kingdom well and wisely.
His people were very anxious that he should marry, and as the two princesses
were the only ladies to be heard of of suitable age and rank, the emperor sent
envoys to their father's court to ask for the hand of one of them in marriage.
But, as he was resolved only to marry a woman whom he could love and be happy
with, he determined to see the lady himself before making up his mind. For this
purpose he set out in disguise not long after the departure of his ambassadors,
and arrived at the palace very soon after they did; but as he had foolishly
kept his plan secret, he found, when he reached the court, that they had
already made proposals for the elder princess.
Now
the emperor might just as well have gone openly, for his presence soon became
known; and when the king heard of it he prepared to receive him royally, though
of course he had to pretend that he had no idea who he was. So it was settled
that the ambassadors should present their master under the name of one of the
princes, and in this manner he was received by the king.
At
night there was a grand ball at which the young emperor was able to see the two
princesses and to make their acquaintance. The ugly face and figure and
spiteful remarks of the elder displeased him so greatly that he felt he could
not marry her even if she owned ten kingdoms, whilst the sweet face and gentle
manners of the younger sister charmed him so much that he would gladly have
shared his throne with her had she been only a simple shepherdess.
He
found it very difficult to conceal his thoughts and to pay the elder princess
the amount of attention due to her, though he did his best to be polite; while
all he saw or heard during the next few days only increased his love for her
younger sister, and at last he confessed that his dearest wish was to make her
his wife, if she and her father would grant his desire.
He
had commanded his ambassadors to put off their farewell audience for a little
time, hoping that the king might perceive the state of his feelings; but when
it could be deferred no longer, he bade them propose in his name for the
younger princess.
On
hearing this news, so different from what he had been led to expect, the king
who--as we have said before--was devoted to his elder daughter and entirely
under her influence, could hardly contain his displeasure. Directly the
audience was over he sent for the princess and told her of the insolent
proposal the emperor had made for her sister. The princess was even more
furious than her father, and after consulting together they decided to send the
younger daughter to some distant place out of reach of the young emperor; but
where this should be they did not quite know. However, at length, after they
had both racked their brains to find a suitable prison, they fixed on a lonely
castle called the Desert Tower, where they thought she would be quite safe.
Meantime,
it was thought best to let the court gaieties go on as usual, and orders were
given for all sorts of splendid entertainments; and on the day that was fixed
for carrying off the princess, the whole court was invited to a great hunt in
the forest.
The
emperor and the young princess were counting the hours till this morning, which
promised to be so delightful, should dawn. The king and his guest arrived
together at the meeting-place, but what was the surprise and distress of the
young man at not seeing the object of his love amongst the ladies present. He
waited anxiously, looking up and down, not hearing anything that the king said
to him; and when the hunt began and she still was absent, he declined to follow,
and spent the whole day seeking her, but in vain.
On
his return, one of his attendants told him that some hours before he had met
the princess's carriage, escorted by a troop of soldiers who were riding on
each side, so that no one could get speech of her. He had followed them at a
distance, and saw them stop at the Desert Tower, and on its return he noticed
that the carriage was empty. The emperor was deeply grieved by this news. He
left the court at once, and ordered his ambassadors to declare war the very
next day, unless the king promised to set free the princess. And more than
this, no sooner had he reached his own country than he raised a large army,
with which he seized the frontier towns, before his enemy had had time to
collect any troops. But, ere he quitted the court, he took care to write a
letter to his beloved princess, imploring her to have patience and trust to
him; and this he gave into the hands of his favourite equerry, who would he
knew lay down his life in his service.
With
many precautions the equerry managed to examine the surroundings of the tower,
and at last discovered, not only where the princess lodged, but that a little
window in her room looked out on a desolate plot full of brambles.
Now
the unhappy princess was much annoyed that she was not even allowed to take the
air at this little window, which was the only one in her room. Her keeper was
her elder sister's former nurse, a woman whose eyes never slept. Not for an
instant could she be induced to stir from the side of the princess, and she
watched her slightest movement.
One
day, however, the spy was for once busy in her room writing an account of the
princess to her elder sister, and the poor prisoner seized the opportunity to
lean out of the window. As she looked about her she noticed a man hidden
amongst the bushes, who stepped forward as soon as he caught sight of her, and
showed her a letter, which he took from his jerkin. She at once recognised him
as one of the emperor's attendants, and let down a long string, to which he
tied the letter. You can fancy how quickly she drew it up again, and luckily
she had just time to read it before her gaoler had finished her report and
entered the room.
The
princess's delight was great, and next day she managed to write an answer on a
sheet of her note book, and to throw it down to the equerry, who hastened to
carry it back to his master. The emperor was so happy at having news of his
dear princess, that he resolved, at all risks, to visit the Desert Tower
himself, if only to see her for a moment. He ordered his equerry to ask leave
to visit her, and the princess replied that she should indeed rejoice to see
him, but that she feared that her gaoler's watchfulness would make his journey
useless, unless he came during the short time when the old woman was writing
alone in her own room.
Naturally,
the bare idea of difficulties only made the emperor more eager than ever. He
was ready to run any risks, but, by the advice of the equerry, he decided to
try cunning rather than force. In his next letter he enclosed a sleeping
powder, which the princess managed to mix with her gaoler's supper, so that
when the emperor reached the tower in the evening the princess appeared
fearlessly at her window on hearing his signal. They had a long and delightful
conversation, and parted in the fond hope that their meeting had not been
observed. But in this they were sadly mistaken. The watchful eyes of the old
nurse were proof against any sleeping draught--she had seen and heard all; and
lost no time in writing to report everything to her mistress.
The
news made the spiteful little hunchback furious, and she resolved to be cruelly
revenged for the contempt with which the emperor had treated her. She ordered
her nurse to pretend not to notice what might be passing, and meantime she had
a trap made so that if the emperor pushed his way through the brambles at the
foot of the tower, it would not only catch him, as if he were a mouse, but
would let loose a number of poisoned arrows, which would pierce him all over.
When it was ready, the trap was hidden amongst the brambles without being
observed by the princess.
That
same evening the emperor hurried to the tower with all the impatience of love.
As he came near he heard the princess break into a long, joyous peal of
laughter. He advanced quickly to give the usual signal, when suddenly his foot
trod on something, he knew not what. A sharp, stinging pain ran through him,
and he turned white and faint, but, luckily, the trap had only opened a little way,
and only a few of the arrows flew out. For a moment he staggered, and then fell
to the ground covered with blood.
Had
he been alone he would have died very shortly, but his faithful squire was
close at hand, and carried his master off to the wood where the rest of his
escort were waiting for him. His wounds were bound up, and some poles were cut
to make a rough litter, and, almost unconscious, the emperor was borne away out
of his enemy's country to his own palace.
All
this time the princess was feeling very anxious. She had been whiling away the
hours before this meeting by playing with a little pet monkey, which had been
making such funny faces that, in spite of her troubles, she had burst into the
hearty laugh overheard by the emperor. But by-and-by she grew restless, waiting
for the signal which never came, and, had she dared, would certainly have
rebelled when her gaoler, whom she believed to be fast asleep, ordered her to
go to bed at once.
A
fortnight passed, which was spent in great anxiety by the poor girl, who grew
thin and weak with the uncertainty. At the end of this period, when the nurse
went to her room one morning as usual in order to write her daily report, she
carelessly left the key in the door. This was perceived by the princess, who
turned it upon her so quickly and quietly that she never found out she was
locked in till she had finished writing, and got up to seek her charge.
Finding
herself free, the princess flew to the window, and to her horror saw the arrows
lying about amongst the bloodstained brambles. Distracted with terror she
slipped down the stairs and out of the tower, and ran for some time along a
path, when with great good luck she met the husband of her own nurse, who had
only just learned of her imprisonment, and was on his way to try and find out
whether he could serve her. The princess begged him to get her some men's
clothes while she awaited him in a little wood close by. The good man was
overjoyed to be of use, and started at once for the nearest town, where he soon
discovered a shop where the court lackeys were accustomed to sell their
masters' cast-off clothes. The princess dressed herself at once in the disguise
he had brought, which was of rich material and covered with precious stones;
and, putting her own garments into a bag, which her servant hung over his
shoulders, they both set out on their journey.
This
lasted longer than either of them expected. They walked by day as far as the
princess could manage, and by night they slept in the open air. One evening
they camped in a lovely valley watered by a rippling stream, and towards
morning the princess was awakened by a charming voice singing one of the songs
of her own childhood. Anxious to find out where the sound came from, she walked
to a thicket of myrtles, where she saw a little boy with a quiver at his back
and an ivory bow in his hand, singing softly to himself as he smoothed the
feathers of his shafts.
'Are
you surprised at seeing my eyes open?' he asked, with a smile. 'Ah! I am not
always blind. And sometimes it is well to know what sort of a heart needs
piercing. It was I who sent out my darts the day that you and the emperor met,
so, as I have caused the wound, I am in duty bound to find the cure!'
Then
he gave her a little bottle full of a wonderful salve with which to dress the
emperor's wounds when she found him.
'In
two days you can reach his palace,' he said. 'Do not waste time, for sometimes
time is life.'
The
princess thanked the boy with tears in her eyes, and hastened to awake her
guide so that they might start, and set off at once on their way.
As
the boy had foretold, in two days the tower and walls of the city came in
sight, and her heart beat wildly at the thought that she would soon be face to
face with the emperor, but on inquiring after his health she learned, to her
horror, that he was sinking fast. For a moment her grief was so great that she
nearly betrayed herself. Then, calling all her courage to her aid, she
announced that she was a doctor, and that if they would leave him in her charge
for a few days she would promise to cure him.
Now,
in order to make a good appearance at court the new doctor resolved to have an
entire suit made of pale blue satin. She bought the richest, most splendid
stuff to be had in the shops, and summoned a tailor to make it for her,
engaging to pay him double if he would finish the work in two hours. Next she
went to the market, where she bought a fine mule, bidding her servant see that
its harness was adorned with trappings of blue satin also.
Whilst
all was being made ready the princess asked the woman in whose house she lived
whether she knew any of the emperor's attendants, and found to her satisfaction
that her cousin was his majesty's chief valet. The doctor then bade the woman
inform everyone she met that on hearing of the emperor's illness a celebrated
surgeon had hastened to attend him, and had undertaken to cure him entirely;
declaring himself prepared to be burnt alive in case of failure.
The
good woman, who loved nothing better than a bit of gossip, hurried to the
palace with her news. Her story did not lose in telling. The court physicians
were very scornful about the new-comer, but the emperor's attendants remarked
that as, in spite of their remedies, his majesty was dying before their eyes,
there could be no harm in consulting this stranger.
So
the lord chamberlain begged the young doctor to come and prescribe for the
royal patient without delay; and the doctor sent a message at once, that he
would do himself the honour to present himself at the palace, and he lost no
time in mounting his mule and setting out. As the people and soldiers saw him
ride past they cried out:
'Here
comes the Satin Surgeon! Look at the Satin Surgeon! Long live the Satin
Surgeon!' And, on arriving, he was announced by this name, and at once taken to
the sick room of the dying man.
The
emperor was lying with his eyes closed, and his face as white as the pillow
itself; but directly he heard the new-comer's voice, he looked up and smiled,
and signed that he wished the new doctor to remain near him. Making a low bow,
the Satin Surgeon assured the emperor that he felt certain of curing his
malady, but insisted that everyone should leave the room except the emperor's
favourite equerry. He then dressed the wounds with the magic salve which the
boy had given him, and it so relieved the emperor's pain that he slept soundly
all that night.
When
morning broke, the courtiers and doctors hurried to the emperor's chamber, and
were much surprised to find him free of pain. But they were promptly ordered
out of the room by the Satin Surgeon, who renewed the dressings with such good
results that next morning the emperor was nearly well, and able to leave his
bed. As he grew stronger, his thoughts dwelt more and more on the cause of all
his sufferings, and his spirits grew worse as his health grew better. The face
and voice of his new doctor reminded him of the princess who had, he imagined,
betrayed him, and caused him such dreadful torture; and, unable to bear the
thought, his eyes filled with tears.
The
doctor noticed his sad countenance and did all he could to enliven his patient
with cheerful talk and amusing stories, till at last he won the emperor's
confidence and heard all the story of his love for a lady who had treated him
cruelly, but whom, in spite of everything, he could not help loving. The Satin
Surgeon listened with sympathy, and tried to persuade the emperor that possibly
the princess was not so much to blame as might appear; but, eager though the
sick man was to believe this, it took a long while to persuade him of it. At
length a day came when the emperor was nearly well, and for the last time the
doctor dressed the wounds with the precious salve. Then, both patient and
surgeon, being wearied out with something they could not explain, fell asleep
and slept for hours.
Early
next morning, the princess, having decided to resume her own clothes which she
had brought with her in a bag, dressed herself with great care and put on all
her jewels so as to make herself look as lovely as possible. She had just
finished when the emperor awoke, feeling so strong and well that he thought he
must be dreaming, nor could he believe himself to be awake when he saw the
princess draw aside his curtains.
For
some minutes they gazed at each other, unable to speak, and then they only
uttered little gasps of joy and thankfulness. By-and-by the princess told him
the whole story of her adventures since their last interview at the Desert
Tower; and the emperor, weak as he was, threw himself at her feet with vows of
love and gratitude, without ever giving a thought to the fact that the
household and court physicians were awaiting their summons in the ante-room.
The
emperor, anxious to prove how much he owed to the Satin Surgeon, opened his
door himself, and great was everyone's surprise and joy at seeing him in such
perfect health. Like good courtiers, they hastened in to praise and compliment
the Satin Surgeon, but what was their astonishment on finding that he had
disappeared, leaving in his place the loveliest princess in the whole world.
'Whilst
thanking the surgeon for his miraculous cure, you might at the same time do
homage to your empress,' observed the emperor. He wished to have the marriage
celebrated the same day, but the princess declared that she must wait to get
her father's permission first.
Messengers
were therefore instantly despatched to the neighbouring capital, and soon
returned with the king's consent, for he had lately discovered all the mischief
caused by his elder daughter.
The
spiteful princess was so furious at the failure of her plans that she took to
her bed, and died in a fit of rage and jealousy. No one grieved for her, and
the king, being tired of the fatigues of Government, gave up his crown to his
younger daughter; so the two kingdoms henceforth became one.
(From
the Cabinet des Fees.)
The
Olive Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1907], at sacred-texts.com
[f18]
THE
BILLY GOAT AND THE KING
Once
there lived a certain king who understood the language of all birds and beasts
and insects. This knowledge had of course been given him by a fairy godmother;
but it was rather a troublesome present, for he knew that if he were ever to
reveal anything he had thus learned he would turn into a stone. How he managed
to avoid doing so long before this story opens I cannot say, but he had safely
grown up to manhood, and married a wife, and was as happy as monarchs generally
are.
This
king, I must tell you, was a Hindu; and when a Hindu eats his food he has a
nice little place on the ground freshly plastered with mud, and he sits in the
middle of it with very few clothes on--which is quite a different way from
ours.
Well,
one day the king was eating his dinner in just such a nice, clean,
mud-plastered spot, and his wife was sitting opposite to wait upon him and keep
him company. As he ate he dropped some grains of rice upon the ground, and a
little ant, who was running about seeking a living, seized upon one of the
grains and bore it off towards his hole. Just outside the king's circle this
ant met another ant, and the king heard the second one say:
'Oh,
dear friend, do give me that grain of rice, and get another one for yourself.
You see my boots are so dirty that, if I were to go upon the king's eating
place, I should defile it, and I can't do that, it would be so very rude.'
But
the owner of the grain of rice only replied:
'If
you want rice go and get it. No one will notice your dirty boots; and you don't
suppose that I am going to carry rice for all our kindred?'
Then
the king laughed.
The
queen looked at herself up and down, but she could not see or feel anything in
her appearance to make the king laugh, so she said:
'What
are you laughing at?'
'Did
I laugh?' replied the king.
'Of
course you did,' retorted the queen; 'and if you think that I am ridiculous I
wish you would say so, instead of behaving in that stupid way! What are you
laughing at?'
'I'm
not laughing at anything,' answered the king.
'Very
well, but you did laugh, and I want to know why.'
'Well,
I'm afraid I can't tell you,' said the king.
'You
must tell me,' replied the queen impatiently. 'If you laugh when there's
nothing to laugh at you must be ill or mad. What is the matter?'
Still
the king refused to say, and still the queen declared that she must and would
know. For days the quarrel went on, and the queen gave her husband no rest,
until at last the poor man was almost out of his wits, and thought that, as
life had become for him hardly worth living while this went on, he might as
well tell her the secret and take the consequences.
'But,'
thought he, 'if I am to become a stone, I am not going to lie, if I can help
it, on some dusty highway, to be kicked here and there by man and beast, flung
at dogs, be used as the plaything of naughty children, and become generally
restless and miserable. I will be a stone at the bottom of the cool river, and
roll gently about there until I find some secure resting-place where I can stay
for ever.'
So
he told his wife that if she would ride with him to the middle of the river he
would tell her what he had laughed at. She thought he was joking, and
laughingly agreed; their horses were ordered and they set out.
On
the way they came to a fine well beneath the shade of some lofty,
wide-spreading trees, and the king proposed that they should get off and rest a
little, drink some of the cool water, and then pass on. To this the queen
consented; so they dismounted and sat down in the shade by the well-side to
rest.
It
happened that an old goat and his wife were browsing in the neighbourhood, and,
as the king and queen sat there, the nanny goat came to the well's brink and
peering over saw some lovely green leaves that sprang in tender shoots out of
the side of the well.
'Oh!'
cried she to her husband, 'come quickly and look. Here are some leaves which
make my mouth water; come and get them for me!'
Then
the billy goat sauntered up and looked over, and after that he eyed his wife a
little crossly.
'You
expect me to get you those leaves, do you? I suppose you don't consider how in
the world I am to reach them? You don't seem to think at all; if you did you
would know that if I tried to reach those leaves I should fall into the well and
be drowned!'
'Oh,'
cried the nanny goat, 'why should you fall in? Do try and get them!'
'I
am not going to be so silly,' replied the billy goat.
But
the nanny goat still wept and entreated.
'Look
here,' said her husband, 'there are plenty of fools in the world, but I am not
one of them. This silly king here, because he can't cure his wife of asking
questions, is going to throw his life away. But I know how to cure you of your
follies, and I'm going to.'
And
with that he butted the nanny goat so severely that in two minutes she was
submissively feeding somewhere else, and had made up her mind that the leaves
in the well were not worth having.
Then
the king, who had understood every word, laughed once more.
The
queen looked at him suspiciously, but the king got up and walked across to
where she sat.
'Are
you still determined to find out what I was laughing at the other day?' he
asked.
'Quite,'
answered the queen angrily.
'Because,'
said the king, tapping his leg with his riding whip, 'I've made up my mind not
to tell you, and moreover, I have made up my mind to stop you mentioning the
subject any more.'
'What
do you mean?' asked the queen nervously.
'Well,'
replied the king, 'I notice that if that goat is displeased with his wife, he
just butts her, and that seems to settle the question----'
'Do
you mean to say you would beat me?' cried the queen.
'I
should be extremely sorry to have to do so,' replied the king; 'but I have got
to persuade you to go home quietly, and to ask no more silly questions when I
say I cannot answer them. Of course, if you will persist, why----'
And
the queen went home, and so did the king; and it is said that they are both
happier and wiser than ever before.
(Punjabi
Story, Major Campbell, Feroshepore)
The
Olive Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1907], at sacred-texts.com
[f19]
THE
STORY OF ZOULVISIA
In
the midst of a sandy desert, somewhere in Asia, the eyes of travellers are
refreshed by the sight of a high mountain covered with beautiful trees, among
which the glitter of foaming waterfalls may be seen in the sunlight. In that
clear, still air it is even possible to hear the song of the birds, and smell
of the flowers; but though the mountain is plainly inhabited--for here and there
a white tent is visible--none of the kings or princes who pass it on the road
to Babylon or Baalbec ever plunge into its forests--or, if they do, they never
come back. Indeed, so great is the terror caused by the evil reputation of the
mountain that fathers, on their death-beds, pray their sons never to try to
fathom its mysteries. But in spite of its ill-fame, a certain number of young
men every year announce their intention of visiting it and, as we have said,
are never seen again.
*
* * * *
Now
there was once a powerful king who ruled over a country on the other side of
the desert, and, when dying, gave the usual counsel to his seven sons. Hardly,
however, was he dead than the eldest, who succeeded to the throne, announced
his intention of hunting in the enchanted mountain. In vain the old men shook
their heads and tried to persuade him to give up his mad scheme. All was
useless; he went, but did not return; and in due time the throne was filled by
his next brother.
And
so it happened to the other five, but when the youngest became king, and he
also proclaimed a hunt in the mountain, a loud lament was raised in the city.
'Who
will reign over us when you are dead? For dead you surely will be,' cried they.
'Stay with us, and we will make you happy.' And for a while he listened to
their prayers, and the land grew rich and prosperous under his rule. But in a
few years the restless fit again took possession of him, and this time he would
hear nothing. Hunt in that forest he would, and calling his friends and
attendants round him, he set out one morning across the desert.
They
were riding through a rocky valley, when a deer sprang up in front of them and
bounded away. The king instantly gave chase, followed by his attendants; but
the animal ran so swiftly that they never could get up to it, and at length it
vanished in the depths of the forest.
Then
the young man drew rein for the first time, and looked about him. He had left
his companions far behind, and, glancing back, he beheld them entering some
tents, dotted here and there amongst the trees. For himself, the fresh coolness
of the woods was more attractive to him than any food, however delicious, and
for hours he strolled about as his fancy led him.
By-and-by,
however, it began to grow dark, and he thought that the moment had arrived for
them to start for the palace. So, leaving the forest with a sigh, he made his
way down to the tents, but what was his horror to find his men lying about,
some dead, some dying. These were past speech, but speech was needless. It was
as clear as day that the wine they had drunk contained deadly poison.
'I
am too late to help you, my poor friends,' he said, gazing at them sadly; 'but
at least I can avenge you! Those that have set the snare will certainly return
to see to its working. I will hide myself somewhere, and discover who they
are!'
Near
the spot where he stood he noticed a large walnut tree, and into this he
climbed. Night soon fell, and nothing broke the stillness of the place; but
with the earliest glimpse of dawn a noise of galloping hoofs was heard.
Pushing
the branches aside the young man beheld a youth approaching, mounted on a white
horse. On reaching the tents the cavalier dismounted, and closely inspected the
dead bodies that lay about them. Then, one by one, he dragged them to a ravine
close by and threw them into a lake at the bottom. While he was doing this, the
servants who had followed him led away the horses of the ill-fated men, and the
courtiers were ordered to let loose the deer, which was used as a decoy, and to
see that the tables in the tents were covered as before with food and wine.
Having
made these arrangements he strolled slowly through the forest, but great was
his surprise to come upon a beautiful horse hidden in the depths of a thicket.
'There
was a horse for every dead man,' he said to himself. 'Then whose is this?'
'Mine!'
answered a voice from a walnut tree close by. 'Who are you that lure men into
your power and then poison them? But you shall do so no longer. Return to your
house, wherever it may be, and we will fight before it!'
The
cavalier remained speechless with anger at these words; then with a great
effort he replied:
'I
accept your challenge. Mount and follow me. I am Zoulvisia.' And, springing on
his horse, he was out of sight so quickly that the king had only time to notice
that light seemed to flow from himself and his steed, and that the hair under
his helmet was like liquid gold.
Clearly,
the cavalier was a woman. But who could she be? Was she queen of all the
queens? Or was she chief of a band of robbers? She was neither: only a
beautiful maiden.
Wrapped
in these reflections, he remained standing beneath the walnut tree, long after
horse and rider had vanished from sight. Then he awoke with a start, to
remember that he must find the way to the house of his enemy, though where it
was he had no notion. However, he took the path down which the rider had come,
and walked along it for many hours till he came to three huts side by side, in
each of which lived an old fairy and her sons.
The
poor king was by this time so tired and hungry that he could hardly speak, but
when he had drunk some milk, and rested a little, he was able to reply to the
questions they eagerly put to him.
'I
am going to seek Zoulvisia,' said he, 'she has slain my brothers and many of my
subjects, and I mean to avenge them.'
He
had only spoken to the inhabitants of one house, but from all three came an
answering murmur.
'What
a pity we did not know! Twice this day has she passed our door, and we might
have kept her prisoner.'
But
though their words were brave their hearts were not, for the mere thought of
Zoulvisia made them tremble.
'Forget
Zoulvisia, and stay with us,' they all said, holding out their hands; 'you
shall be our big brother, and we will be your little brothers.' But the king
would not.
Drawing
from his pocket a pair of scissors, a razor and a mirror, he gave one to each
of the old fairies, saying:
'Though
I may not give up my vengeance I accept your friendship, and therefore leave
you these three tokens. If blood should appear on the face of either know that
my life is in danger, and, in memory of our sworn brotherhood, come to my aid.'
'We
will come,' they answered. And the king mounted his horse and set out along the
road they showed him.
By
the light of the moon he presently perceived a splendid palace, but, though he
rode twice round it, he could find no door. He was considering what he should
do next, when he heard the sound of loud snoring, which seemed to come from his
feet. Looking down, he beheld an old man lying at the bottom of a deep pit,
just outside the walls, with a lantern by his side.
'Perhaps
he may be able to give me some counsel,' thought the king; and, with some
difficulty, he scrambled into the pit and laid his hand on the shoulder of the
sleeper.
'Are
you a bird or a snake that you can enter here?' asked the old man, awakening
with a start. But the king answered that he was a mere mortal, and that he sought
Zoulvisia.
'Zoulvisia?
The world's curse?' replied he, gnashing his teeth. 'Out of all the thousands
she has slain I am the only one who has escaped, though why she spared me only
to condemn me to this living death I cannot guess.'
'Help
me if you can,' said the king. And he told the old man his story, to which he
listened intently.
'Take
heed then to my counsel,' answered the old man. 'Know that every day at sunrise
Zoulvisia dresses herself in her jacket of pearls, and mounts the steps of her
crystal watch-tower. From there she can see all over her lands, and behold the
entrance of either man or demon. If so much as one is detected she utters such
fearful cries that those who hear her die of fright. But hide yourself in a
cave that lies near the foot of the tower, and plant a forked stick in front of
it; then, when she has uttered her third cry, go forth boldly, and look up at
the tower. And go without fear, for you will have broken her power.'
Word
for word the king did as the old man had bidden him, and when he stepped forth
from the cave, their eyes met.
'You
have conquered me,' said Zoulvisia, 'and are worthy to be my husband, for you
are the first man who has not died at the sound of my voice!' And letting down
her golden hair, she drew up the king to the summit of the tower as with a
rope. Then she led him into the hall of audience, and presented him to her
household.
'Ask
of me what you will, and I will grant it to you,' whispered Zoulvisia with a
smile, as they sat together on a mossy bank by the stream. And the king prayed
her to set free the old man to whom he owed his life, and to send him back to
his own country.
*
* * * *
'I
have finished with hunting, and with riding about my lands,' said Zoulvisia,
the day that they were married. 'The care of providing for us all belongs
henceforth to you.' And turning to her attendants, she bade them bring the
horse of fire before her.
'This
is your master, O my steed of flame,' cried she; 'and you will serve him as you
have served me.' And kissing him between his eyes, she placed the bridle in the
hand of her husband.
The
horse looked for a moment at the young man, and then bent his head, while the
king patted his neck and smoothed his tail, till they felt themselves old friends.
After this he mounted to do Zoulvisia's bidding, but before he started she gave
him a case of pearls containing one of her hairs, which he tucked into the
breast of his coat.
He
rode along for some time, without seeing any game to bring home for dinner.
Suddenly a fine stag started up almost under his feet, and he at once gave
chase. On they sped, but the stag twisted and turned so that the king had no
chance of a shot till they reached a broad river, when the animal jumped in and
swam across. The king fitted his cross-bow with a bolt, and took aim, but
though he succeeded in wounding the stag, it contrived to gain the opposite
bank, and in his excitement he never observed that the case of pearls had
fallen into the water.
*
* * * *
The
stream, though deep, was likewise rapid, and the box was swirled along miles,
and miles, and miles, till it was washed up in quite another country. Here it
was picked up by one of the water-carriers belonging to the palace, who showed
it to the king. The workmanship of the case was so curious, and the pearls so
rare, that the king could not make up his mind to part with it, but he gave the
man a good price, and sent him away. Then, summoning his chamberlain, he bade
him find out its history in three days, or lose his head.
But
the answer to the riddle, which puzzled all the magicians and wise men, was
given by an old woman, who came up to the palace and told the chamberlain that,
for two handfuls of gold, she would reveal the mystery.
Of
course the chamberlain gladly gave her what she asked, and in return she
informed him that the case and the hair belonged to Zoulvisia.
'Bring
her hither, old crone, and you shall have gold enough to stand up in,' said the
chamberlain. And the old woman answered that she would try what she could do.
She
went back to her hut in the middle of the forest, and standing in the doorway,
whistled softly. Soon the dead leaves on the ground began to move and to
rustle, and from underneath them there came a long train of serpents. They
wriggled to the feet of the witch, who stooped down and patted their heads, and
gave each one some milk in a red earthen basin. When they had all finished, she
whistled again, and bade two or three coil themselves round her arms and neck,
while she turned one into a cane and another into a whip. Then she took a
stick, and on the river bank changed it into a raft, and seating herself
comfortably, she pushed off into the centre of the stream.
All
that day she floated, and all the next night, and towards sunset the following
evening she found herself close to Zoulvisia's garden, just at the moment that
the king, on the horse of flame, was returning from hunting.
'Who
are you?' he asked in surprise; for old women travelling on rafts were not
common in that country. 'Who are you, and why have you come here?'
'I
am a poor pilgrim, my son,' answered she, 'and having missed the caravan, I
have wandered foodless for many days through the desert, till at length I
reached the river. There I found this tiny raft, and to it I committed myself,
not knowing if I should live or die. But since you have found me, give me, I
pray you, bread to eat, and let me lie this night by the dog who guards your
door!'
This
piteous tale touched the heart of the young man, and he promised that he would
bring her food, and that she should pass the night in his palace.
'But
mount behind me, good woman,' cried he, 'for you have walked far, and it is
still a long way to the palace.' And as he spoke he bent down to help her, but
the horse swerved on one side.
And
so it happened twice and thrice, and the old witch guessed the reason, though
the king did not.
'I
fear to fall off,' said she; 'but as your kind heart pities my sorrows, ride
slowly, and lame as I am, I think I can manage to keep up.'
At
the door he bade the witch to rest herself, and he would fetch her all she
needed. But Zoulvisia his wife grew pale when she heard whom he had brought,
and besought him to feed the old woman and send her away, as she would cause
mischief to befall them.
The
king laughed at her fears, and answered lightly:
'Why,
one would think she was a witch to hear you talk! And even if she were, what
harm could she do to us?' And calling to the maidens he bade them carry her
food, and to let her sleep in their chamber.
Now
the old woman was very cunning, and kept the maidens awake half the night with
all kinds of strange stories. Indeed, the next morning, while they were
dressing their mistress, one of them suddenly broke into a laugh, in which the
others joined her.
'What
is the matter with you?' asked Zoulvisia. And the maid answered that she was
thinking of a droll adventure told them the evening before by the new-comer.
'And,
oh, madam!' cried the girl, 'it may be that she is a witch, as they say; but I
am sure she never would work a spell to harm a fly! And as for her tales, they
would pass many a dull hour for you, when my lord was absent!'
So,
in an evil hour, Zoulvisia consented that the crone should be brought to her, and
from that moment the two were hardly ever apart.
*
* * * *
One
day the witch began to talk about the young king, and to declare that in all
the lands she had visited she had seen none like him.
'It
was so clever of him to guess your secret so as to win your heart,' said she.
'And of course he told you his, in return?'
'No,
I don't think he has got any,' returned Zoulvisia.
'Not
got any secrets?' cried the old woman scornfully. 'That is nonsense! Every man
has a secret, which he always tells to the woman he loves. And if he has not
told it to you, it is that he does not love you!'
These
words troubled Zoulvisia mightily, though she would not confess it to the
witch. But the next time she found herself alone with her husband, she began to
coax him to tell her in what lay the secret of his strength. For a long while
he put her off with caresses, but when she would be no longer denied, he
answered:
'It
is my sabre that gives me strength, and day and night it lies by my side. But
now that I have told you, swear upon this ring, that I will give you in
exchange for yours, that you will reveal it to nobody.' And Zoulvisia swore;
and instantly hastened to betray the great news to the old woman.
Four
nights later, when all the world was asleep, the witch softly crept into the
king's chamber and took the sabre from his side as he lay sleeping. Then,
opening her lattice, she flew on to the terrace and dropped the sword into the
river.
The
next morning everyone was surprised because the king did not, as usual, rise
early and go off to hunt. The attendants listened at the keyhole and heard the
sound of heavy breathing, but none dared enter, till Zoulvisia pushed past. And
what a sight met their gaze! There lay the king almost dead, with foam on his
mouth, and eyes that were already closed. They wept, and they cried to him, but
no answer came.
Suddenly
a shriek broke from those who stood hindmost, and in strode the witch, with
serpents round her neck and arms and hair. At a sign from her they flung
themselves with a hiss upon the maidens, whose flesh was pierced with their
poisonous fangs. Then turning to Zoulvisia, she said:
'I
give you your choice--will you come with me, or shall the serpents slay you
also?' And as the terrified girl stared at her, unable to utter one word, she
seized her by the arm and led her to the place where the raft was hidden among
the rushes. When they were both on board she took the oars, and they floated
down the stream till they had reached the neighbouring country, where Zoulvisia
was sold for a sack of gold to the king.
Now,
since the young man had entered the three huts on his way through the forest,
not a morning had passed without the sons of the three fairies examining the
scissors, the razor and the mirror, which the young king had left them.
Hitherto the surfaces of all three things had been bright and undimmed, but on
this particular morning, when they took them out as usual, drops of blood stood
on the razor and the scissors, while the little mirror was clouded over.
'Something
terrible must have happened to our little brother,' they whispered to each
other, with awestruck faces; 'we must hasten to his rescue ere it be too late.'
And putting on their magic slippers they started for the palace.
The
servants greeted them eagerly, ready to pour forth all they knew, but that was
not much; only that the sabre had vanished, none knew where. The new-comers
passed the whole of the day in searching for it, but it could not be found, and
when night closed in, they were very tired and hungry. But how were they to get
food? The king had not hunted that day, and there was nothing for them to eat.
The little men were in despair, when a ray of the moon suddenly lit up the
river beneath the walls.
'How
stupid! Of course there are fish to catch,' cried they; and running down to the
bank they soon succeeded in landing some fine fish, which they cooked on the
spot. Then they felt better, and began to look about them.
Further
out, in the middle of the stream, there was a strange splashing, and by-and-by
the body of a huge fish appeared, turning and twisting as if in pain. The eyes
of all the brothers were fixed on the spot, when the fish leapt in the air, and
a bright gleam flashed through the night. 'The sabre!' they shouted, and
plunged into the stream, and with a sharp tug, pulled out the sword, while the
fish lay on the water, exhausted by its struggles. Swimming back with the sabre
to land, they carefully dried it in their coats, and then carried it to the palace
and placed it on the king's pillow. In an instant colour came back to the waxen
face, and the hollow cheeks filled out. The king sat up, and opening his eyes
he said:
'Where
is Zoulvisia?'
'That
is what we do not know,' answered the little men; 'but now that you are saved
you will soon find out.' And they told him what had happened since Zoulvisia
had betrayed his secret to the witch.
'Let
me go to my horse,' was all he said. But when he entered the stable he could
have wept at the sight of his favourite steed, which was nearly in as sad a
plight as his master had been. Languidly he turned his head as the door swung
back on its hinges, but when he beheld the king he rose up, and rubbed his head
against him.
'Oh,
my poor horse! How much cleverer were you than I! If I had acted like you I
should never have lost Zoulvisia; but we will seek her together, you and I.'
*
* * * *
For
a long while the king and his horse followed the course of the stream, but
nowhere could he learn anything of Zoulvisia. At length, one evening, they both
stopped to rest by a cottage not far from a great city, and as the king was
lying outstretched on the grass, lazily watching his horse cropping the short
turf, an old woman came out with a wooden bowl of fresh milk, which she offered
him.
He
drank it eagerly, for he was very thirsty, and then laying down the bowl, began
to talk to the woman, who was delighted to have someone to listen to her
conversation.
'You
are in luck to have passed this way just now,' said she, 'for in five days the
king holds his wedding banquet. Ah! but the bride is unwilling, for all her
blue eyes and her golden hair! And she keeps by her side a cup of poison, and
declares that she will swallow it rather than become his wife. Yet he is a handsome
man too, and a proper husband for her--more than she could have looked for,
having come no one knows whither, and bought from a witch----'
The
king started. Had he found her after all? His heart beat violently, as if it
would choke him; but he gasped out:
'Is
her name Zoulvisia?'
'Ay,
so she says, though the old witch---- But what ails you?' she broke off, as the
young man sprang to his feet and seized her wrists.
'Listen
to me,' he said. 'Can you keep a secret?'
'Ay,'
answered the old woman again, 'if I am paid for it.'
'Oh,
you shall be paid, never fear--as much as your heart can desire! Here is a
handful of gold: you shall have as much again if you will do my bidding.' The
old crone nodded her head.
'Then
go and buy a dress such as ladies wear at court, and manage to get admitted
into the palace, and into the presence of Zoulvisia. When there, show her this
ring, and after that she will tell you what to do.'
So
the old woman set off, and clothed herself in a garment of yellow silk, and
wrapped a veil closely round her head. In this dress she walked boldly up the
palace steps behind some merchants whom the king had sent for to bring presents
for Zoulvisia.
At
first the bride would have nothing to say to any of them; but on perceiving the
ring, she suddenly grew as meek as a lamb. And thanking the merchants for their
trouble, she sent them away, and remained alone with her visitor.
'Grandmother,'
asked Zoulvisia, as soon as the door was safely shut, 'where is the owner of
this ring?'
'In
my cottage,' answered the old woman, 'waiting for orders from you.'
'Tell
him to remain there for three days; and now go to the king of this country, and
say that you have succeeded in bringing me to reason. Then he will let me alone
and will cease to watch me. On the third day from this I shall be wandering
about the garden near the river, and there your guest will find me. The rest
concerns myself only.'
*
* * * *
The
morning of the third day dawned, and with the first rays of the sun a bustle
began in the palace; for that evening the king was to marry Zoulvisia. Tents
were being erected of fine scarlet cloth, decked with wreaths of sweet-smelling
white flowers, and in them the banquet was spread. When all was ready a procession
was formed to fetch the bride, who had been wandering in the palace gardens
since daylight, and crowds lined the way to see her pass. A glimpse of her
dress of golden gauze might be caught, as she passed from one flowery thicket
to another; then suddenly the multitude swayed, and shrank back, as a
thunderbolt seemed to flash out of the sky to the place where Zoulvisia was
standing. Ah! but it was no thunderbolt, only the horse of fire! And when the
people looked again, it was bounding away with two persons on its back.
*
* * * *
Zoulvisia
and her husband both learnt how to keep happiness when they had got it; and
that is a lesson that many men and woman never learn at all. And besides, it is
a lesson which nobody can teach, and that every boy and girl must learn for
themselves.
(From
Contes Armeniens. Par Frederic Macler.)
The
Olive Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1907], at sacred-texts.com
[f20]
GRASP
ALL, LOSE ALL
Once,
in former times, there lived in a certain city in India a poor oil-seller,
called Dena, who never could keep any money in his pockets; and when this story
begins he had borrowed from a banker, of the name of Lena, the sum of one
hundred rupees; which, with the interest Lena always charged, amounted to a
debt of three hundred rupees. Now Dena was doing a very bad business, and had
no money with which to pay his debt, so Lena was very angry, and used to come
round to Dena's house every evening and abuse him until the poor man was nearly
worried out of his life. Lena generally fixed his visit just when Dena's wife
was cooking the evening meal, and would make such a scene that the poor
oil-seller and his wife and daughter quite lost their appetites, and could eat
nothing. This went on for some weeks, till, one day, Dena said to himself that
he could stand it no longer, and that he had better run away; and, as a man
cannot fly easily with a wife and daughter, he thought he must leave them
behind. So that evening, instead of turning into his house as usual after his
day's work, he just slipped out of the city without knowing very well where he
was going.
At
about ten o'clock that night Dena came to a well by the wayside, near which
grew a giant peepul tree; and, as he was very tired, he determined to climb it,
and rest for a little before continuing his journey in the morning. Up he went
and curled himself so comfortably amongst the great branches that, overcome
with weariness, he fell fast asleep. Whilst he slept, some spirits, who roam
about such places on certain nights, picked up the tree and flew away with it
to a far-away shore where no creature lived, and there, long before the sun
rose, they set it down. Just then the oil-seller awoke; but instead of finding
himself in the midst of a forest, he was amazed to behold nothing but waste
shore and wide sea, and was dumb with horror and astonishment. Whilst he sat
up, trying to collect his senses, he began to catch sight here and there of
twinkling, flashing lights, like little fires, that moved and sparkled all
about, and wondered what they were. Presently he saw one so close to him that
he reached out his hand and grasped it, and found that it was a sparkling red
stone, scarcely smaller than a walnut. He opened a corner of his loin-cloth and
tied the stone in it; and by-and-by he got another, and then a third, and a
fourth, all of which he tied up carefully in his cloth. At last, just as the
day was breaking, the tree rose, and, flying rapidly through the air, was
deposited once more by the well where it had stood the previous evening.
When
Dena had recovered a little from the fright which the extraordinary antics of
the tree had caused him, he began to thank Providence that he was alive, and,
as his love of wandering had been quite cured, he made his way back to the city
and to his own house. Here he was met and soundly scolded by his wife, who
assailed him with a hundred questions and reproaches. As soon as she paused for
breath, Dena replied:
'I
have only this one thing to say, just look what I have got!' And, after carefully
shutting all the doors, he opened the corner of his loin-cloth and showed her
the four stones, which glittered and flashed as he turned them over and over.
'Pooh!'
said his wife, 'the silly pebbles! If it was something to eat, now, there'd be
some sense in them; but what's the good of such things?' And she turned away
with a sniff, for it had happened that the night before, when Lena had come
round as usual to storm at Dena, he had been rather disturbed to find that his
victim was from home, and had frightened the poor woman by his threats.
Directly, however, he heard that Dena had come back, Lena appeared in the
doorway. For some minutes he talked to the oil-seller at the top of his voice,
until he was tired, then Dena said:
'If
your honour would deign to walk into my humble dwelling, I will speak.'
So
Lena walked in, and the other, shutting as before all the doors, untied the
corner of his loin-cloth and showed him the four great flashing stones.
'This
is all,' said he, 'that I have in the world to set against my debt, for, as
your honour knows, I haven't a penny, but the stones are pretty!'
Now
Lena looked and saw at once that these were magnificent rubies, and his mouth
watered for them; but as it would never do to show what was in his mind, he
went on:
'What
do I care about your stupid stones? It is my money I want, my lawful debt which
you owe me, and I shall get it out of you yet somehow or another, or it will be
the worst for you.'
To
all his reproaches Dena could answer nothing, but sat with his hands joined
together beseechingly, asking for patience and pity. At length Lena pretended
that, rather than have a bad debt on his hand, he would be at the loss of
taking the stones in lieu of his money; and, whilst Dena nearly wept with
gratitude, he wrote out a receipt for the three hundred rupees; and, wrapping
the four stones in a cloth, he put them into his bosom, and went off to his
house.
'How
shall I turn these rubies into money?' thought Lena, as he walked along; 'I
daren't keep them, for they are of great value, and if the rajah heard that I
had them he would probably put me into prison on some pretence and seize the
stones and all else that I have as well. But what a bargain I have got! Four
rubies worth a king's ransom, for one hundred rupees! Well, well, I must take
heed not to betray my secret.' And he went on making plans. Presently he made
up his mind what to do, and, putting on his cleanest clothes, he set off to the
house of the chief wazir, whose name was Musli, and, after seeking a private
audience, he brought out the four rubies and laid them before him.
The
wazir's eyes sparkled as he beheld the splendid gems.
'Fine,
indeed,' murmured he. 'I can't buy them at their real value; but, if you like
to take it, I will give you ten thousand rupees for the four.'
To
this the banker consented gratefully; and handing over the stones in exchange
for the rupees, he hurried home, thanking his stars that he had driven such a
reasonable bargain and obtained such an enormous profit.
After
Lena had departed the wazir began casting about in his mind what to do with the
gems; and very soon determined that the best thing to do was to present them to
the rajah, whose name was Kahre. Without losing a moment, he went that very day
to the palace, and sought a private interview with the rajah; and when he found
himself alone with his royal master, he brought the four jewels and laid them
before him.
'Oh,
ho!' said the rajah, 'these are priceless gems, and you have done well to give
them to me. In return I give you and your heirs the revenues of ten villages.'
Now
the wazir was overjoyed at these words, but only made his deepest obeisance;
and, whilst the king put the rubies into his turban, hurried away beaming with
happiness at the thought that for ten thousand rupees he had become lord of ten
villages. The rajah was also equally pleased, and strolled off with his new
purchases to the women's quarters and showed them to the queen, who was nearly
out of her mind with delight. Then, as she turned them over and over in her
hands, she said: 'Ah! if I had eight more such gems, what a necklace they would
make! Get me eight more of them or I shall die!'
'Most
unreasonable of women,' cried the rajah, 'where am I to get eight more such
jewels as these? I gave ten villages for them, and yet you are not satisfied!'
'What
does it matter?' said the rani; 'do you want me to die? Surely you can get some
more where these came from?' And then she fell to weeping and wailing until the
rajah promised that in the morning he would make arrangements to get some more
such rubies, and that if she would be patient she should have her desire.
In
the morning the rajah sent for the wazir, and said that he must manage to get
eight more rubies like those he had brought him the day before, 'and if you
don't I shall hang you,' cried the rajah, for he was very cross. The poor wazir
protested in vain that he knew not where to seek them; his master would not
listen to a word he said.
'You
must,' said he; 'the rani shall not die for the want of a few rubies! Get more
where those came from.'
*
* * * *
The
wazir left the palace, much troubled in mind, and bade his slaves bring Lena
before him. 'Get me eight more such rubies as those you brought yesterday,'
commanded the wazir, directly the banker was shown into his presence. 'Eight
more, and be quick, or I am a dead man.'
'But
how can I?' wailed Lena; 'rubies like those don't grow upon bushes!'
'Where
did you get them from?' asked the wazir.
'From
Dena, the oil-seller,' said the banker.
'Well,
send for him and ask him where he got them,' answered the wazir. 'I am not
going to hang for twenty Denas!' And more slaves were sent to summon Dena.
When
Dena arrived he was closely questioned, and then all three started to see the
rajah, and to him Dena told the whole story.
'What
night was it that you slept in the peepul tree?' demanded the rajah.
'I
can't remember,' said Dena; 'but my wife will know.'
Then
Dena's wife was sent for, and she explained that it was on the last Sunday of
the new moon.
Now
everyone knows that it is on the Sunday of the new moon that spirits have
special power to play pranks upon mortals. So the rajah forbade them all, on
pain of death, to say a word to anyone; and declared that, on the next Sunday
of the new moon, they four--Kahre, Musli, Lena and Dena--would go and sit in
the peepul tree and see what happened.
The
days dragged on to the appointed Sunday, and that evening the four met
secretly, and entered the forest. They had not far to go before they reached
the peepul tree, into which they climbed as the rajah had planned. At midnight
the tree began to sway, and presently it moved through the air.
'See,
sire,' whispered Dena, 'the tree is flying!'
'Yes,
yes,' said the rajah, 'you have told the truth. Now sit quiet, and we shall see
what happens.'
Away
and away flew the tree with the four men clinging tightly to its branches,
until at last it was set down by the waste sea-shore where a great wide sea
came tumbling in on a desert beach. Presently, as before, they began to see
little points of light that glistened like fires all around them. Then Dena
thought to himself:
'Think!
last time I only took four that came close to me, and I got rid of all my debt
in return. This time I will take all I can get and be rich!'
'If
I got ten thousand rupees for four stones,' thought Lena, 'I will gather forty
now for myself, and become so wealthy that they will probably make me a wazir
at least!'
'For
four stones I received ten villages,' Musli was silently thinking; 'now I will
get stones enough to purchase a kingdom, become a rajah, and employ wazirs of
my own!'
And
Kahre thought: 'What is the good of only getting eight stones? Why, here are
enough to make twenty necklaces; and wealth means power!'
Full
of avarice and desire, each scrambled down from the tree, spread his cloth, and
darted hither and thither picking up the precious jewels, looking the while
over his shoulder to see whether his neighbour fared better than he. So
engrossed were they in the business of gathering wealth that the dawn came upon
them unawares; and suddenly the tree rose up again and flew away, leaving them
upon the sea-shore staring after it, each with his cloth heavy with priceless
jewels.
*
* * * *
Morning
broke in the city, and great was the consternation in the palace when the
chamberlains declared that the rajah had gone out the evening before and had
not returned.
'Ah!'
said one, 'it is all right! Musli wazir will know where he is, for it was he
who was the king's companion.'
Then
they went to the wazir's house, and there they learnt that the wazir had left
it the evening before and had not returned; 'but,' said a servant, 'Lena the
banker will know where he is, for it was with him that Musli went.'
Then
they visited the house of Lena, and there they learnt that the banker had gone
out the evening before, and that he too had not returned; but the porter told
them that he was accompanied by Dena the oil-seller, so he would know where
they were.
So
they departed to Dena's house, and Dena's wife met them with a torrent of
reproaches and wailings, for Dena too had gone off the evening before to Lena's
house and had not returned.
In
vain they waited, and searched--never did any of the hapless four return to
their homes; and the confused tale which was told by Dena's wife was the only
clue to their fate.
To
this day, in that country, when a greedy man has overreached himself, and lost
all in grasping at too much, folks say:
'All
has he lost!--neither Dena, nor Lena, nor Musli, nor Kahre remain.' And not
five men in a hundred know how the proverb began, nor what it really signifies.
(Major
Campbell, Feroshepore.)
The
Olive Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1907], at sacred-texts.com
[f21]
THE
FATE OF THE TURTLE
In
a very hot country, far away to the east, was a beautiful little lake where two
wild ducks made their home, and passed their days swimming and playing in its
clear waters. They had it all to themselves, except for a turtle, who was many
years older than they were, and had come there before them, and, luckily,
instead of taking a dislike to the turtle, as so often happens when you have
only one person to speak to, they became great friends, and spent most of the
day in each other's company.
All
went on smoothly and happily till one summer, when the rains failed and the sun
shone so fiercely that every morning there was a little less water in the lake
and a little more mud on the bank. The water-lilies around the edge began to
droop, and the palms to hang their heads, and the ducks' favourite swimming
place, where they could dive the deepest, to grow shallower and shallower. At
length there came a morning when the ducks looked at each other uneasily, and
before nightfall they had whispered that if at the end of two days rain had not
come, they must fly away and seek a new home, for if they stayed in their old
one, which they loved so much, they would certainly die of thirst.
Earnestly
they watched the sky for many hours before they tucked their heads under their
wings and fell asleep from sheer weariness, but not the tiniest cloud was to be
seen covering the stars that shone so big and brilliant, and hung so low in the
heavens that you felt as if you could touch them. So, when the morning broke,
they made up their minds that they must go and tell the turtle of their plans,
and bid him farewell.
They
found him comfortably curled up on a pile of dead rushes, more than half
asleep, for he was old, and could not venture out in the heat as he once used.
'Ah!
here you are,' he cried; 'I began to wonder if I was ever going to see you
again, for, somehow, though the lake has grown smaller, I seem to have grown
weaker, and it is lonely spending all day and night by oneself!'
'Oh!
my friend,' answered the elder of the two ducks, 'if you have suffered we have
suffered also. Besides, I have something to tell you, that I fear will cause
you greater pain still. If we do not wish to die of thirst we must leave this
place at once, and seek another where the sun's rays do not come. My heart
bleeds to say this, for there is nothing--nothing else in the world--which
would have induced us to separate from you.'
The
turtle was so astonished as well as so distressed at the duck's speech that for
a moment he could find no words to reply. But when he had forced back his
tears, he said in a shaky voice:
'How
can you think that I am able to live without you, when for so long you have
been my only friends? If you leave me, death will speedily put an end to my
grief.'
'Our
sorrow is as great as yours,' answered the other duck, 'but what can we do? And
remember that if we are not here to drink the water, there will be the more for
you! If it had not been for this terrible misfortune, be sure that nothing
would have parted us from one whom we love so dearly.'
'My
friends,' replied the turtle, 'water is as necessary to me as to you, and if
death stares in your faces, it stares in mine also. But in the name of all the
years we have passed together, do not, I beseech you, leave me to perish here
alone! Wherever you may go take me with you!'
There
was a pause. The ducks felt wretched at the thought of abandoning their old
comrade, yet, at the same time, how could they grant his prayer? It seemed
quite impossible, and at length one of them spoke:
'Oh,
how can I find words to refuse?' cried he, 'yet how can we do what you ask?
Consider that, like yours, our bodies are heavy and our feet small. Therefore,
how could we walk with you over mountains and deserts, till we reached a land
where the sun's rays no longer burn? Why, before the day was out we should all
three be dead of fatigue and hunger! No, our only hope lies in our wings--and,
alas! you cannot fly!'
'No,
I cannot fly, of course,' answered the turtle, with a sigh. 'But you are so
clever, and have seen so much of the world--surely you can think of some plan?'
And he fixed his eyes eagerly on them. Now, when the ducks saw how ardently the
turtle wished to accompany them their hearts were touched, and making a sign to
their friend that they wished to be alone they swam out into the lake to
consult together. Though he could not hear what they said, the turtle could
watch, and the half-hour that their talk lasted felt to him like a hundred
years. At length he beheld them returning side by side, and so great was his
anxiety to know his fate he almost died from excitement before they reached
him.
'We
hope we have found a plan that may do for you,' said the big duck gravely, 'but
we must warn you that it is not without great danger, especially if you are not
careful to follow our directions.'
'How
is it possible that I should not follow your directions when my life and
happiness are at stake?' asked the turtle joyfully. 'Tell me what they are, and
I will promise to obey them gratefully.'
'Well,
then,' answered the duck, 'whilst we are carrying you through the air, in the
manner that we have fixed upon, you must remain as quiet as if you were dead. However
high above the earth you may find yourself, you must not feel afraid, nor move
your feet nor open your mouth. No matter what you see or hear, it is absolutely
needful for you to be perfectly still, or I cannot answer for the
consequences.'
'I
will be absolutely obedient,' answered the turtle, 'not only on this occasion
but during all my life; and once more I promise faithfully not to move head or
foot, to fear nothing, and never to speak a word during the whole journey.'
This
being settled, the ducks swam about till they found, floating in the lake, a
good stout stick. This they tied to their necks with some of the tough
water-lily roots, and returned as quickly as they could to the turtle.
'Now,'
said the elder duck, pushing the stick gently towards his friend, 'take this
stick firmly in your mouth, and do not let it go till we have set you down on
earth again.'
The
turtle did as he was told, and the ducks in their turn seized the stick by the
two ends, spread their wings and mounted swiftly into the air, the turtle
hanging between them.
For
a while all went well. They swept across valleys, over great mountains, above
ruined cities, but no lake was to be seen anywhere. Still, the turtle had faith
in his friends, and bravely hung on to the stick.
At
length they saw in the distance a small village, and very soon they were
passing over the roofs of the houses. The people were so astonished at the
strange sight, that they all--men, women and children--ran out to see it, and
cried to each other:
'Look!
look! behold a miracle! Two ducks supporting a turtle! Was ever such a thing
known before!' Indeed, so great was the surprise that men left their ploughing
and women their weaving in order to add their voices to their friends'.
The
ducks flew steadily on, heeding nothing of the commotion below; but not so the
turtle. At first he kept silence, as he had been bidden to do, but at length
the clamour below proved too much for him, and he began to think that everyone
was envying him the power of travelling through the air. In an evil moment he
forgot the promises he had made so solemnly, and opened his mouth to reply,
but, before he could utter a word, he was rushing so swiftly through the air
that he quickly became unconscious, and in this state was dashed to pieces
against the side of a house. Then the ducks let fall after him the stick that
had held up their friend, and which was of no further use. Sadly they looked at
each other and shook their heads.
'We
feared it would end so,' said they, 'yet, perhaps, he was right after all.
Certainly this death was better than the one which awaited him.'
(From
Les Contes et Fables Indiennes. Par M. Galland, 1724.)
The
Olive Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1907], at sacred-texts.com
[f22]
THE
SNAKE PRINCE
Once
upon a time there lived by herself, in a city, an old woman who was desperately
poor. One day she found that she had only a handful of flour left in the house,
and no money to buy more nor hope of earning it. Carrying her little brass pot,
very sadly she made her way down to the river to bathe and to obtain some
water, thinking afterwards to come home and to make herself an unleavened cake
of what flour she had left; and after that she did not know what was to become
of her.
Whilst
she was bathing she left her little brass pot on the river bank covered with a
cloth, to keep the inside nice and clean; but when she came up out of the river
and took the cloth off to fill the pot with water, she saw inside it the
glittering folds of a deadly snake. At once she popped the cloth again into the
mouth of the pot and held it there; and then she said to herself:
'Ah,
kind death! I will take thee home to my house, and there I will shake thee out
of my pot and thou shalt bite me and I will die, and then all my troubles will
be ended.'
With
these sad thoughts in her mind the poor old woman hurried home, holding her
cloth carefully in the mouth of the pot; and when she got home she shut all the
doors and windows, and took away the cloth, and turned the pot upside down upon
her hearthstone. What was her surprise to find that, instead of the deadly
snake which she expected to see fall out of it, there fell out with a rattle
and a clang a most magnificent necklace of flashing jewels!
For
a few minutes she could hardly think or speak, but stood staring; and then with
trembling hands she picked the necklace up, and folding it in the corner of her
veil, she hurried off to the king's hall of public audience.
'A
petition, O king!' she said. 'A petition for thy private ear alone!' And when
her prayer had been granted, and she found herself alone with the king, she
shook out her veil at his feet, and there fell from it in glittering coils the
splendid necklace. As soon as the king saw it he was filled with amazement and
delight, and the more he looked at it the more he felt that he must possess it
at once. So he gave the old woman five hundred silver pieces for it, and put it
straightway into his pocket. Away she went full of happiness; for the money that
the king had given her was enough to keep her for the rest of her life.
As
soon as he could leave his business the king hurried off and showed his wife
his prize, with which she was as pleased as he, if not more so; and, as soon as
they had finished admiring the wonderful necklace, they locked it up in the
great chest where the queen's jewellery was kept, the key of which hung always
round the king's neck.
A
short while afterwards, a neighbouring king sent a message to say that a most
lovely girl baby had been born to him; and he invited his neighbours to come to
a great feast in honour of the occasion. The queen told her husband that of
course they must be present at the banquet, and she would wear the new necklace
which he had given her. They had only a short time to prepare for the journey,
and at the last moment the king went to the jewel chest to take out the
necklace for his wife to wear, but he could see no necklace at all, only, in
its place, a fat little boy baby crowing and shouting. The king was so
astonished that he nearly fell backwards, but presently he found his voice, and
called for his wife so loudly that she came running, thinking that the necklace
must at least have been stolen.
'Look
here! look!' cried the king, 'haven't we always longed for a son? And now
heaven has sent us one!'
'What
do you mean?' cried the queen. 'Are you mad?'
'Mad?
no, I hope not,' shouted the king, dancing in excitement round the open chest.
'Come here, and look! Look what we've got instead of that necklace!'
Just
then the baby let out a great crow of joy, as though he would like to jump up
and dance with the king; and the queen gave a cry of surprise, and ran up and
looked into the chest.
'Oh!'
she gasped, as she looked at the baby, 'what a darling! Where could he have
come from?'
'I'm
sure I can't say,' said the king; 'all I know is that we locked up a necklace
in the chest, and when I unlocked it just now there was no necklace, but a
baby, and as fine a baby as ever was seen.'
By
this time the queen had the baby in her arms. 'Oh, the blessed one!' she cried,
'fairer ornament for the bosom of a queen than any necklace that ever was
wrought. Write,' she continued, 'write to our neighbour and say that we cannot
come to his feast, for we have a feast of our own, and a baby of our own! Oh,
happy day!'
So
the visit was given up; and, in honour of the new baby, the bells of the city,
and its guns, and its trumpets, and its people, small and great, had hardly any
rest for a week; there was such a ringing, and banging, and blaring, and such
fireworks, and feasting, and rejoicing, and merry-making, as had never been
seen before.
A
few years went by; and, as the king's boy baby and his neighbour's girl baby
grew and throve, the two kings arranged that as soon as they were old enough
they should marry; and so, with much signing of papers and agreements, and
wagging of wise heads, and stroking of grey beards, the compact was made, and
signed, and sealed, and lay waiting for its fulfilment. And this too came to
pass; for, as soon as the prince and princess were eighteen years of age, the
kings agreed that it was time for the wedding; and the young prince journeyed
away to the neighbouring kingdom for his bride, and was there married to her
with great and renewed rejoicings.
Now,
I must tell you that the old woman who had sold the king the necklace had been
called in by him to be the nurse of the young prince; and although she loved
her charge dearly, and was a most faithful servant, she could not help talking
just a little, and so, by-and-by, it began to be rumoured that there was some
magic about the young prince's birth; and the rumour of course had come in due
time to the ears of the parents of the princess. So now that she was going to
be the wife of the prince, her mother (who was curious, as many other people
are) said to her daughter on the eve of the ceremony:
'Remember
that the first thing you must do is to find out what this story is about the
prince. And in order to do it, you must not speak a word to him whatever he
says until he asks you why you are silent; then you must ask him what the truth
is about his magic birth; and until he tells you, you must not speak to him
again.'
And
the princess promised that she would follow her mother's advice.
Therefore
when they were married, and the prince spoke to his bride, she did not answer
him. He could not think what was the matter, but even about her old home she
would not utter a word. At last he asked why she would not speak; and then she
said:
'Tell
me the secret of your birth.'
Then
the prince was very sad and displeased, and although she pressed him sorely he
would not tell her, but always reply:
'If
I tell you, you will repent that ever you asked me.'
For
several months they lived together; and it was not such a happy time for either
as it ought to have been, for the secret was still a secret, and lay between
them like a cloud between the sun and the earth, making what should be fair,
dull and sad.
At
length the prince could bear it no longer; so he said to his wife one day: 'At
midnight I will tell you my secret if you still wish it; but you will repent it
all your life.' However, the princess was overjoyed that she had succeeded, and
paid no attention to his warnings.
That
night the prince ordered horses to be ready for the princess and himself a
little before midnight. He placed her on one, and mounted the other himself,
and they rode together down to the river to the place where the old woman had
first found the snake in her brass pot. There the prince drew rein and said
sadly: 'Do you still insist that I should tell you my secret?' And the princess
answered 'Yes.' 'If I do,' answered the prince, 'remember that you will regret
it all your life.' But the princess only replied 'Tell me!'
'Then,'
said the prince, 'know that I am the son of the king of a far country, but by
enchantment I was turned into a snake.'
The
word 'snake' was hardly out of his lips when he disappeared, and the princess
heard a rustle and saw a ripple on the water; and in the faint moonlight she
beheld a snake swimming into the river. Soon it disappeared and she was left
alone. In vain she waited with beating heart for something to happen, and for
the prince to come back to her. Nothing happened and no one came; only the wind
mourned through the trees on the river bank, and the night birds cried, and a
jackal howled in the distance, and the river flowed black and silent beneath
her.
In
the morning they found her, weeping and dishevelled, on the river bank; but no
word could they learn from her or from anyone as to the fate of her husband. At
her wish they built on the river bank a little house of black stone; and there
she lived in mourning, with a few servants and guards to watch over her.
A
long, long time passed by, and still the princess lived in mourning for her
prince, and saw no one, and went nowhere away from her house on the river bank
and the garden that surrounded it. One morning, when she woke up, she found a
stain of fresh mud upon the carpet. She sent for the guards, who watched
outside the house day and night, and asked them who had entered her room while
she was asleep. They declared that no one could have entered, for they kept
such careful watch that not even a bird could fly in without their knowledge;
but none of them could explain the stain of mud. The next morning, again, the
princess found another stain of wet mud, and she questioned everyone most
carefully; but none could say how the mud came there. The third night the
princess determined to lie awake herself and watch; and, for fear that she
might fall asleep, she cut her finger with a penknife and rubbed salt into the
cut, that the pain of it might keep her from sleeping. So she lay awake, and at
midnight she saw a snake come wriggling along the ground with some mud from the
river in its mouth; and when it came near the bed, it reared up its head and
dropped its muddy head on the bedclothes. She was very frightened, but tried to
control her fear, and called out:
'Who
are you, and what do you here?'
And
the snake answered:
'I
am the prince, your husband, and I am come to visit you.'
Then
the princess began to weep; and the snake continued:
'Alas!
did I not say that if I told you my secret you would repent it? and have you
not repented?'
'Oh,
indeed!' cried the poor princess, 'I have repented it, and shall repent it all
my life! Is there nothing I can do?'
And
the snake answered:
'Yes,
there is one thing, if you dared to do it.'
'Only
tell me,' said the princess, 'and I will do anything!'
'Then,'
replied the snake, 'on a certain night you must put a large bowl of milk and
sugar in each of the four corners of this room. All the snakes in the river
will come out to drink the milk, and the one that leads the way will be the
queen of the snakes. You must stand in her way at the door, and say: "Oh,
Queen of Snakes, Queen of Snakes, give me back my husband!" and perhaps
she will do it. But if you are frightened, and do not stop her, you will never see
me again.' And he glided away.
On
the night of which the snake had told her, the princess got four large bowls of
milk and sugar, and put one in each corner of the room, and stood in the
doorway waiting. At midnight there was a great hissing and rustling from the
direction of the river, and presently the ground appeared to be alive with
horrible writhing forms of snakes, whose eyes glittered and forked tongues
quivered as they moved on in the direction of the princess's house. Foremost
among them was a huge, repulsive scaly creature that led the dreadful
procession. The guards were so terrified that they all ran away; but the
princess stood in the doorway, as white as death, and with her hands clasped
tight together for fear she should scream or faint, and fail to do her part. As
they came closer and saw her in the way, all the snakes raised their horrid
heads and swayed them to and fro, and looked at her with wicked beady eyes,
while their breath seemed to poison the very air. Still the princess stood
firm, and, when the leading snake was within a few feet of her, she cried: 'Oh,
Queen of Snakes, Queen of Snakes, give me back my husband!' Then all the
rustling, writhing crowd of snakes seemed to whisper to one another 'Her
husband? her husband?' But the queen of snakes moved on until her head was
almost in the princess's face, and her little eyes seemed to flash fire. And
still the princess stood in the doorway and never moved, but cried again: 'Oh,
Queen of Snakes, Queen of Snakes, give me back my husband!' Then the queen of
snakes replied: 'To-morrow you shall have him--to-morrow!' When she heard these
words and knew that she had conquered, the princess staggered from the door,
and sank upon her bed and fainted. As in a dream, she saw that her room was
full of snakes, all jostling and squabbling over the bowls of milk until it was
finished. And then they went away.
In
the morning the princess was up early, and took off the mourning dress which
she had worn for five whole years, and put on gay and beautiful clothes. And
she swept the house and cleaned it, and adorned it with garlands and nosegays
of sweet flowers and ferns, and prepared it as though she were making ready for
her wedding. And when night fell she lit up the woods and gardens with lanterns,
and spread a table as for a feast, and lit in the house a thousand wax candles.
Then she waited for her husband, not knowing in what shape he would appear. And
at midnight there came striding from the river the prince, laughing, but with
tears in his eyes; and she ran to meet him, and threw herself into his arms,
crying and laughing too.
So
the prince came home; and the next day they two went back to the palace, and
the old king wept with joy to see them. And the bells, so long silent, were set
a-ringing again, and the guns firing, and the trumpets blaring, and there was
fresh feasting and rejoicing.
And
the old woman who had been the prince's nurse became nurse to the prince's
children--at least she was called so; though she was far too old to do anything
for them but love them. Yet she still thought that she was useful, and knew
that she was happy. And happy, indeed, were the prince and princess, who in due
time became king and queen, and lived and ruled long and prosperously.
(Major
Campbell, Feroshepore.)
The
Olive Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1907], at sacred-texts.com
[f23]
THE
PRINCE AND PRINCESS IN THE FOREST
There
were, once upon a time, a king and queen of Denmark who had an only son, a
handsome and clever lad. When he was eighteen, his father, the old king, fell
very ill, and there was no hope that he would ever get well again. The queen
and the prince were very unhappy, for they loved him dearly; but though they
did all they could, he only grew worse and worse, and, one day, when the summer
had come and the birds were singing, he raised his head and, taking a long look
out of the window, fell back dead.
During
many weeks the queen could hardly eat or sleep, so sorely did she grieve for
him, and the prince feared that she would die also if she went on weeping; so
he begged her to go with him to a beautiful place that he knew of on the other
side of the forest, and after some time she consented. The prince was
overjoyed, and arranged that they should set off early next morning.
They
travelled all day, only stopping now and then to rest, and already the queen
began to be better and to take a little interest in the things she saw. Just as
the evening was coming on they entered the forest. Here it was quite dark, for
the trees grew so close together that the sun could not shine through them, and
very soon they lost the path, and wandered helplessly about wondering what they
should do.
'If
we sleep in this dreadful place,' said the queen, who was tired and frightened,
'the wild beasts will eat us.' And she began to cry.
'Cheer
up, mother,' answered her son, 'I have a feeling that luck is coming to us.'
And at the next turning they came to a little house, in the window of which a
light was burning.
'Didn't
I tell you so?' cried the prince. 'Stay here a moment and I will go and see if
I can get food and shelter for the night.' And away he ran as fast as he could
go, for by this time they were very hungry, as they had brought very little
food with them and had eaten up every scrap! When one takes a long journey on
foot one does not like to have too much to carry.
The
prince entered the house and looked about him, going from one room to the
other, but seeing nobody and finding nothing to eat. At last, as he was going
sorrowfully away, he caught sight of a sword and shirt of mail hanging on the
wall in an inner room, with a piece of paper fastened under them. On the paper
was some writing, which said that whoever wore the coat and carried the sword
would be safe from all danger.
The
prince was so delighted at the sight that he forgot how hungry he was, and
instantly slipped on the coat of chain armour under his tunic, and hid the
sword under his cloak, for he did not mean to say anything about what he had
found. Then he went back to his mother, who was waiting impatiently for him.
'What
have you been doing all this time?' she asked angrily. 'I thought you had been
killed by robbers!'
'Oh,
just looking round,' he answered; 'but though I searched everywhere I could
find nothing to eat.'
'I
am very much afraid that it is a robbers' den,' said the queen. 'We had better
go on, hungry though we are.'
'No,
it isn't; but still, we had better not stay here,' replied the prince,
'especially as there is nothing to eat. Perhaps we shall find another house.'
They
went on for some time, until, sure enough, they came to another house, which
also had a light in the window.
'We'll
go in here,' said the prince.
'No,
no; I am afraid!' cried the queen. 'We shall be attacked and killed! It is a
robbers' den: I am sure it is!'
'Yes,
it looks like it; but we can't help that,' said her son. 'We have had nothing
to eat for hours, and I'm nearly as tired as you.'
The
poor queen was, indeed, quite worn out; she could hardly stand for fatigue, and
in spite of her terror was half anxious to be persuaded.
'And
there's going to be a storm,' added the prince; who feared nothing now that he
had the sword.
So
they went into the house, where they found nobody. In the first room stood a
table laid for a meal, with all sorts of good things to eat and drink, though
some of the dishes were empty.
'Well,
this looks nice,' said the prince, sitting down and helping himself to some
delicious strawberries piled on a golden dish, and some iced lemonade. Never
had anything tasted so nice; but, all the same, it was a robbers' den they had
come to, and the robbers, who had only just dined, had gone out into the forest
to see whom they could rob.
When
the queen and the prince could eat no more they remembered that they were very
tired, and the prince looked about till he discovered a comfortable bed, with
silken sheets, standing in the next room.
'You
get into bed, mother,' he said, 'and I'll lie down by the side. Don't be
alarmed; you can sleep quite safely till the morning.' And he lay down with his
sword in his hand, and kept watch until the day began to break; then the queen
woke up and said she was quite rested and ready to start again.
'First
I'll go out into the forest and see if I can find our road,' said the prince.
'And while I'm gone you light the fire and make some coffee. We must eat a good
breakfast before we start.'
And
he ran off into the wood.
After
he had gone the queen lit the fire, and then thought she would like to see what
was in the other rooms; so she went from one to another, and presently came to
one that was very prettily furnished, with lovely pictures on the walls, and
pale blue curtains and soft yellow cushions and comfortable easy chairs. As she
was looking at all these things, suddenly a trap-door opened in the floor, and
the robber-chief came out of the hole and seized her ankles. The queen almost
died of fright, and shrieked loudly, then fell on her knees and begged him to
spare her life.
'Yes,
if you will promise me two things,' he replied; 'first that you will take me
home to your country and let me be crowned king instead of your son; and
secondly, that you will kill him in case he should try to take the throne from
me--if you will not agree to this I shall kill you.'
'Kill
my own son!' gasped the queen, staring at him in horror.
'You
need not do that exactly,' said the robber. 'When he returns, just lie on the
bed and say that you have been taken ill, and add that you have dreamed that in
a forest, a mile away, there are some beautiful apples. If you could only get
some of these you would be well again, but if not you will die.'
The
queen shuddered as she listened. She was fond of her son, but she was a
terrible coward; and so in the end she agreed, hoping that something would
occur to save the prince. She had hardly given her promise when a step was
heard, and the robber hastily hid himself.
'Well,
mother,' cried the prince as he entered, 'I have been through the forest and
found the road, so we will start directly we have had some breakfast.'
'Oh,
I feel so ill!' said the queen. 'I could not walk a single step; and there is
only one thing that will cure me.'
'What
is that?' asked the prince.
'I
dreamed,' answered the queen, in a faint voice, 'that, a mile away, there is a
forest where the most beautiful apples grow, and if I could have some of them I
should soon be well again.'
'Oh!
but dreams don't mean anything,' said the prince. 'There is a magician who
lives near here. I'll go to him and ask for a spell to cure you.'
'My
dreams always mean something,' said the queen, shaking her head. 'If I don't
get any apples I shall die.' She did not know why the robber wanted to send the
prince to this particular forest, but as a matter of fact it was full of wild
animals who would tear to pieces any traveller who entered it.
'Well,
I'll go,' answered the prince. 'But I really must have some breakfast first; I
shall walk all the faster.'
'If
you do not hurry you will find me dead when you come back,' murmured the queen
fretfully. She thought her son was not nearly anxious enough about her, and by
this time she had begun to believe that she really was as ill as she had said.
*
* * * *
When
the prince had eaten and drunk, he set off, and soon came to a forest, and sure
enough it was full of lions and tigers, and bears and wolves, who came rushing
towards him; but instead of springing on him and tearing him to pieces, they
lay down on the ground and licked his hands. He speedily found the tree with
the apples which his mother wanted, but the branches were so high he could not
reach them, and there was no way of climbing up the smooth trunk.
'It
is no use after all, I can't get up there,' he said to himself. 'What am I to
do now?'
But,
as he turned away, his sword chanced to touch the tree, and immediately two
apples fell down. He picked them up joyfully, and was going away when a little
dog came out of a hill close by, and running up to him, began tugging at his
clothes and whining.
'What
do you want, little dog?' asked the prince, stooping down to pat his soft black
head.
The
dog ran to a hole that was in the hill and sat there looking out, as much as to
say: 'Come along in with me.'
'I
may as well go and see what is in there,' thought the prince, and he went over
to the hill. But the hole was so small that he could not get through it, so he
thrust his sword into it, and immediately it became larger.
'Ha,
ha!' he chuckled; 'it's worth something to have a sword like that.' And he bent
down and crept through the hole.
The
first thing he beheld, when he entered a room at the very end of a dark
passage, was a beautiful princess, who was bound by an iron chain to an iron
pillar.
'What
evil fate brought you here?' he asked in surprise: and the lady answered:
'It
isn't much use for me to tell you lest my lot becomes yours.'
'I
am not afraid of that. Tell me who you are and what has brought you here,'
begged the prince.
'My
story is not long,' she said, smiling sadly. 'I am a princess from Arabia, and
twelve robbers who dwell in this place are fighting among themselves as to
which shall have me to wife.'
'Shall
I save you?' asked the prince. And she answered:
'Yes;
but you can't do it. To begin with, how could you break the chain I am bound
with?'
'Oh,
that's easy enough,' said he, taking out his sword; and directly it touched the
chain the links fell apart and the princess was free.
'Come!'
said the prince, taking her hand. But she drew back.
'No,
I dare not!' she cried. 'If we should meet the robbers in the passage they
would kill us both.'
'Not
they!' said the prince, brandishing his sword. 'But how long have you been
here?' he added quickly.
'About
twenty years, I think,' said the princess, reckoning with her fingers.
'Twenty
years!' exclaimed the prince. 'Then you had better shut your eyes, for when you
have been sitting there so long it might hurt you to go too suddenly into the
daylight. So you are the Princess of Arabia, whose beauty is famous throughout
all the world! I, too, am a prince.'
'Will
you not come back to Arabia and marry me, now you have saved my life?' asked
the princess. 'Even if my father is living still, he must be old, and after his
death you can be king.'
'No,'
replied the prince, 'I cannot do that--I must live and die in my own country.
But at the end of a year I will follow you and marry you.' And that was all he
would say.
Then
the princess took a heavy ring from her finger and put it on his. Her father's
and her mother's names were engraved in it, as well as her own, and she asked
him to keep it as a reminder of his promise.
'I
will die before I part from it,' said the prince. 'And if at the end of a year
I am still living, I will come. I believe I have heard that at the other side
of this forest there is a port from which ships sail to Arabia. Let us hasten
there at once.'
Hand
in hand they set off through the forest, and when they came to the port they
found a ship just ready to sail. The princess said good-bye to the prince, and
went on board the vessel, and when she reached her own country there were great
rejoicings, for her parents had never expected to see her again. She told them
how a prince had saved her from the robbers, and was coming in a year's time to
marry her, and they were greatly pleased.
'All
the same,' said the king, 'I wish he were here now. A year is a long time.'
When
the princess was no longer before his eyes, the prince recollected why he had
entered the forest, and made all the haste he could back to the robbers' home.
The
robber-chief could smell the apples from afar, for he had a nose like an ogre,
and he said to the queen:
'That
is a strange fellow! If he had gone into the forest the wild beasts must have eaten
him unless he has a powerful charm to protect him. If that is so we must get it
away from him.'
'No,
he has nothing,' answered the queen, who was quite fascinated by the robber.
But
the robber did not believe her.
'We
must think of a way to get it,' he said. 'When he comes in say you are well
again, and have some food ready for him. Then, whilst he is eating, tell him
you dreamed that he was attacked by wild beasts, and ask him how he managed to
escape from them. After he has told you I can easily find a way to take his
charm from him.'
Shortly
after the prince came in.
'How
are you, mother!' he said gaily. 'Here are your apples. Now you will soon be
well again, and ready to come away with me.'
'Oh,
I am better already,' she said. 'And see, your dinner is all hot for you, eat
it up, and then we will start.'
Whilst
he was eating she said to him: 'I had a horrible dream while you were away. I
saw you in a forest full of wild animals, and they were running round you and
growling fiercely. How did you manage to escape from them?'
'Oh,
it was only a dream!' laughed the prince.
'But
my dreams are always true,' said his mother. 'Tell me how it was.'
The
prince wondered for some time whether he should tell her or not, but at last he
decided to let her into the secret.
'One
should tell one's mother everything,' he thought. And he told her.
'See,
mother, here are a sword and a mail shirt which I found in the first house we
entered in the forest, and as long as I carry them nothing can hurt me. That is
what saved me from the wild beasts.'
'How
can I be thankful enough!' exclaimed the queen. And directly the prince's back
was turned, she hurried to tell the robber.
*
* * * *
The
robber, as soon as he heard the news, made a sleeping-draught, and bade the
queen give it to her son before he went to bed that night.
Accordingly,
as soon as the prince began to get sleepy, the queen handed him the cup
containing the draught.
'Drink
this, to please me,' she said. 'It will do you good after all you've gone
through, and make you sleep well.'
'What
an odd taste it has!' murmured the prince as he drank it.
Immediately
he fell asleep; and the robber came in and took away his sword and shirt of
mail.
'These
things belong to my brother,' he said. After he had got them both in his hand
the robber woke him.
'I
am the master now,' said he. 'Choose one of two things--either you must die, or
your eyes will be put out, and you will be sent back to the forest.'
The
prince's blood grew cold at these words. Then a thought struck him, and he
turned to his mother: 'Is this your doing?' he asked sternly. And though she
burst into tears and denied it, the prince knew she was not telling the truth.
'Well,'
said he, '"whilst there is life there is hope." I will go back to the
forest.'
Then
the robber put out his eyes, gave him a stick, and some food and drink, and
drove him into the forest, hoping that the wild beasts would kill him, as he no
longer had the sword and shirt to protect him.
'Now,'
he said to the queen, 'we will return to your country.'
The
next day they set sail, and as soon as they reached home, they were married,
and the robber became king.
Meanwhile
the poor prince was wandering about in the forest, hoping to find someone who
would help him, and perhaps take him into service, for now he had no money and
no home. It so happened that there had been a great hunt in the forest, and the
wild beasts had all fled before the hunters and were hiding, so nothing did him
any harm. At last one day, just when his food was all gone and he had made up
his mind that he must surely die of hunger, he came to the port whence the
ships sailed for Arabia. One vessel was just ready to start, and the captain
was going on board when he saw the prince.
'Why,
here is a poor blind fellow!' he said. 'No doubt that is the work of the
robbers. Let us take him to Arabia with us. Would you like to come, my good
man?' he asked the prince.
Oh,
how glad he was to hear someone speak kindly to him again! And he answered that
he would, and the sailors helped him to climb up the side of the ship. When
they got to Arabia the captain took him to the public baths, and ordered one of
the slaves to wash him. Whilst he was being washed the princess's ring slipped
off his finger and was afterwards found by the slave who cleaned out the bath.
The man showed it to a friend of his who lived at the palace.
'Why,
it is the princess's ring!' he said. 'Where did it come from?'
'It
fell off a blind man's finger,' said the slave. 'He must have stolen it; but I
dare say you will be able to return it to the princess.'
So
that evening the man took the ring to the palace and gave it to his daughter,
who was the princess's favourite slave, and the girl gave it to her mistress.
When the princess saw it she uttered a cry of joy.
'It
is the ring I gave my betrothed!' she said. 'Take me to him at once.'
The
bath-keeper thought it strange that the princess should be betrothed to a blind
beggar, but he did as she bade him, and when she saw the prince she cried:
'At
last you have come! The year is over, and I thought you were dead. Now we will
be married immediately.' And she went home and told the king that he was to
send an escort to bring her betrothed to the palace. Naturally the king was
rather surprised at the sudden arrival of the prince; but when he heard that he
was blind he was very much annoyed.
'I
cannot have a blind person to succeed me,' he said. 'It is perfectly absurd!'
But
the princess had had her own way all her life, and in the end the king gave way
as he had always done. The prince was taken to the palace with much ceremony
and splendour; but in spite of this the king was not contented. Still, it could
not be helped, and really it was time the princess was married, though she
looked as young as ever. There had been hundreds of knights and princes who had
begged her to bestow her hand upon them, but she would have nothing to do with
anyone; and now she had taken it into her head to marry this blind prince, and
nobody else would she have.
*
* * * *
One
evening, as it was fine, the prince and princess went into the garden, and sat
down under a tree.
Two
ravens were perched on a bush near by, and the prince, who could understand bird
language, heard one of them say: 'Do you know that it is Midsummer-eve
to-night?'
'Yes,'
said the other.
'And
do you know that part of the garden which is known as the Queen's Bed?'
'Yes.'
'Well,
perhaps you don't know this, that whoever has bad eyes, or no eyes at all,
should bathe his eye-sockets in the dew that falls there to-night, because then
he will get his sight back. Only he must do it between twelve and one o'clock.'
That
was good news for the prince and princess to hear, and the young man begged the
princess to lead him to the place called the Queen's Bed, which was the little
plot of grass where the queen used often to lie down and take her midday nap.
Then, between twelve and one o'clock, he bathed his eyes with the dew that was
falling there, and found he could see again as well as ever.
'I
can see you!' he said to the princess, gazing at her as if he had never seen
anything before.
'I
don't believe it,' she answered.
'Well,
go and hang your handkerchief on a bush, and if I find it at once you must
believe me,' he said.
And
so she did, and he went straight up to the handkerchief.
'Yes,
indeed, you can see,' cried the princess. 'To think that my mother's bed has
really given back your sight!' and she went to the bank and sat down again; and
by-and-by, as the day was hot, the princess fell asleep. As the prince watched
her he suddenly saw something shining on her neck. It was a little golden lamp
that gave out a bright light, and it hung from a golden chain. The prince
thought he would like to examine it more closely, so he unfastened the chain,
but as he did so the lamp fell to the ground. Before he could pick it up a hawk
flew in, snatched up the little lamp and flew away again with it. The prince
set off in pursuit, and ran on and on without being able to catch the bird,
until at length he had lost his way. Trying to find it, he wandered on, up and
down, until he came to the forest where he had found the princess.
Meantime,
the princess woke up, and finding herself alone she set out to look for him. In
the end she also lost her way, and as she was walking about, not knowing what
to do, the robbers captured her and took her back to the cave from which the
prince had rescued her. So there they were after all their trouble--no better
off than before!
The
prince wandered on, trying to find his way back to Arabia, until he chanced one
day to meet twelve youths, walking gaily through the forest, singing and
laughing. 'Where are you going?' he asked. And they told him they were looking
for work.
'I'll
join you, if I may,' said the prince. And they answered: 'The more the
merrier.'
Then
the prince went with them, and they all journeyed on until they met an old
troll.
'Where
are you going, my masters?' asked the troll.
'To
seek service,' they told him.
'Then
come and serve me,' he said; 'there will be plenty to eat and drink, and not
much work to do, and if, at the end of a year, you can answer three questions,
I'll give you each a sack of gold. Otherwise you must be turned into beasts.'
The
youths thought this sounded easy enough, so they went home with the troll to
his castle.
'You
will find all that you want here,' he said; 'and all you need do is to take
care of the house, for I am going away, and shall only return when the year is
over.'
Then
he went away, and the young men, left to themselves, had a fine time of it; for
they did no work, and only amused themselves with singing and drinking. Every
day they found the table laid with good things to eat and drink, and when they
had finished, the plates and dishes were cleared away by invisible hands. Only
the prince, who was sad for his lost princess, ate and drank sparingly, and
worked hard keeping the house in order.
One
day, as he sat in his own room, he heard the voice of the old troll beneath his
window talking to another troll.
'To-morrow,'
said he, 'the year is up.'
'And
what questions will you ask?' inquired the other.
'First
I shall ask how long they have been here--they don't know, the young fools!
Secondly I shall ask what shines on the roof of the castle.'
'And
what is that?'
'The
lamp that was stolen by me from the princess as she slept in the garden.'
'And
what is the third question?'
'I
shall ask where the food and drink they consume every day come from. I steal it
from the king's table; but they don't know that.'
*
* * * *
The
day after, the troll entered.
'Now
I shall ask my questions,' said he. 'To begin with: How long have you been
here?'
The
young men had been so busy drinking and making merry that they had forgotten
all about the agreement, so they remained silent.
'One
week,' said one, at last.
'Two
months,' guessed another. But the prince answered, 'One year.'
'Right,'
replied the troll. But the second question was more difficult.
'What
is it that shines on the roof?'
The
young men guessed and guessed. 'The sun--the moon.' But none of them really
knew.
'May
I answer?' asked the prince.
'Yes,
certainly,' replied the troll; and the prince spoke.
'The
lamp that you stole from the princess whilst she was asleep in the garden.' And
again the troll nodded.
The
third question was harder still.
'Where
does the meat and drink you have had here come from?'
None
of the young men could guess.
'May
I say?' asked the prince.
'Yes,
if you can,' replied the troll.
'It
comes from the king's table,' said the prince.
And
that was all. Now they might take the sacks of gold and go, and the young men
went off in such a hurry that the prince was left behind. Presently, they met
an old man who asked for money.
'No,
we haven't any,' they answered.
So
they hurried on, and by-and-by up came the prince.
'Has
your lordship a piece of money for a poor man?' asked the old fellow.
'Yes,'
said the prince, and gave him his whole sackful.
'I
don't want it,' said the old man, who was really the troll they had just left
in disguise. 'But since you're so generous, here is the princess's lamp, and
the princess herself is in the cave where you found her; but how you're going
to save her again without the magic sword I don't know.'
When
he heard that, the prince knew where she was; and that was the beginning of her
rescue. So he disguised himself to look like a peddler and travelled on until
he reached his own city, where his mother, the queen, and the robber-chief were
living. Then he went in to a goldsmith's shop and ordered a great number of
kitchen pots to be made out of pure gold. That was not an order the goldsmith
had every day, but the things were ready at last, saucepans and kettles and
gridirons all of pure gold. Then the prince put them in his basket and went up
to the palace, and asked to see the queen.
Directly
she heard about the wonderful gold pots and pans she came out at once, and
began unpacking the basket and admiring the things. She was so absorbed in them
that the prince soon found an opportunity to steal into the bedroom and take
the sword and shirt which were hung there, and go back again without his mother
having noticed his absence.
'The
things are all beautiful!' she said. 'How much would you take for them?'
'Name
your own price, your majesty,' answered the prince.
'I
really don't know what to say,' said the queen. 'Wait till my husband comes back--men
understand such things better; and then, as you are a stranger, he would like
to chat with you a little.' The prince bowed, and waited silently in a corner.
*
* * * *
Soon
after the robber returned.
'Come
and see all these lovely gold saucepans!' cried the queen.
But,
as the robber entered the room, the prince touched him with the magic sword,
and he fell to the ground.
'Perhaps,
now you know me, mother,' the prince said, taking off his disguise, 'you had
better repent for all the wrong you have done me, or your life will be short.'
'Oh,
have mercy!' she cried, 'I could not help it. I was so frightened.'
The
prince had mercy. He ordered the wicked king to be stripped of his fine
clothes, and to be driven into the forest, where the wild beasts tore him to
pieces. The queen he sent to her own country. Then he set off for the cave
where the princess was sitting chained as before, and with the help of the
magic sword he rescued her again without any difficulty. They soon reached the port
and set sail for Arabia, where they were married; and till they died, a long
while after, they reigned happily over both countries.
(From
Eventyr fra Gylbauck samlede og optegnede af Evald Tang Kristensen. Translated
from the Danish by Mrs. Skovgaard-Pedersen.)
The
Olive Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1907], at sacred-texts.com
[f24]
THE
CLEVER WEAVER
Once
upon a time the king of a far country was sitting on his throne, listening to
the complaints of his people, and judging between them. That morning there had
been fewer cases than usual to deal with, and the king was about to rise and go
into his gardens, when a sudden stir was heard outside, and the lord high
chamberlain entered, and inquired if his majesty would be graciously pleased to
receive the ambassador of a powerful emperor who lived in the east, and was
greatly feared by the neighbouring sovereigns. The king, who stood as much in
dread of him as the rest, gave orders that the envoy should be admitted at
once, and that a banquet should be prepared in his honour. Then he settled
himself again on his throne, wondering what the envoy had to say.
The
envoy said nothing. He advanced to the throne where the king was awaiting him,
and stooping down, traced on the floor with a rod which he held in his hand a
black circle all round it. Then he sat down on a seat that was near, and took
no further notice of anyone.
The
king and his courtiers were equally mystified and enraged at this strange
behaviour, but the envoy sat as calm and still as an image, and it soon became
plain that they would get no explanation from him. The ministers were hastily
summoned to a council, but not one of them could throw any light upon the
subject. This made the king more angry than ever, and he told them that unless
before sunset they could find someone capable of solving the mystery he would
hang them all.
The
king was, as the ministers knew, a man of his word; and they quickly mapped out
the city into districts, so that they might visit house by house, and question
the occupants as to whether they could fathom the action of the ambassador.
Most of them received no reply except a puzzled stare; but, luckily, one of
them was more observant than the rest, and on entering an empty cottage where a
swing was swinging of itself, he began to think it might be worth while for him
to see the owner. Opening a door leading into another room, he found a second
swing, swinging gently like the first, and from the window he beheld a patch of
corn, and a willow which moved perpetually without any wind, in order to
frighten away the sparrows. Feeling more and more curious, he descended the
stairs and found himself in a large light workshop in which was seated a weaver
at his loom. But all the weaver did was to guide his threads, for the machine
that he had invented to set in motion the swings and the willow pole made the
loom work.
When
he saw the great wheel standing in the corner, and had guessed the use of it,
the merchant heaved a sigh of relief. At any rate, if the weaver could not
guess the riddle, he at least might put the minister on the right track. So
without more ado he told the story of the circle, and ended by declaring that
the person who could explain its meaning should be handsomely rewarded.
'Come
with me at once,' he said. 'The sun is low in the heavens, and there is no time
to lose.'
The
weaver stood thinking for a moment and then walked across to a window, outside
of which was a hen-coop with two knuckle-bones lying beside it. These he picked
up, and taking the hen from the coop, he tucked it under his arm.
'I
am ready,' he answered, turning to the minister.
In
the hall the king still sat on his throne, and the envoy on his seat. Signing
to the minister to remain where he was, the weaver advanced to the envoy, and
placed the knuckle-bones on the floor beside him. For answer, the envoy took a
handful of millet seed out of his pocket and scattered it round; upon which the
weaver set down the hen, who ate it up in a moment. At that the envoy rose without
a word, and took his departure.
As
soon as he had left the hall, the king beckoned to the weaver.
'You
alone seem to have guessed the riddle,' said he, 'and great shall be your
reward. But tell me, I pray you, what it all means?'
'The
meaning, O king,' replied the weaver, 'is this: The circle drawn by the envoy
round your throne is the message of the emperor, and signifies, "If I send
an army and surround your capital, will you lay down your arms?" The
knuckle-bones which I placed before him told him, "You are but children in
comparison with us. Toys like these are the only playthings you are fit
for." The millet that he scattered was an emblem of the number of soldiers
that his master can bring into the field; but by the hen which ate up the seed
he understood that one of our men could destroy a host of theirs.'
'I
do not think,' he added, 'that the emperor will declare war.'
'You
have saved me and my honour,' cried the king, 'and wealth and glory shall be
heaped upon you. Name your reward, and you shall have it even to the half of my
kingdom.'
'The
small farm outside the city gates, as a marriage portion for my daughter, is
all I ask,' answered the weaver, and it was all he would accept. 'Only, O
king,' were his parting words, 'I would beg of you to remember that weavers
also are of value to a state, and that they are sometimes cleverer even than
ministers!'
(From
Contes Armeniens. Par Frederic Macler.)
The
Olive Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1907], at sacred-texts.com
[f25]
THE
BOY WHO FOUND FEAR AT LAST
Once
upon a time there lived a woman who had one son whom she loved dearly. The
little cottage in which they dwelt was built on the outskirts of a forest, and
as they had no neighbours, the place was very lonely, and the boy was kept at
home by his mother to bear her company.
They
were sitting together on a winter's evening, when a storm suddenly sprang up,
and the wind blew the door open. The woman started and shivered, and glanced
over her shoulder as if she half expected to see some horrible thing behind
her. 'Go and shut the door,' she said hastily to her son, 'I feel frightened.'
'Frightened?'
repeated the boy. 'What does it feel like to be frightened?'
'Well--just
frightened,' answered the mother. 'A fear of something, you hardly know what,
takes hold of you.'
'It
must be very odd to feel like that,' replied the boy. 'I will go through the
world and seek fear till I find it.' And the next morning, before his mother
was out of bed, he had left the forest behind him.
After
walking for some hours he reached a mountain, which he began to climb. Near the
top, in a wild and rocky spot, he came upon a band of fierce robbers, sitting
round a fire. The boy, who was cold and tired, was delighted to see the bright
flames, so he went up to them and said, 'Good greeting to you, sirs,' and
wriggled himself in between the men, till his feet almost touched the burning
logs.
The
robbers stopped drinking and eyed him curiously, and at last the captain spoke.
'No
caravan of armed men would dare to come here, even the very birds shun our
camp, and who are you to venture in so boldly?'
'Oh,
I have left my mother's house in search of fear. Perhaps you can show it to
me?'
'Fear
is wherever we are,' answered the captain.
'But
where?' asked the boy, looking round. 'I see nothing.' 'Take this pot and some
flour and butter and sugar over to the churchyard which lies down there, and
bake us a cake for supper,' replied the robber. And the boy, who was by this
time quite warm, jumped up cheerfully, and slinging the pot over his arm, ran
down the hill.
When
he got to the churchyard he collected some sticks and made a fire; then he
filled the pot with water from a little stream close by, and mixing the flour
and butter and sugar together, he set the cake on to cook. It was not long
before it grew crisp and brown, and then the boy lifted it from the pot and
placed it on a stone, while he put out the fire. At that moment a hand was
stretched from a grave, and a voice said:
'Is
that cake for me?'
'Do
you think I am going to give to the dead the food of the living?' replied the
boy, with a laugh. And giving the hand a tap with his spoon, and picking up the
cake, he went up the mountain side, whistling merrily.
'Well,
have you found fear?' asked the robbers when he held out the cake to the
captain.
'No;
was it there?' answered the boy. 'I saw nothing but a hand which came from a
grave, and belonged to someone who wanted my cake, but I just rapped the
fingers with my spoon, and said it was not for him, and then the hand vanished.
Oh, how nice the fire is!' And he flung himself on his knees before it, and so
did not notice the glances of surprise cast by the robbers at each other.
'There
is another chance for you,' said one at length. 'On the other side of the
mountain lies a deep pool; go to that, and perhaps you may meet fear on the
way.'
'I
hope so, indeed,' answered the boy. And he set out at once.
He
soon beheld the waters of the pool gleaming in the moonlight, and as he drew
near he saw a tall swing standing just over it, and in the swing a child was
seated, weeping bitterly.
'That
is a strange place for a swing,' thought the boy; 'but I wonder what he is
crying about.' And he was hurrying on towards the child, when a maiden ran up
and spoke to him.
'I
want to lift my little brother from the swing,' cried she, 'but it is so high
above me, that I cannot reach. If you will get closer to the edge of the pool,
and let me mount on your shoulder, I think I can reach him.'
'Willingly,'
replied the boy, and in an instant the girl had climbed to his shoulders. But
instead of lifting the child from the swing, as she could easily have done, she
pressed her feet so firmly on either side of the youth's neck, that he felt
that in another minute he would be choked, or else fall into the water beneath
him. So gathering up all his strength, he gave a mighty heave, and threw the
girl backwards. As she touched the ground a bracelet fell from her arm, and
this the youth picked up.
'I
may as well keep it as a remembrance of all the queer things that have happened
to me since I left home,' he said to himself, and turning to look for the
child, he saw that both it and the swing had vanished, and that the first
streaks of dawn were in the sky.
With
the bracelet on his arm, the youth started for a little town which was situated
in the plain on the further side of the mountain, and as, hungry and thirsty,
he entered its principal street, a Jew stopped him. 'Where did you get that
bracelet?' asked the Jew. 'It belongs to me.'
'No,
it is mine,' replied the boy.
'It
is not. Give it to me at once, or it will be the worse for you!' cried the Jew.
'Let
us go before a judge, and tell him our stories,' said the boy. 'If he decides
in your favour, you shall have it; if in mine, I will keep it!'
To
this the Jew agreed, and the two went together to the great hall, in which the
kadi was administering justice. He listened very carefully to what each had to
say, and then pronounced his verdict. Neither of the two claimants had proved
his right to the bracelet, therefore it must remain in the possession of the
judge till its fellow was brought before him.
When
they heard this, the Jew and the boy looked at each other, and their eyes said:
'Where are we to go to find the other one?' But as they knew there was no use
in disputing the decision, they bowed low and left the hall of audience.
*
* * * *
Wandering
he knew not whither, the youth found himself on the sea-shore. At a little
distance was a ship which had struck on a hidden rock, and was rapidly sinking,
while on deck the crew were gathered, with faces white as death, shrieking and
wringing their hands.
'Have
you met with fear?' shouted the boy. And the answer came above the noise of the
waves.
'Oh,
help! help! We are drowning!'
Then
the boy flung off his clothes, and swam to the ship, where many hands were held
out to draw him on board.
'The
ship is tossed hither and thither, and will soon be sucked down,' cried the
crew again. 'Death is very near, and we are frightened!'
'Give
me a rope,' said the boy in reply, and he took it, and made it safe round his
body at one end, and to the mast at the other, and sprang into the sea. Down he
went, down, down, down, till at last his feet touched the bottom, and he stood
up and looked about him. There, sure enough, a sea-maiden with a wicked face
was tugging hard at a chain which she had fastened to the ship with a grappling
iron, and was dragging it bit by bit beneath the waves. Seizing her arms in
both his hands, he forced her to drop the chain, and the ship above remaining
steady, the sailors were able gently to float her off the rock. Then taking a
rusty knife from a heap of seaweed at his feet, he cut the rope round his waist
and fastened the sea-maiden firmly to a stone, so that she could do no more
mischief, and bidding her farewell, he swam back to the beach, where his
clothes were still lying.
The
youth dressed himself quickly and walked on till he came to a beautiful shady
garden filled with flowers, and with a clear little stream running through. The
day was hot, and he was tired, so he entered the gate, and seated himself under
a clump of bushes covered with sweet-smelling red blossoms, and it was not long
before he fell asleep. Suddenly a rush of wings and a cool breeze awakened him,
and raising his head cautiously, he saw three doves plunging into the stream.
They splashed joyfully about, and shook themselves, and then dived to the
bottom of a deep pool. When they appeared again they were no longer three
doves, but three beautiful damsels, bearing between them a table made of mother
of pearl. On this they placed drinking cups fashioned from pink and green
shells, and one of the maidens filled a cup from a crystal goblet, and was
raising it to her mouth, when her sister stopped her.
'To
whose health do you drink?' asked she.
'To
the youth who prepared the cake, and rapped my hand with the spoon when I
stretched it out of the earth,' answered the maiden, 'and was never afraid as
other men were! But to whose health do you drink?'
'To
the youth on whose shoulders I climbed at the edge of the pool, and who threw
me off with such a jerk, that I lay unconscious on the ground for hours,'
replied the second. 'But you, my sister,' added she, turning to the third girl,
'to whom do you drink?'
'Down
in the sea I took hold of a ship and shook it and pulled it till it would soon
have been lost,' said she. And as she spoke she looked quite different from
what she had done with the chain in her hands, seeking to work mischief. 'But a
youth came, and freed the ship and bound me to a rock. To his health I drink,'
and they all three lifted their cups and drank silently.
As
they put their cups down, the youth appeared before them.
'Here
am I, the youth whose health you have drunk; and now give me the bracelet that
matches a jewelled band which of a surety fell from the arm of one of you. A
Jew tried to take it from me, but I would not let him have it, and he dragged
me before the kadi, who kept my bracelet till I could show him its fellow. And
I have been wandering hither and thither in search of it, and that is how I
have found myself in such strange places.'
'Come
with us, then,' said the maidens, and they led him down a passage into a hall,
out of which opened many chambers, each one of greater splendour than the last.
From a shelf heaped up with gold and jewels the eldest sister took a bracelet,
which in every way was exactly like the one which was in the judge's keeping,
and fastened it to the youth's arm.
'Go
at once and show this to the kadi,' said she, 'and he will give you the fellow
to it.'
'I
shall never forget you,' answered the youth, 'but it may be long before we meet
again, for I shall never rest till I have found fear.' Then he went his way,
and won the bracelet from the kadi. After this, he again set forth in his quest
of fear.
On
and on walked the youth, but fear never crossed his path, and one day he
entered a large town, where all the streets and squares were so full of people,
he could hardly pass between them.
'Why
are all these crowds gathered together?' he asked of a man who stood next him.
'The
ruler of this country is dead,' was the reply, 'and as he had no children, it
is needful to choose a successor. Therefore each morning one of the sacred
pigeons is let loose from the tower yonder, and on whomsoever the bird shall
perch, that man is our king. In a few minutes the pigeon will fly. Wait and see
what happens.'
Every
eye was fixed on the tall tower which stood in the centre of the chief square,
and the moment that the sun was seen to stand straight over it, a door was
opened and a beautiful pigeon, gleaming with pink and grey, blue and green,
came rushing through the air. Onward it flew, onward, onward, till at length it
rested on the head of the boy. Then a great shout arose:
'The
king! the king!' but as he listened to the cries, a vision, swifter than
lightning, flashed across his brain. He saw himself seated on a throne,
spending his life trying, and never succeeding, to make poor people rich;
miserable people happy; bad people good; never doing anything he wished to do,
not able even to marry the girl that he loved.
'No!
no!' he shrieked, hiding his face in his hands; but the crowds who heard him
thought he was overcome by the grandeur that awaited him, and paid no heed.
'Well,
to make quite sure, let fly more pigeons,' said they, but each pigeon followed
where the first had led, and the cries arose louder than ever:
'The
king! the king!' And as the young man heard, a cold shiver, that he knew not
the meaning of, ran through him.
'This
is fear whom you have so long sought,' whispered a voice, which seemed to reach
his ears alone. And the youth bowed his head as the vision once more flashed
before his eyes, and he accepted his doom, and made ready to pass his life with
fear beside him.
(Adapted
from Turkische Volksmarchen. Von Dr. Ignaz Kunos. E. J. Brill, Leiden.)
The
Olive Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1907], at sacred-texts.com
[f26]
HE
WINS WHO WAITS
Once
upon a time there reigned a king who had an only daughter. The girl had been
spoiled by everybody from her birth, and, besides being beautiful, was clever
and wilful, and when she grew old enough to be married she refused to have
anything to say to the prince whom her father favoured, but declared she would
choose a husband for herself. By long experience the king knew that when once
she had made up her mind, there was no use expecting her to change it, so he
inquired meekly what she wished him to do.
'Summon
all the young men in the kingdom to appear before me a month from to-day,'
answered the princess; 'and the one to whom I shall give this golden apple
shall be my husband.'
'But,
my dear--' began the king, in tones of dismay.
'The
one to whom I shall give this golden apple shall be my husband,' repeated the
princess, in a louder voice than before. And the king understood the signal,
and with a sigh proceeded to do her bidding.
*
* * * *
The
young men arrived--tall and short, dark and fair, rich and poor. They stood in
rows in the great courtyard in front of the palace, and the princess, clad in
robes of green, with a golden veil flowing behind her, passed before them all,
holding the apple. Once or twice she stopped and hesitated, but in the end she
always passed on, till she came to a youth near the end of the last row. There
was nothing specially remarkable about him, the bystanders thought; nothing
that was likely to take a girl's fancy. A hundred others were handsomer, and
all wore finer clothes; but he met the princess's eyes frankly and with a
smile, and she smiled too, and held out the apple.
'There
is some mistake,' cried the king, who had anxiously watched her progress, and
hoped that none of the candidates would please her. 'It is impossible that she
can wish to marry the son of a poor widow, who has not a farthing in the world!
Tell her that I will not hear of it, and that she must go through the rows
again and fix upon someone else'; and the princess went through the rows a
second and a third time, and on each occasion she gave the apple to the widow's
son. 'Well, marry him if you will,' exclaimed the angry king; 'but at least you
shall not stay here.' And the princess answered nothing, but threw up her head,
and taking the widow's son by the hand, they left the castle.
That
evening they were married, and after the ceremony went back to the house of the
bridegroom's mother, which, in the eyes of the princess, did not look much
bigger than a hen-coop.
The
old woman was not at all pleased when her son entered bringing his bride with
him.
'As
if we were not poor enough before,' grumbled she. 'I dare say this is some fine
lady who can do nothing to earn her living.' But the princess stroked her arm,
and said softly:
'Do
not be vexed, dear mother; I am a famous spinner, and can sit at my wheel all
day without breaking a thread.'
And
she kept her word; but in spite of the efforts of all three, they became poorer
and poorer; and at the end of six months it was agreed that the husband should
go to the neighbouring town to get work. Here he met a merchant who was about
to start on a long journey with a train of camels laden with goods of all
sorts, and needed a man to help him. The widow's son begged that he would take
him as a servant, and to this the merchant assented, giving him his whole
year's salary beforehand. The young man returned home with the news, and next
day bade farewell to his mother and his wife, who were very sad at parting from
him.
'Do
not forget me while you are absent,' whispered the princess as she flung her
arms round his neck; 'and as you pass by the well which lies near the city
gate, stop and greet the old man you will find sitting there. Kiss his hand,
and then ask him what counsel he can give you for your journey.'
Then
the youth set out, and when he reached the well where the old man was sitting
he asked the questions as his wife had bidden him.
'My
son,' replied the old man, 'you have done well to come to me, and in return
remember three things: "She whom the heart loves, is ever the most
beautiful." "Patience is the first step on the road to
happiness." "He wins who waits."'
The
young man thanked him and went on his way. Next morning early the caravan set
out, and before sunset it had arrived at the first halting place, round some
wells, where another company of merchants had already encamped. But no rain had
fallen for a long while in that rocky country, and both men and beasts were
parched with thirst. To be sure, there was another well about half a mile away,
where there was always water; but to get it you had to be lowered deep down,
and, besides, no one who had ever descended that well had been known to come
back.
However,
till they could store some water in their bags of goat-skin, the caravans dared
not go further into the desert, and on the night of the arrival of the widow's
son and his master, the merchants had decided to offer a large reward to anyone
who was brave enough to go down into the enchanted well and bring some up. Thus
it happened that at sunrise the young man was aroused from his sleep by a
herald making his round of the camp, proclaiming that every merchant present
would give a thousand piastres to the man who would risk his life to bring
water for themselves and their camels.
The
youth hesitated for a little while when he heard the proclamation. The story of
the well had spread far and wide, and long ago had reached his ears. The danger
was great, he knew; but then, if he came back alive, he would be the possessor
of eighty thousand piastres. He turned to the herald who was passing the tent:
'I
will go,' said he.
'What
madness!' cried his master, who happened to be standing near. 'You are too young
to throw away your life like that. Run after the herald and tell him you take
back your offer.' But the young man shook his head, and the merchant saw that
it was useless to try and persuade him.
'Well,
it is your own affair,' he observed at last. 'If you must go, you must. Only,
if you ever return, I will give you a camel's load of goods and my best mule
besides.' And touching his turban in token of farewell, he entered the tent.
Hardly
had he done so than a crowd of men were seen pouring out of the camp.
'How
can we thank you!' they exclaimed, pressing round the youth. 'Our camels as
well as ourselves are almost dead of thirst. See! here is the rope we have
brought to let you down.'
'Come,
then,' answered the youth. And they all set out.
On
reaching the well, the rope was knotted securely under his arms, a big
goat-skin bottle was given him, and he was gently lowered to the bottom of the
pit. Here a clear stream was bubbling over the rocks, and, stooping down, he
was about to drink, when a huge Arab appeared before him, saying in a loud
voice:
'Come
with me!'
The
young man rose, never doubting that his last hour had come; but as he could do
nothing, he followed the Arab into a brilliantly lighted hall, on the further
side of the little river. There his guide sat down, and drawing towards him two
boys, one black and the other white, he said to the stranger:
'I
have a question to ask you. If you answer it right, your life shall be spared.
If not, your head will be forfeit, as the head of many another has been before
you. Tell me: which of my two children do I think the handsomer.'
The
question did not seem a hard one, for while the white boy was as beautiful a
child as ever was seen, his brother was ugly even for a negro. But, just as the
youth was going to speak, the old man's counsel flashed into the youth's mind,
and he replied hastily: 'The one whom we love best is always the handsomest.'
'You
have saved me!' cried the Arab, rising quickly from his seat, and pressing the
young man in his arms. 'Ah! if you could only guess what I have suffered from
the stupidity of all the people to whom I have put that question, and I was
condemned by a wicked genius to remain here until it was answered! But what
brought you to this place, and how can I reward you for what you have done for
me?'
'By
helping me to draw enough water for my caravan of eighty merchants and their
camels, who are dying for want of it,' replied the youth.
'That
is easily done,' said the Arab. 'Take these three apples, and when you have
filled your skin, and are ready to be drawn up, lay one of them on the ground.
Half-way to the earth, let fall another, and at the top, drop the third. If you
follow my directions no harm will happen to you. And take, besides, these three
pomegranates, green, red and white. One day you will find a use for them!'
The
young man did as he was told, and stepped out on the rocky waste, where the
merchants were anxiously awaiting him. Oh, how thirsty they all were! But even
after the camels had drunk, the skin seemed as full as ever.
Full
of gratitude for their deliverance, the merchants pressed the money into his
hands, while his own master bade him choose what goods he liked, and a mule to
carry them.
So
the widow's son was rich at last, and when the merchant had sold his
merchandise, and returned home to his native city, his servant hired a man by
whom he sent the money and the mule back to his wife.
'I
will send the pomegranates also,' thought he 'for if I leave them in my turban
they may some day fall out,' and he drew them out of his turban. But the fruit
had vanished, and in their places were three precious stones, green, white and
red.
For
a long time he remained with the merchant, who gradually trusted him with all
his business, and gave him a large share of the money he made. When his master
died, the young man wished to return home, but the widow begged him to stay and
help her; and one day he awoke with a start, to remember that twenty years had
passed since he had gone away.
'I
want to see my wife,' he said next morning to his mistress. 'If at any time I
can be of use to you, send a messenger to me; meanwhile, I have told Hassan
what to do.' And mounting a camel he set out.
*
* * * *
Now,
soon after he had taken service with the merchant a little boy had been born to
him, and both the princess and the old woman toiled hard all day to get the
baby food and clothing. When the money and the pomegranates arrived there was
no need for them to work any more, and the princess saw at once that they were
not fruit at all, but precious stones of great value. The old woman, however,
not being accustomed, like her daughter-in-law, to the sight of jewels, took
them only for common fruit, and wished to give them to the child to eat. She
was very angry when the princess hastily took them from her and hid them in her
dress, while she went to the market and bought the three finest pomegranates
she could find, which she handed the old woman for the little boy.
Then
she bought beautiful new clothes for all of them, and when they were dressed
they looked as fine as could be. Next, she took out one of the precious stones
which her husband had sent her, and placed it in a small silver box. This she
wrapped up in a handkerchief embroidered in gold, and filled the old woman's
pockets with gold and silver pieces.
'Go,
dear mother,' she said, 'to the palace, and present the jewel to the king, and
if he asks you what he can give you in return, tell him that you want a paper,
with his seal attached, proclaiming that no one is to meddle with anything you
may choose to do. Before you leave the palace distribute the money amongst the
servants.'
The
old woman took the box and started for the palace. No one there had ever seen a
ruby of such beauty, and the most famous jeweller in the town was summoned to
declare its value. But all he could say was:
'If
a boy threw a stone into the air with all his might, and you could pile up gold
as high as the flight of the stone, it would not be sufficient to pay for this
ruby.'
At
these words the king's face fell. Having once seen the ruby he could not bear
to part with it, yet all the money in his treasury would not be enough to buy
it. So for a little while he remained silent, wondering what offer he could
make the old woman, and at last he said:
'If
I cannot give you its worth in money, is there anything you will take in
exchange?'
'A
paper signed by your hand, and sealed with your seal, proclaiming that I may do
what I will, without let or hindrance,' answered she promptly. And the king,
delighted to have obtained what he coveted at so small a cost, gave her the
paper without delay. Then the old woman took her leave and returned home.
The
fame of this wonderful ruby soon spread far and wide, and envoys arrived at the
little house to know if there were more stones to sell. Each king was so
anxious to gain possession of the treasure that he bade his messenger outbid
all the rest, and so the princess sold the two remaining stones for a sum of
money so large that if the gold pieces had been spread out they would have
reached from here to the moon. The first thing she did was to build a palace by
the side of the cottage, and it was raised on pillars of gold, in which were
set great diamonds, which blazed night and day. Of course the news of this
palace was the first thing that reached the king her father, on his return from
the wars, and he hurried to see it. In the doorway stood a young man of twenty,
who was his grandson, though neither of them knew it, and so pleased was the
king with the appearance of the youth, that he carried him back to his own
palace, and made him commander of the whole army.
Not
long after this, the widow's son returned to his native land. There, sure
enough, was the tiny cottage where he had lived with his mother, but the
gorgeous building beside it was quite new to him. What had become of his wife
and his mother, and who could be dwelling in that other wonderful place. These
were the first thoughts that flashed through his mind; but not wishing to
betray himself by asking questions of passing strangers, he climbed up into a
tree that stood opposite the palace and watched.
By-and-by
a lady came out, and began to gather some of the roses and jessamine that hung
about the porch. The twenty years that had passed since he had last beheld her
vanished in an instant, and he knew her to be his own wife, looking almost as
young and beautiful as on the day of their parting. He was about to jump down
from the tree and hasten to her side, when she was joined by a young man who
placed his arm affectionately round her neck. At this sight the angry husband
drew his bow, but before he could let fly the arrow, the counsel of the wise
man came back to him: 'Patience is the first step on the road to happiness.'
And he laid it down again.
At
this moment the princess turned, and drawing her companion's head down to hers,
kissed him on each cheek. A second time blind rage filled the heart of the
watcher, and he snatched up his bow from the branch where it hung, when words,
heard long since, seemed to sound in his ears:
'He
wins who waits.' And the bow dropped to his side. Then, through the silent air
came the sound of the youth's voice:
'Mother,
can you tell me nothing about my father? Does he still live, and will he never
return to us?'
'Alas!
my son, how can I answer you?' replied the lady. 'Twenty years have passed
since he left us to make his fortune, and, in that time, only once have I heard
aught of him. But what has brought him to your mind just now?'
'Because
last night I dreamed that he was here,' said the youth, 'and then I remembered
what I have so long forgotten, that I had a father, though even his very
history was strange to me. And now, tell me, I pray you, all you can concerning
him.'
And
standing under the jessamine, the son learnt his father's history, and the man
in the tree listened also.
'Oh,'
exclaimed the youth, when it was ended, while he twisted his hands in pain, 'I
am general-in-chief, you are the king's daughter, and we have the most splendid
palace in the whole world, yet my father lives we know not where, and for all
we can guess, may be poor and miserable. To-morrow I will ask the king to give
me soldiers, and I will seek him over the whole earth till I find him.'
Then
the man came down from the tree, and clasped his wife and son in his arms. All
that night they talked, and when the sun rose it still found them talking. But
as soon as it was proper, he went up to the palace to pay his homage to the
king, and to inform him of all that had happened and who they all really were.
The king was overjoyed to think that his daughter, whom he had long since
forgiven and sorely missed, was living at his gates, and was, besides, the
mother of the youth who was so dear to him. 'It was written beforehand,' cried
the monarch. 'You are my son-in-law before the world, and shall be king after
me.'
And
the man bowed his head.
He
had waited; and he had won.
(From
Contes Armeniens. Par Frederic Macler.)
The
Olive Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1907], at sacred-texts.com
[f27]
THE
STEEL CANE
Once
upon a time there lived an old woman who had a small cottage on the edge of the
forest. Behind the cottage was a garden in which all sorts of vegetables grew,
and, beyond that, a field with two or three cows in it, so her neighbours
considered her quite rich, and envied her greatly.
As
long as she was strong enough to work all day in her garden the old woman never
felt lonely, but after a while she had a bad illness, which left her much
weaker than before, and she began to think that now and then it would be nice
to have some one to speak to. Just at this moment she heard of the death of a
shepherd and his wife, who dwelt on the other side of the plain, leaving a
little boy quite alone in the world.
'That
will just suit me,' she said; and sent a man over to bring the child, whom she
intended to adopt for her own.
Now
the boy, who was about twelve years old, ought to have considered himself very
lucky, for his new mother was as kind to him as the old one. But,
unfortunately, he made friends with some bad rude companions whose tricks
caused them to be a terror to everyone, and the poor old woman never ceased
regretting her lost solitude.
Things
went on in this way for some years, till the boy became a man.
'Perhaps,
if he were to be married he might sober down,' she thought to herself. And she
inquired among the neighbours what girls there were of an age to choose from.
At length one was found, good and industrious, as well as pretty; and as the
young man raised no objections the wedding took place at once, and the bride
and bridegroom went to live in the cottage with the old woman. But no change
was to be seen in the husband's conduct. All day long he was out amusing
himself in the company of his former friends, and if his wife dared to say
anything to him on his return home he beat her with his stick. And next year,
when a baby was born to them, he beat it also.
At
length the old woman's patience was worn out. She saw that it was quite useless
to expect the lazy, idle creature to mend his ways, and one day she said to
him:
'Do
you mean to go on like this for ever? Remember, you are no longer a boy, and it
is time that you left off behaving like one. Come, shake off your bad habits,
and work for your wife and child, and above all, stop beating them. If not I
will transform you into an ass, and heavy loads shall be piled on your back,
and men shall ride you. Briars shall be your food, a goad shall prick you, and
in your turn you shall know how it feels to be beaten.'
But
if she expected her words to do any good she soon found out her mistake, for
the young man only grew angry and cried rudely:
'Bah!
hold your tongue or I will whip you also.'
'Will
you?' she answered grimly: and, swift as lightning she picked up a steel cane
that stood in the corner and laid it across his shoulders. In an instant his
ears had grown long and his face longer, his arms had become legs, and his body
was covered with close grey hair. Truly, he was an ass; and a very ugly one,
too!
'Leave
the house!' commanded the old woman. And, shambling awkwardly, he went.
As
he was standing in the path outside, not knowing what to do, a man passed by.
'Ho!
my fine fellow, you are exactly what I was looking for! You don't seem to have
a master, so come with me. I will find something for you to do.' And taking him
by the ear he led him from the cottage.
For
seven years the ass led a hard life, just as the old woman had foretold. But
instead of remembering that he had brought all his suffering on himself, and
being sorry for his evil ways, he grew harder, and more bitter. At the end of
the seven years his ass skin wore out, and he became a man again, and one day returned
to the cottage.
His
wife opened the door in answer to his knock; then, letting fall the latch, she
ran inside, crying:
'Grandmother!
grandmother! your son has come back!'
'I
thought he would,' replied the old woman, going on with her spinning. 'Well, we
could have done very well without him. But as he is here I suppose he must come
in.'
And
come in he did. But as the old woman expected, he behaved still worse than
before. For some weeks she allowed him to do what he liked; then at last she
said:
'So
experience has taught you nothing! After all, there are very few people who
have sense to learn by it. But take care lest I change you into a wolf, to be a
prey for dogs and men!'
'You
talk too much. I shall break your head for you!' was all the answer she got.
Had
the young man looked at her face he might have taken warning, but he was busy
making a pipe, and took no notice. The next moment the steel cane had touched
his shoulders, and a big grey wolf bounded through the door.
Oh!
what a yapping among the dogs, and what a shouting among the neighbours as they
gave chase.
For
seven years he led the life of a hunted animal, often cold and nearly always
hungry, and never daring to allow himself a sound sleep. At the end of that
time his wolf skin wore out also, and again he appeared at the cottage door.
But the second seven years had taught him no more than the first--his conduct
was worse than before; and one day he beat his wife and son so brutally that
they screamed to the old woman to come to their aid.
She
did, and brought the steel cane with her. In a second the ruffian had vanished,
and a big black crow was flying about the room, crying 'Gour! Gour!'
The
window was open, and he darted through it; and seeking the companions who had
ruined him, he managed to make them understand what had happened.
'We
will avenge you,' said they; and taking up a rope, set out to strangle the old
woman.
But
she was ready for them. One stroke of her cane and they were all changed into a
troop of black crows, and this time their feathers are lasting still.
(From
Contes Armeniens. Par Frederic Macler.)
The
Olive Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1907], at sacred-texts.com
[f28]
THE
PUNISHMENT OF THE FAIRY GANGANA
Once
upon a time there lived a king and queen who ruled over a country so small that
you could easily walk round it in one day. They were both very good, simple
people; not very wise, perhaps, but anxious to be kind to everybody; and this
was often a mistake, for the king allowed all his subjects to talk at once, and
offer advice upon the government of the kingdom as well as upon private
matters. And the end of it all was, that it was very difficult to get any laws
made, and, still more, to get anyone to obey them.
Now,
no traveller ever passed through the kingdom without inquiring how it came to
be so small. And this was the reason. As soon as Petaldo (for that was the
king's name) had been born, his father and mother betrothed him to the niece of
their friend the fairy Gangana--if she should ever have one. But as the years
passed on, and Gangana was still without a niece, the young prince forgot all
about his destined bride, and when he was twenty-five he secretly married the
beautiful daughter of a rich farmer, with whom he had fallen violently in love.
When
the fairy heard the news she fell into a violent rage, and hurried off to tell
the king. The old man thought in his heart that his son had waited quite long
enough; but he did not dare to say so, lest some dreadful spell might be thrown
over them all, and they should be changed into birds or snakes, or, worst of
all, into stones. So, much against his will, he was obliged to disinherit the
young man, and to forbid him to come to court. Indeed, he would have been a beggar
had it not been for the property his wife had had given her by the farmer,
which the youth obtained permission to erect into a kingdom.
Most
princes would have been very angry at this treatment, especially as the old
king soon died, and the queen was delighted to reign in his place. But Petaldo
was a contented young man, and was quite satisfied with arranging his tiny
court on the model of his father's, and having a lord chamberlain, and a high
steward and several gentlemen in attendance; while the young queen appointed
her own ladies-in-waiting and maids of honour. He likewise set up a mint to
coin money, and chose a seneschal as head of the five policemen who kept order
in the capital and punished the boys who were caught in the act of throwing stones
at the palace windows.
The
first to fill this important office was the young king's father-in-law, an
excellent man of the name of Caboche. He was much beloved by everyone, and so
sensible that he was not at all vain at rising at once to the dignity of
seneschal, when he had only been a common farmer, but went about his fields
every day as usual. This conduct so struck his king that very soon he never did
anything without consulting him.
Each
morning Caboche and his son-in-law had breakfast together, and when they had
finished, the king took out of his iron chest great bundles of state papers,
which he desired to talk over with his seneschal. Sometimes they would spend
two hours at least in deciding these important matters, but more often after a few
minutes Caboche would say:
'Excuse
me, sire, but your majesty does not understand this affair in the least. Leave
it to me, and I will settle it.'
'But
what am I to do, then?' asked the king. And his minister answered:
'Oh,
you can rule your wife, and see after your fruit garden. You will find that
those two things will take up all your time.'
'Well,
perhaps you are right,' the king replied; secretly glad to be rid of the cares
of government. But though Caboche did all the work, Petaldo never failed to
appear on grand occasions, in his royal mantle of red linen, holding a sceptre
of gilded wood. Meanwhile he passed his mornings in studying books, from which
he learned the proper seasons to plant his fruit trees, and when they should be
pruned; and his afternoons in his garden, where he put his knowledge into
practice. In the evening he played cards with his father-in-law, and supped in
public with the queen, and by ten o'clock everybody in the palace was fast
asleep.
The
queen, on her side, was quite as happy as her husband. She loved to be in her
dairy, and nobody in the kingdom could make such delicious cheeses. But however
busy she might be, she never forgot to bake a little barley cake, and make a
tiny cream cheese, and to put them under a particular rose-tree in the garden.
If you had asked her whom they were for, and where they went to, she could not
have told you, but would have said that on the night of her marriage a fairy
had appeared to her in a dream, and had bidden her to perform this ceremony.
After
the king and the queen had six children, a little boy was born, with a small
red cap on his head, so that he was quite different from his brothers and
sisters, and his parents loved Cadichon better than any of them.
The
years went on, and the children were growing big, when, one day, after Gillette
the queen had finished baking her cake, and had turned it out on a plate, a
lovely blue mouse crept up the leg of the table and ran to the plate. Instead
of chasing it away, as most women would have done, the queen pretended not to
notice what the mouse was doing, and was much surprised to see the little
creature pick up the cake and carry it off to the chimney. She sprang forwards
to stop it, when, suddenly, both the mouse and cake vanished, and in their
place stood an old woman only a foot high, whose clothes hung in rags about
her. Taking up a sharp pointed iron stick, she drew on the earthen floor some
strange signs, uttering seven cries as she did so, and murmuring something in a
low voice, among which the queen was sure she caught the words, 'faith,'
'wisdom,' 'happiness.' Then, seizing the kitchen broom, she whirled it three
times round her head, and vanished. Immediately there arose a great noise in
the next room, and on opening the door, the queen beheld three large
cockchafers, each one with a princess between its feet, while the princes were
seated on the backs of three swallows. In the middle was a car formed of a
single pink shell, and drawn by two robin redbreasts, and in this car Cadichon
was sitting by the side of the blue mouse, who was dressed in a splendid mantle
of black velvet fastened under her chin. Before the queen had recovered from
her surprise, cockchafers, redbreasts, mouse and children had all flown,
singing, to the window, and disappeared from view.
The
loud shrieks of the queen brought her husband and father running into the room,
and when at last they made out from her broken sentences what had really
happened, they hastily snatched up some stout sticks that were lying about and
set off to the rescue--one going in one direction and the other in another.
For
at least an hour the queen sat sobbing where they had left her, when at last
she was roused by a piece of folded paper falling at her feet. She stooped and
picked it up eagerly, hoping that it might contain some news of her lost
children. It was very short, but when she had read the few words, Gillette was
comforted, for it bade her take heart, as they were well and happy under the
protection of a fairy. 'On your own faith and prudence depend your happiness,'
ended the writer. 'It is I who have all these years eaten the food you placed
under the rose-tree, and some day I shall reward you for it. "Everything
comes to him who knows how to wait," is the advice given by,--The Fairy of
the Fields.'
Then
the queen rose up, and bathed her face, and combed her shining hair; and as she
turned away from her mirror she beheld a linnet sitting on her bed. No one
would have known that it was anything but a common linnet, and yesterday the
queen would have thought so too. But this morning so many wonderful things had
happened that she did not doubt for a moment that the writer of the letter was
before her.
'Pretty
linnet,' said she, 'I will try to do all you wish. Only give me, I pray you,
now and then, news of my little Cadichon.'
And
the linnet flapped her wings and sang, and flew away. So the queen knew that
she had guessed rightly, and thanked her in her heart.
By-and-by
the king and his seneschal returned, hungry and tired with their fruitless
search. They were amazed and rather angry to find the queen, whom they had left
weeping, quite cheerful. Could she really care for her children so little and
have forgotten them so soon? What could have caused this sudden change? But to
all their questions Gillette would only answer: 'Everything comes to him who
knows how to wait.'
'That
is true,' replied her father; 'and, after all, your majesty must remember that
the revenues of your kingdom would hardly bear the cost of seven princes and
princesses brought up according to their rank. Be grateful, then, to those who
have relieved you of the burden.'
'You
are right! You are always right!' cried the king, whose face once more beamed
with smiles. And life at the palace went on as before, till Petaldo received a
piece of news which disturbed him greatly.
The
queen, his mother, who had for some time been a widow, suddenly made up her
mind to marry again, and her choice had fallen on the young king of the Green
Isles, who was younger than her own son, and, besides, handsome and fond of
pleasure, which Petaldo was not. Now the grandmother, foolish though she was in
many respects, had the sense to see that a woman as old and as plain as she
was, could hardly expect a young man to fall in love with her, and that, if
this was to happen, it would be needful to find some spell which would bring
back her youth and beauty. Of course, the fairy Gangana could have wrought the
change with one wave of her wand; but unluckily the two were no longer friends,
because the fairy had tried hard to persuade the queen to declare her niece
heiress to the crown, which the queen refused to do. Naturally, therefore, it
was no use asking the help of Gangana to enable the queen to take a second
husband, who would be certain to succeed her; and messengers were sent all over
the neighbouring kingdoms, seeking to find a witch or a fairy who would work
the wished-for miracle. None, however, could be found with sufficient skill,
and at length the queen saw that if ever the king of the Green Isles was to be
her husband she must throw herself on the mercy of the fairy Gangana.
The
fairy's wrath was great when she heard the queen's story, but she knew very
well that, as the king of the Green Isles had spent all his money, he would
probably be ready to marry even an old woman, like her friend, in order to get
more. So, in order to gain time, she hid her feelings, and told the queen that
in three days the spell would be accomplished.
*
* * * *
Her
words made the queen so happy that twenty years seemed to fall from her at
once, and she counted, not only the hours, but the minutes to the appointed
time. It came at last, and the fairy stood before her in a long robe of pink
and silver, held up by a tiny brown dwarf, who carried a small box under his
arm. The queen received her with all the marks of respect that she could think
of, and at the request of Gangana, ordered the doors and windows of the great
hall to be closed, and her attendants to retire, so that she and her guest
might be quite alone. Then, opening the box, which was presented to her on one
knee by the dwarf, the fairy took from it a small vellum book with silver
clasps, a wand that lengthened out as you touched it, and a crystal bottle filled
with very clear green water. She next bade the queen sit on a seat in the
middle of the room, and the dwarf to stand opposite her, after which she
stooped down and drew three circles round them with a golden rod, touched each
of them thrice with her wand, and sprinkled the liquid over both. Gradually the
queen's big features began to grow smaller and her face fresher, while at the
same time the dwarf became about twice as tall as he had been before. This
sight, added to the blue flames which sprang up from the three circles, so
frightened the queen that she fainted in her chair, and when she recovered,
both the page and the fairy had vanished.
At
first she felt vaguely puzzled, not remembering clearly what had happened; then
it all came back to her, and jumping up she ran to the nearest mirror. Oh! how
happy she was! Her long nose and her projecting teeth had become things of
beauty, her hair was thick and curly, and bright gold. The fairy had indeed
fulfilled her promise! But, in her hurry and pleasure, the queen never noticed
that she had not been changed into a beautiful young lady, but into a very tall
little girl of eight or nine years old! Instead of her magnificent velvet
dress, edged with fur and embroidered in gold, she wore a straight muslin frock,
with a little lace apron, while her hair, which was always combed and twisted
and fastened with diamond pins, hung in curls down her back. But if she had
only known, something besides this had befallen her, for except as regards her
love for the king of the Green Isles, her mind as well as her face had become
that of a child, and this her courtiers were aware of, if she was not. Of
course they could not imagine what had occurred, and did not know how to behave
themselves, till the chief minister set them the example by ordering his wife
and daughters to copy the queen's clothes and way of speaking. Then, in a short
time, the whole court, including the men, talked and dressed like children, and
played with dolls, or little tin soldiers, while at the state dinners nothing
was seen but iced fruits, or sweet cakes made in the shape of birds and horses.
But whatever she might be doing, the queen hardly ceased talking about the king
of the Green Isles, whom she always spoke of as 'my little husband,' and as weeks
passed on, and he did not come, she began to get very cross and impatient, so
that her courtiers kept away from her as much as they could. By this time, too,
they were growing tired of pretending to be children, and whispered their
intention of leaving the palace and taking service under a neighbouring
sovereign, when, one day, a loud blast of trumpets announced the arrival of the
long-expected guest. In an instant all was smiles again, and in spite of the
strictest rules of court etiquette, the queen insisted on receiving the young
king at the bottom of the stairs. Unfortunately, in her haste, she fell over
her dress, and rolled down several steps, screaming like a child, from fright.
She was not really much hurt, though she had scratched her nose and bruised her
forehead, but she was obliged to be carried to her room and have her face
bathed in cold water. Still, in spite of this, she gave strict orders that the
king should be brought to her presence the moment he entered the palace.
A
shrill blast outside her door sent a twinge of pain through the queen's head,
which by this time was aching badly; but in her joy at welcoming her future
husband she paid no heed to it. Between two lines of courtiers, bowing low, the
young king advanced quickly; but at the sight of the queen and her bandages,
broke out into such violent fits of laughter that he was forced to leave the
room, and even the palace.
When
the queen had recovered from the vexation caused by the king's rude behaviour,
she bade her attendants to hasten after him and fetch him back, but no promises
or entreaties would persuade him to return. This of course made the queen's
temper even worse than it was before, and a plot was set on foot to deprive her
of the crown, which would certainly have succeeded had not the fairy Gangana,
who had only wished to prevent her marriage, restored her to her proper shape.
But, far from thanking her friend for this service, the sight of her old face
in the mirror filled her with despair; and from that day she hated Gangana with
a deadly hatred.
And
where were Petaldo's children all this while? Why, in the island of Bambini,
where they had playfellows to their hearts' content, and plenty of fairies to
take care of them all. But out of all the seven princes and princesses whom the
queen had seen carried off through the window, there was only Cadichon who was
good and obedient; the other six were so rude and quarrelsome that they could
get no one to play with them, and at last, as a punishment, the fairy changed them
all into marionettes, till they should learn to behave better.
Now,
in an unlucky moment, the Fairy of the Fields determined to visit her friend
the queen of the fairies, who lived in a distant island, in order to consult
her as to what was to become of Cadichon.
As
she was entering the Hall of Audience, Gangana was leaving it, and sharp words
were exchanged between them. After her enemy had flown off in a rage, the Fairy
of the Fields poured out the whole story of Gangana's wickedness to the queen,
and implored her counsel.
'Be
comforted,' answered the fairy queen. 'For a while she must work her will, and
at this moment she is carrying off Cadichon to the island where she still holds
her niece captive. But should she make an evil use of the power she has, her
punishment will be swift and great. And now I will give you this precious
phial. Guard it carefully, for the liquid it contains will cause you to become
invisible, and safe from the piercing eyes of all fairies. Against the eyes of
mortals it has no charm!'
With
a heart somewhat lighter, the Fairy of the Fields returned to her own island,
and, the better to protect the six new marionettes from the wicked fairy, she
sprinkled them with a few drops of the liquid, only avoiding just the tips of
their noses, so that she might be able to know them again. Then she set off for
the kingdom of Petaldo, which she found in a state of revolt, because for the
first time since he had ascended the throne he had dared to impose a tax.
Indeed, matters might have ended in a war, or in cutting off the king's head,
had not the fairy discovered a means of contenting everybody, and of whispering
anew to the queen that all was well with her children, for she dared not tell
her of the loss of Cadichon.
And
what had become of Cadichon? Well, the Fairy of the Fields had found out--by
means of her books, which had told her--that the poor little boy had been
placed by Gangana in an enchanted island, round which flowed a rapid river,
sweeping rocks and trees in its current. Besides the river, the island was
guarded by twenty-four enormous dragons, breathing flames, and forming a
rampart of fire which it seemed as if none could pass.
The
Fairy of the Fields knew all this, but she had a brave heart, and determined
that by some means or other she would overcome all obstacles, and rescue
Cadichon from the power of Gangana. So, taking with her the water of
invisibility, she sprinkled it over her, and mounting her favourite winged
lizard, set out for the island. When it appeared in sight she wrapped herself
in her fireproof mantle; then, bidding the lizard return home, she slipped past
the dragons and entered the island.
Scarcely
had she done so than she beheld Gangana approaching her, talking loudly and
angrily to a genius who flew by her side. From what she said, the fairy learned
that Petaldo's mother, the old queen, had died of rage on hearing of the
marriage of the king of the Green Isles to a young and lovely bride, and
instead of leaving her kingdom to Gangana, had bequeathed it to one of the
children of her son Petaldo.
'But
all the trouble I have had with that foolish old woman shall not go for
nothing,' cried Gangana. 'Go at once to my stables, and fetch out the strongest
and swiftest griffins you can find in the stalls, and harness them to the
yellow coach. Drive this, with all the speed you may, to the Isle of Bambini,
and carry off the six children of Petaldo that are still there. I will see to
Petaldo and Gillette myself. When I have got them all safe here I will change
the parents into rabbits and the children into dogs. As for Cadichon, I have
not quite made up my mind what I shall do with him.'
The
Fairy of the Fields did not wait to hear more. No time was to be lost in
seeking the help of the fairy queen if Petaldo and his family were to be saved
from this dreadful doom. So, without waiting to summon her lizard, she flew
across the island and past the dragons till her feet once more touched the
ground again. But at that instant a black cloud rolled over her, loud thunder
rent the air, and the earth rocked beneath her. Then wild lightnings lit up the
sky, and by their flashes she saw the four-and-twenty dragons fighting
together, uttering shrieks and yells, till the whole earth must have heard the
uproar. Trembling with terror, the fairy stood rooted to the spot; and when day
broke, island, torrent, and dragons had vanished, and in their stead was a
barren rock. On the summit of the rock stood a black ostrich, and on its back
were seated Cadichon, and the little niece of the fairy Gangana, for whose sake
she had committed so many evil deeds. While the Fairy of the Fields was gazing
in surprise at this strange sight, the ostrich spread its wings and flew off in
the direction of the Fortunate Isle, and, followed unseen by the good fairy,
entered the great hall where the queen was sitting on her throne.
Proud
and exultant was Gangana in her new shape, for, by all the laws of fairydom, if
she succeeded in laying Cadichon at the feet of the queen, and received him
back from her, he was in her power for life, and she might do with him as she
would. This the good fairy knew well, and pressed on with all her strength, for
the dreadful events of the night had almost exhausted her. But, with a mighty
effort, she snatched the children away from the back of the ostrich, and placed
them on the lap of the queen.
With
a scream of baffled rage the ostrich turned away, and Gangana stood in her
place, waiting for the doom which she had brought upon herself.
'You
have neglected all my warnings,' said the queen, speaking more sternly than any
fairy had ever heard her; 'and my sentence is that during two hundred years you
lose all your privileges as a fairy, and under the form of an ostrich shall
become the slave of the lowest and wickedest of the genii whom you have made
your friends. As for these children, I shall keep them with me, and they shall
be brought up at my court.'
And
so they were, until they grew up and were old enough to be married. Then the
Fairy of the Fields took them back to the kingdom of the old queen, where
Petaldo was now reigning. But the cares of state proved too heavy both for him
and Gillette, after the quiet life they had led for so many years, and they
were rejoiced to be able to lay aside their crowns, and place them on the heads
of Cadichon and his bride, who was as good as she was beautiful, though she was
the niece of the wicked Gangana! And so well had Cadichon learned the lessons
taught him at the court of the fairy queen, that never since the kingdom was a
kingdom had the people been so well governed or so happy. And they went about
the streets and the fields smiling with joy at the difference between the old
times and the new, and whispering softly to each other:
'Everything
comes to him who knows how to wait.'
(From
Le Cabinet des Fees.)
The
Olive Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang, [1907], at sacred-texts.com
[f29]
THE
SILENT PRINCESS
Once
upon a time there lived in Turkey a pasha who had only one son, and so dearly
did he love this boy that he let him spend the whole day amusing himself,
instead of learning how to be useful like his friends.
Now
the boy's favourite toy was a golden ball, and with this he would play from
morning till night, without troubling anybody. One day, as he was sitting in
the summer-house in the garden, making his ball run all along the walls and
catching it again, he noticed an old woman with an earthen pitcher coming to
draw water from a well which stood in a corner of the garden. In a moment he had
caught his ball and flung it straight at the pitcher, which fell to the ground
in a thousand pieces. The old woman started with surprise, but said nothing;
only turned round to fetch another pitcher, and as soon as she had disappeared,
the boy hurried out to pick up his ball.
Scarcely
was he back in the summer-house when he beheld the old woman a second time,
approaching the well with the pitcher on her shoulder. She had just taken hold
of the handle to lower it into the water, when--crash! And the pitcher lay in
fragments at her feet. Of course she felt very angry, but for fear of the pasha
she still held her peace, and spent her last pence in buying a fresh pitcher.
But when this also was broken by a blow from the ball, her wrath burst forth,
and shaking her fist towards the summer-house where the boy was hiding, she
cried:
'I
wish you may be punished by falling in love with the silent princess.' And
having said this she vanished.
For
some time the boy paid no heed to her words--indeed he forgot them altogether;
but as years went by, and he began to think more about things, the remembrance
of the old woman's wish came back to his mind.
'Who
is the silent princess? And why should it be a punishment to fall in love with
her?' he asked himself, and received no answer. However, that did not prevent
him from putting the question again and again, till at length he grew so weak
and ill that he could eat nothing, and in the end was forced to lie in bed
altogether. His father the pasha became so frightened by this strange disease,
that he sent for every physician in the kingdom to cure him, but no one was
able to find a remedy.
'How
did your illness first begin, my son?' asked the pasha one day. 'Perhaps, if we
knew that, we should also know better what to do for you.'
Then
the youth told him what had happened all those years before, when he was a
little boy, and what the old woman had said to him.
'Give
me, I pray you,' he cried, when his tale was finished, 'give me, I pray you,
leave to go into the world in search of the princess, and perhaps this evil
state may cease.' And, sore though his heart was to part from his only son, the
pasha felt that the young man would certainly die if he remained at home any
longer.
'Go,
and peace be with you,' he answered; and went out to call his trusted steward,
whom he ordered to accompany his young master.
Their
preparations were soon made, and early one morning the two set out. But neither
old man nor young had the slightest idea where they were going, or what they
were undertaking. First they lost their way in a dense forest, and from that
they at length emerged in a wilderness where they wandered for six months, not
seeing a living creature and finding scarcely anything to eat or drink, till
they became nothing but skin and bone, while their garments hung in tatters
about them. They had forgotten all about the princess, and their only wish was
to find themselves back in the palace again, when, one day, they discovered
that they were standing on the shoulder of a mountain. The stones beneath them
shone as brightly as diamonds, and both their hearts beat with joy at beholding
a tiny old man approaching them. The sight awoke all manner of recollections;
the numb feeling that had taken possession of them fell away as if by magic,
and it was with glad voices that they greeted the new-comer. 'Where are we, my
friend?' asked they; and the old man told them that this was the mountain where
the sultan's daughter sat, covered by seven veils, and the shining of the stones
was only the reflection of her own brilliance.
On
hearing this news all the dangers and difficulties of their past wandering
vanished from their minds.
'How
can I reach her soonest?' asked the youth eagerly. But the old man only
answered:
'Have
patience, my son, yet awhile. Another six months must go by before you arrive
at the palace where she dwells with the rest of the women. And, even so, think
well, when you can, as should you fail to make her speak, you will have to pay
forfeit with your life, as others have done. So beware!'
But
the prince only laughed at this counsel--as others had also done.
*
* * * *
After
three months they found themselves on the top of another mountain, and the
prince saw with surprise that its sides were coloured a beautiful red. Perched
on some cliffs, not far off, was a small village, and the prince proposed to
his friend that they should go and rest there. The villagers, on their part,
welcomed them gladly, and gave them food to eat and beds to sleep on, and
thankful indeed were the two travellers to repose their weary limbs.
The
next morning they asked their host if he could tell them whether they were
still many days' journey from the princess, and whether he knew why the
mountain was so much redder than other mountains.
'For
three and a half more months you must still pursue your way,' answered he, 'and
by that time you will find yourselves at the gate of the princess's palace. As
for the colour of the mountain, that comes from the soft hue of her cheeks and
mouth, which shines through the seven veils which cover her. But none have ever
beheld her face, for she sits there, uttering no word, though one hears
whispers of many having lost their lives for her sake.'
The
prince, however, would listen no further; and thanking the man for his
kindness, he jumped up and, with the steward, set out to climb the mountain.
On
and on and on they went, sleeping under the trees or in caves, and living upon
berries and any fish they could catch in the rivers. But at length, when their
clothes were nearly in rags and their legs so tired that they could hardly walk
any further, they saw on the top of the next mountain a palace of yellow
marble.
'There
it is, at last,' cried the prince; and fresh blood seemed to spring in his
veins. But as he and his companion began to climb towards the top they paused
in horror, for the ground was white with dead men's skulls. It was the prince
who first recovered his voice, and he said to his friend, as carelessly as he
could:
'These
must be the skulls of the men who tried to make the princess speak and failed.
Well, if we fail too, our bones will strew the ground likewise.'
'Oh!
turn back now, my prince, while there is yet time,' entreated his companion.
'Your father gave you into my charge; but when we set out I did not know that
certain death lay before us.'
'Take
heart, O Lala, take heart!' answered the prince. 'A man can but die once. And,
besides, the princess will have to speak some day, you know.'
So
they went on again, past skulls and dead men's bones in all degrees of
whiteness. And by-and-by they reached another village, where they determined to
rest for a little while, so that their wits might be fresh and bright for the
task that lay before them. But this time, though the people were kind and
friendly, their faces were gloomy, and every now and then woeful cries would
rend the air.
'Oh!
my brother, have I lost you?' 'Oh! my son, shall I see you no more?' And then,
as the prince and his companion asked the meaning of these laments--which,
indeed, was plain enough--the answer was given:
'Ah,
you also have come hither to die! This town belongs to the father of the
princess, and when any rash man seeks to move the princess to speech he must
first obtain leave of the sultan. If that is granted him he is then led into
the presence of the princess. What happens afterwards, perhaps the sight of
these bones may help you to guess.'
The
young man bowed his head in token of thanks, and stood thoughtful for a short
time. Then, turning to the Lala, he said:
'Well,
our destiny will soon be decided! Meanwhile we will find out all we can, and do
nothing rashly.'
For
two or three days they wandered about the bazaars, keeping their eyes and ears
open, when, one morning, they met a man carrying a nightingale in a cage. The
bird was singing so joyously that the prince stopped to listen, and at once
offered to buy him from his owner.
'Oh,
why cumber yourself with such a useless thing,' cried the Lala in disgust;
'have you not enough to occupy your hands and mind, without taking an extra
burden?' But the prince, who liked having his own way, paid no heed to him, and
paying the high price asked by the man, he carried the bird back to the inn,
and hung him up in his chamber. That evening, as he was sitting alone, trying
to think of something that would make the princess talk, and failing
altogether, the nightingale pecked open her cage door, which was lightly
fastened by a stick, and, perching on his shoulder, murmured softly in his ear:
'What
makes you so sad, my prince?' The young man started. In his native country
birds did not talk, and, like many people, he was always rather afraid of what
he did not understand. But in a moment he felt ashamed of his folly, and
explained that he had travelled for more than a year, and over thousands of
miles, to win the hand of the sultan's daughter. And now that he had reached
his goal he could think of no plan to force her to speak.
'Oh!
do not trouble your head about that,' replied the bird, 'it is quite easy! Go
this evening to the women's apartments, and take me with you, and when you
enter the princess's private chamber hide me under the pedestal which supports
the great golden candlestick. The princess herself will be wrapped so thickly
in her seven veils that she can see nothing, neither can her face be seen by
anyone. Then inquire after her health, but she will remain quite silent; and
next say that you are sorry to have disturbed her, and that you will have a
little talk with the pedestal of the candlestick. When you speak I will
answer.'
The
prince threw his mantle over the bird, and started for the palace, where he
begged an audience of the sultan. This was soon granted him, and leaving the
nightingale hidden by the mantle, in a dark corner outside the door, he walked
up to the throne on which his highness was sitting, and bowed low before him.
'What
is your request?' asked the sultan, looking closely at the young man, who was
tall and handsome; but when he heard the tale he shook his head pityingly.
'If
you can make her speak she shall be your wife,' answered he; 'but if not--did
you mark the skulls that strewed the mountain side?'
'Some
day a man is bound to break the spell, O sultan,' replied the youth boldly;
'and why should not I be he as well as another? At any rate, my word is
pledged, and I cannot draw back now.'
'Well,
go if you must,' said the sultan. And he bade his attendants lead the way to
the chamber of the princess, but to allow the young man to enter alone.
Catching
up, unseen, his mantle and the cage as they passed into the dark corridor--for
by this time night was coming on--the youth found himself standing in a room
bare except for a pile of silken cushions, and one tall golden candlestick. His
heart beat high as he looked at the cushions, and knew that, shrouded within
the shining veils that covered them, lay the much longed-for princess. Then,
fearful that after all other eyes might be watching him, he hastily placed the
nightingale under the open pedestal on which the candlestick was resting, and
turning again he steadied his voice, and besought the princess to tell him of
her well-being.
Not
by even a movement of her hand did the princess show that she had heard, and
the young man, who of course expected this, went on to speak of his travels and
of the strange countries he had passed through; but not a sound broke the
silence.
*
* * * *
'I
see clearly that you are interested in none of these things,' said he at last,
'and as I have been forced to hold my peace for so many months, I feel that now
I really must talk to somebody, so I shall go and address my conversation to
the candlestick.' And with that he crossed the room behind the princess, and
cried: 'O fairest of candlesticks, how are you?'
'Very
well indeed, my lord,' answered the nightingale; 'but I wonder how many years
have gone by since any one has spoken with me. And, now that you have come,
rest, I pray you, awhile, and listen to my story.'
'Willingly,'
replied the youth, curling himself up on the floor, for there was no cushion
for him to sit on.
'Once
upon a time,' began the nightingale, 'there lived a pasha whose daughter was
the most beautiful maiden in the whole kingdom. Suitors she had in plenty, but
she was not easy to please, and at length there were only three whom she felt
she could even think of marrying. Not knowing which of the three she liked
best, she took counsel with her father, who summoned the young men into his
presence, and then told them that they must each of them learn some trade, and
whichever of them proved the cleverest at the end of six months should become
the husband of the princess.
'Though
the three suitors may have been secretly disappointed, they could not help
feeling that this test was quite fair, and left the palace together, talking as
they went of what handicrafts they might set themselves to follow. The day was
hot, and when they reached a spring that gushed out of the side of the
mountain, they stopped to drink and rest, and then one of them said:
'"It
will be best that we should each seek our fortunes alone; so let us put our
rings under this stone, and go our separate ways. And the first one who returns
hither will take his ring, and the others will take theirs. Thus we shall know
whether we have all fulfilled the commands of the pasha, or if some accident
has befallen any of us."
'"Good,"
replied the other two. And three rings were placed in a little hole, and
carefully covered again by the stone.
'Then
they parted, and for six months they knew naught of each other, till, on the
day appointed, they met at the spring. Right glad they all were, and eagerly
they talked of what they had done, and how the time had been spent.
'"I
think I shall win the princess," said the eldest, with a laugh, "for
it is not everybody that is able to accomplish a whole year's journey in an
hour!"
'"That
is very clever, certainly," answered his friend; "but if you are to
govern a kingdom it may be still more useful to have the power of seeing what
is happening at a distance; and that is what I have learnt," replied the
second.
'"No,
no, my dear comrades," cried the third, "your trades are all very
well; but when the pasha hears that I can bring back the dead to life he will
know which of us three is to be his son-in-law. But come, there only remain a
few hours of the six months he granted us. It is time that we hastened back to
the palace."
'"Stop
a moment," said the second, "it would be well to know what is going
on in the palace." And plucking some small leaves from a tree near by, he
muttered some words and made some signs, and laid them on his eyes. In an
instant he turned pale, and uttered a cry.
'"What
is it? What is it?" exclaimed the others; and, with a shaking voice, he
gasped:
'"The
princess is lying on her bed, and has barely a few minutes to live. Oh! can no
one save her?"
'"I
can," answered the third, taking a small box from his turban; "this
ointment will cure any illness. But how to reach her in time?"
'"Give
it to me," said the first. And he wished himself by the bedside of the
princess, which was surrounded by the sultan and his weeping courtiers. Clearly
there was not a second to lose, for the princess had grown unconscious, and her
face cold. Plunging his finger into the ointment he touched her eyes, mouth and
ears with the paste, and with beating heart awaited the result.
'It
was swifter than he supposed. As he looked the colour came back into her
cheeks, and she smiled up at her father. The sultan, almost speechless with joy
at this sudden change, embraced his daughter tenderly, and then turned to the
young man to whom he owed her life:
'"Are
you not one of those three whom I sent forth to learn a trade six months
ago?" asked he. And the young man answered yes, and that the other two
were even now on their way to the palace, so that the sultan might judge
between them.'
At
this point in his story the nightingale stopped, and asked the prince which of
the three he thought had the best right to the princess.
'The
one who had learned how to prepare the ointment,' replied he.
'But
if it had not been for the man who could see what was happening at a distance
they would never have known that the princess was ill,' said the nightingale. 'I
would give it to him.' And the strife between them waxed hot, till, suddenly,
the listening princess started up from her cushions and cried:
'Oh,
you fools! cannot you understand that if it had not been for him who had power
to reach the palace in time the ointment itself would have been useless, for
death would have claimed her? It is he and no other who ought to have the
princess!'
At
the first sound of the princess's voice, a slave, who was standing at the door,
ran at full speed to tell the sultan of the miracle which had taken place, and
the delighted father hastened to the spot. But by this time the princess
perceived that she had fallen into a trap which had been cunningly laid for
her, and would not utter another word. All she could be prevailed on to do was
to make signs to her father that the man who wished to be her husband must
induce her to speak three times. And she smiled to herself beneath her seven
veils as she thought of the impossibility of that.
When
the sultan told the prince that though he had succeeded once, he would have
twice to pass through the same test, the young man's face clouded over. It did
not seem to him fair play, but he dared not object, so he only bowed low, and
contrived to step back close to the spot where the nightingale was hidden. As
it was now quite dark he tucked unseen the little cage under his cloak, and
left the palace.
'Why
are you so gloomy?' asked the nightingale, as soon as they were safely outside.
'Everything has gone exactly right! Of course the princess was very angry with
herself for having spoken. And did you see that, at her first words, the veils
that covered her began to rend? Take me back to-morrow evening, and place me on
the pillar by the lattice. Fear nothing, you have only to trust to me!'
The
next evening, towards sunset, the prince left the cage behind him, and with the
bird in the folds of his garment slipped into the palace and made his way
straight to the princess's apartments. He was at once admitted by the slaves
who guarded the door, and took care to pass near the window so that the
nightingale hopped unseen to the top of a pillar. Then he turned and bowed low
to the princess, and asked her several questions; but, as before, she answered
nothing, and, indeed, gave no sign that she heard. After a few minutes the
young man bowed again, and crossing over to the window, he said:
'Oh,
pillar! it is no use speaking to the princess, she will not utter one word; and
as I must talk to somebody, I have come to you. Tell me how you have been all
this long while?'
'I
thank you,' replied a voice from the pillar, 'I am feeling very well. And it is
lucky for me that the princess is silent, or else you would not have wanted to
speak to me. To reward you, I will relate to you an interesting tale that I
lately overheard, and about which I should like to have your opinion.'
'That
will be charming,' answered the prince, 'so pray begin at once.'
'Once
upon a time,' said the nightingale, 'there lived a woman who was so beautiful
that every man who saw her fell in love with her. But she was very hard to
please, and refused to wed any of them, though she managed to keep friends with
all. Years passed away in this manner, almost without her noticing them, and
one by one the young men grew tired of waiting, and sought wives who may have
been less handsome, but were also less proud, and at length only three of her
former wooers remained--Baldschi, Jagdschi, and Firedschi. Still she held
herself apart, thought herself better and lovelier than other women, when, on a
certain evening, her eyes were opened at last to the truth. She was sitting
before her mirror, combing her curls, when amongst her raven locks she found a
long white hair!
'At
this dreadful sight her heart gave a jump, and then stood still.
'"I
am growing old," she said to herself, "and if I do not choose a
husband soon, I shall never get one! I know that either of those men would
gladly marry me to-morrow, but I cannot decide between them. I must invent some
way to find out which of them is the best, and lose no time about it."
'So
instead of going to sleep, she thought all night long of different plans, and
in the morning she arose and dressed herself.
'"That
will have to do," she muttered as she pulled out the white hair which had
cost her so much trouble. "It is not very good, but I can think of nothing
better; and--well, they are none of them clever, and I dare say they will
easily fall into the trap." Then she called her slave and bade her let
Jagdschi know that she would be ready to receive him in an hour's time. After
that she went into the garden and dug a grave under a tree, by which she laid a
white shroud.
'Jagdschi
was delighted to get the gracious message; and, putting on his newest garments,
he hastened to the lady's house, but great was his dismay at finding her
stretched on her cushions, weeping bitterly.
'"What
is the matter, O Fair One?" he asked, bowing low before her.
'"A
terrible thing has happened," said she, her voice choked with sobs.
"My father died two nights ago, and I buried him in my garden. But now I
find that he was a wizard, and was not dead at all, for his grave is empty and
he is wandering about somewhere in the world."
'"That
is evil news indeed," answered Jagdschi; "but can I do nothing to
comfort you?"
'"There
is one thing you can do," replied she, "and that is to wrap yourself
in the shroud and lay yourself in the grave. If he should not return till after
three hours have elapsed he will have lost his power over me, and be forced to
go and wander elsewhere."
'Now
Jagdschi was proud of the trust reposed in him, and wrapping himself in the
shroud, he stretched himself at full length in the grave. After some time
Baldschi arrived in his turn, and found the lady groaning and lamenting. She
told him that her father had been a wizard, and that in case, as was very
likely, he should wish to leave his grave and come to work her evil, Baldschi
was to take a stone and be ready to crush in his head, if he showed signs of
moving.
'Baldschi,
enchanted at being able to do his lady a service, picked up a stone, and seated
himself by the side of the grave wherein lay Jagdschi.
'Meanwhile
the hour arrived in which Firedschi was accustomed to pay his respects, and, as
in the case of the other two, he discovered the lady overcome with grief. To
him she said that a wizard who was an enemy of her father's had thrown the dead
man out of his grave, and had taken his place. "But," she added,
"if you can bring the wizard into my presence, all his power will go from
him; if not, then I am lost."
'"Ah,
lady, what is there that I would not do for you!" cried Firedschi; and
running down to the grave, he seized the astonished Jagdschi by the waist, and
flinging the body over his shoulder, he hastened with him into the house. At
the first moment Baldschi was so surprised at this turn of affairs, for which
the lady had not prepared him, that he sat still and did nothing. But by-and-by
he sprang up and hurled the stone after the two flying figures, hoping that it
might kill them both. Fortunately it touched neither, and soon all three were
in the presence of the lady. Then Jagdschi, thinking that he had delivered her
from the power of the wizard, slid off the back of Firedschi, and threw the
shroud from him.'
'Tell
me, my prince,' said the nightingale, when he had finished his story, 'which of
the three men deserved to win the lady? I myself should choose Firedschi.'
'No,
no,' answered the prince, who understood the wink the bird had given him; 'it was
Baldschi who took the most trouble, and it was certainly he who deserved the
lady.'
But
the nightingale would not agree; and they began to quarrel, till a third voice
broke in:
'How
can you talk such nonsense?' cried the princess--and as she spoke a sound of
tearing was heard. 'Why, you have never even thought of Jagdschi, who lay for
three hours in the grave, with a stone held over his head! Of course it was he
whom the lady chose for her husband!'
*
* * * *
It
was not many minutes before the news reached the sultan; but even now he would
not consent to the marriage till his daughter had spoken a third time. On
hearing this, the young man took counsel with the nightingale how best to
accomplish this, and the bird told him that as the princess, in her fury at
having fallen into the snare laid for her, had ordered the pillar to be broken
in pieces, he must be hidden in the folds of a curtain that hung by the door.
The
following evening the prince entered the palace, and walked boldly up to the
princess's apartments. As he entered the nightingale flew from under his arm
and perched himself on top of the door, where he was entirely concealed by the
folds of the dark curtain. The young man talked as usual to the princess
without obtaining a single word in reply, and at length he left her lying under
the heap of shining veils--now rent in many places--and crossed the room
towards the door, from which came a voice that gladly answered him.
For
a while the two talked together: then the nightingale asked if the prince was
fond of stories, as he had lately heard one which interested and perplexed him
greatly. In reply, the prince begged that he might hear it at once, and without
further delay the nightingale began:
'Once
upon a time, a carpenter, a tailor, and a student set out together to see the
world. After wandering about for some months they grew tired of travelling, and
resolved to stay and rest in a small town that took their fancy. So they hired
a little house, and looked about for work to do, returning at sunset to smoke
their pipes and talk over the events of the day.
'One
night in the middle of summer it was hotter than usual, and the carpenter found
himself unable to sleep. Instead of tossing about on his cushions, making
himself more uncomfortable than he was already, the man wisely got up and drank
some coffee and lit his long pipe. Suddenly his eye fell on some pieces of wood
in a corner and, being very clever with his fingers, he had soon set up a
perfect statue of a girl about fourteen years old. This so pleased and quieted
him that he grew quite drowsy, and going back to bed fell fast asleep.
'But
the carpenter was not the only person who lay awake that night. Thunder was in
the air, and the tailor became so restless that he thought he would go
downstairs and cool his feet in the little fountain outside the garden door. To
reach the door he had to pass through the room where the carpenter had sat and
smoked, and against the wall he beheld standing a beautiful girl. He stood speechless
for an instant before he ventured to touch her hand, when, to his amazement, he
found that she was fashioned out of wood.
'"Ah!
I can make you more beautiful still," said he. And fetching from a shelf a
roll of yellow silk which he had bought that day from a merchant, he cut and
draped and stitched, till at length a lovely robe clothed the slender figure.
When this was finished, the restlessness had departed from him, and he went
back to bed.
'As
dawn approached the student arose and prepared to go to the mosque with the
first ray of sunlight. But, when he saw the maiden standing there, he fell on
his knees and lifted his hands in ecstasy.
'"Oh,
thou art fairer than the evening air, clad in the beauty of ten thousand
stars," he murmured to himself. "Surely a form so rare was never
meant to live without a soul." And forthwith he prayed with all his might
that life should be breathed into it.
'And
his prayer was heard, and the beautiful statue became a living girl, and the
three men all fell in love with her, and each desired to have her to wife.
'Now,'
said the nightingale, 'to which of them did the maiden really belong? It seems
to me that the carpenter had the best right to her.'
'Oh,
but the student would never have thought of praying that she might be given a
soul had not the tailor drawn attention to her loveliness by the robe which he
put upon her,' answered the prince, who guessed what he was expected to say:
and they soon set up quite a pretty quarrel. Suddenly the princess, furious
that neither of them alluded to the part played by the student, quite forgot
her vow of silence and cried loudly:
'Idiots
that you are! how could she belong to any one but the student? If it had not
been for him, all that the others did would have gone for nothing! Of course it
was he who married the maiden!' And as she spoke the seven veils fell from her,
and she stood up, the fairest princess that the world has ever seen.
'You
have won me,' she said smiling, holding out her hand to the prince.
And
so they were married: and after the wedding-feast was over they sent for the
old woman whose pitcher the prince had broken so long ago, and she dwelt in the
palace, and became nurse to their children, and lived happily till she died.
(Adapted
from Turkische Volksmarchen aus Stambul gesammelt, ubersetzt und eingeleitet
von Dr. Ignaz Kunos. Brill, Leiden.)
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